The Earl's Stowaway. Krystina Daryl

looked back at him, her eyes wide in earnest. "You didn't..."

      He held back his grin. He couldn't show amusement if she was to believe him. "Tell me, does your body ache?" She gave him a puzzled look then shook her head. "Are your thighs or breasts bruised?" He smiled when he saw the heat rise to her cheeks. She shook her head. "What about what lays between your legs, does it hurt? Do you feel invaded?"

      Her face creased with horror. "No!" she blurted out, making him laugh.

      "Then there is your proof. I did not lay a hand on you, except to carry you into my room and strip you of your clothing."

      Her face flushed a darker shade of pink. "I had my eyes closed the entire time," he added and noted the relief on her face.

      She nodded. "Thank you. But... but you weren't the man..." She stopped, biting her lips together to hold back a sob.

      Christopher knew what she was going to say next. It angered him, and he felt relieved at the same time. "If I release your hands, do you promise to behave?"

      She nodded. "Yes," she whispered in a quivering voice.

      He released her hands and planted his elbows next to her shoulders, waiting for an attack. She did nothing; her hands remaining where they had been pinned.

      Her brows furrowed. "I thought you said you would release me?"

      "Your hands and I have." He put the right amount of firmness in his voice to show he wasn't moving from a top her. "Now, tell me how you ended up in my carriage?"

      "You are not moving, are you?"

      He shook his head.

      She sighed in resignation. "Then allow me to cover myself properly?"

      He nodded, hoisting himself up and staring straight at the wall. He felt the cover come up with him and knew her breasts were completely exposed when she gasped. "I was raised a gentleman," he said, his voice strained.

      "I believe the men bidding for my virtue like a pack of wolves would utter the same words!" she hissed bitterly.

      He chuckled. "I am an Earl. And believe me, I do not need to bid for a woman. They willingly come to my bed."

      "Aren't you full of yourself," she chastised, making him laugh.

      "I believe I have a right to be," he countered.

      "The only woman you should be taking to your bed is your wife, not every random woman that raises your fancy."

      He laughed again. No one had ever dared to speak to him like that, either because of his station as the Earl of Ashworth or his eruptive temper. "I suppose that's what you hope for?"

      She stilled beneath him and the quiet sniff pulled his attention. She looked so unhappy and defenseless. "My step-mother made sure I would never have that joy," she whispered.

      Christopher put his weight back on his elbows and moved his legs from between hers. "Put your legs together," he ordered gently.

      Her eyes widened in realization, and then her legs quickly snapped closed. He laughed lowering himself back on her. "You are welcome."

      She raised the sheet to cover her flushed face. He brushed her hair back with his fingers then moved to pull down the sheet. Her fingers tightened on it, holding it in place. He sighed. "How are we to have a discussion if you cover your face?"

      "Get off me then." Her muffled voice came through in a whisper.

      "I like it too much here." He yanked the cover and she yelped, her wide eyes meeting his. "Now, tell me how you came to be in my carriage?"

      He felt her relax beneath him as she looked down at her fingers, wringing between them. "It was the first place I sought to hide."

      "And you fell asleep?"

      She shook her head. "I hit my head and became unconscious."

      Instinctively, he placed his hand in her hair and rubbed her scalp, searching for the bump. She winced when he touched a small hot bump. "The skin didn't break," he muttered pulling his hand away. "Who were you hiding from?"

      She glanced at him and shifted her gaze back to her wringing fingers. "The man who bought me," she whispered. "I couldn't allow myself to be chained to his bed for the rest of my life."

      Christopher growled and her body tensed. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Forgive me. My temper sometimes precedes my manners."

      She smiled weakly. "It's all right. I've experienced my father's temper before. Your control over yours is far better than his."

      He smiled. "Only towards women, men aren't as lucky." Unconsciously, he wrapped her hair around his finger. "Did you father ever hit you?"

      Her smile shrunk. "A few times, but mostly when I was defending my brother." Her lower lip quivered and more tears spilled. "Jesse and Jessica! Who's taking care of them now?"

      He brushed her cheek dry with his thumb soothingly. "I'm sure your mother will."

      She creased her face in anger. "My step-mother cares nothing for them! I had to agree to go with those horrid men. I-I didn't want to but she threatened to sell them as well! I had no choice!"

      Christopher clenched his jaw angrily, his entire frame going rigid. What happened to mothers? They are supposed to be loving, caring and protective towards their children. Or did she and he just share the bad luck?

      "Your real mother, did she love you?"

      She nodded, a sweet smile commanding her face, making his throat dry. "She was wonderful! I show my siblings the same love she showed me. A child should never feel unloved."

      His lips rose in half a smile. "Where were you during my childhood?" he whispered. He hadn't intended on her hearing, but the look on her face said she did.

      She felt her fear abating as her compassion rose. "And yet, you've shown me more compassion than anyone has ever shown me since my mother's passing. Surely, someone must love you, for you to be so kind. A wife perhaps?"

      He laughed. "I have not been shackled yet, my grandparents raised me."

      She looked at him confused. "How old are you?"

      "Eight and twenty. I am required to marry and produce an heir, but I am not ready for that yet."

      "An heir?" she uttered confused. "Shouldn't you marry for love?"

      Now he was confused. He was too busy fighting and admiring her to ask before but, her ridiculous question brought the question forward. "Your accent sounds western, what are you doing so far away from America?"

      Her eyes widened. "Where are we?"

      "In England."

      She sobbed again. "I'm so far away from them!"

      He cradled her head against his shoulder. "I would return you home, but not at the risk of your step-mother selling you as a slave again."

      She placed one hand on his shoulder, the other on his neck. "If it is not too much to ask... help me bring my siblings here."

      He was enjoying the feel of her warm cheek against his, until she uttered those words. "What?" he exclaimed leaning up to look at her. The look in her eyes was pleading, "You can't be serious!"

      She moved the hand on his shoulder to cup his neck. "I beg you! I'll do anything you want. I'll cook and clean for you. I won't give you any trouble. They won't either!"

      He was puzzled. "What made you think you could ask this of me?"

      "Because I know you are a kind man and you must understand their pain more than anyone!" She answered quickly, tightening her hold on his neck.

      He clenched his jaw tightly. He never should have told her. He didn't understand why he did in the first place! Mayhap it was because he could see her gentle soul through her eyes, but she didn't waste any time to use it against him. "Why would I know their pain?"

      "I