Richard had apparently been drawing her skirts up as he worked at her breast. When he suddenly released her nipple to slide down her body and duck under the voluminous material, her attention was immediately reclaimed by what he was doing.

“Oh—er—Rich—oh—” Christiana gasped, clutching at the bedclothes as he kissed a trail up one thigh. This definitely managed to distract her from whatever she lay on, and she clenched her teeth against the tingles of excitement he was causing in her, preparing for the much stronger shock of pleasure she knew was coming as he neared the apex of her thighs. Even so, she cried out when his mouth finally found her center. It was the lightest of caresses, almost a teasing, but still had her half sitting up, her hands clawing at the bedclothes and drawing them away from both ends of the bed toward herself. The position immediately removed the discomfort at her back and Christiana felt a moment’s relief until his mouth brushed over her again and she turned her head to the side, gasping for the breath that had seemed to rush out of her with the touch. The moment she’d drawn in enough breath, however, it whooshed right back out on a shriek as she found herself staring at Richard, now half uncovered in the bed, and definitely not looking very healthy.

The Richard under her skirt stilled and suddenly pulled out from under it, his expression surprised as he said, “Well, that was fast.”

Christiana’s response was to turn wide eyes his way and shriek again. She followed it up by planting her foot in his chest and shoving him away from her with a strength born of horror. Then she leapt off the bed and made a run for the door.

Richard landed on the hardwood floor with a startled curse and immediately sat up to peer toward his wife, only to find her scrambling off the bed . . . a bed where George lay half uncovered and most definitely dead. Cursing much more violently this time, Richard bounded to his feet and hurried after Christiana. Fortunately, she’d made a run for the door to the hall and it was locked. She was wrestling with it, trying desperately to get it open when he caught her arm.

“Christiana, wait, listen to me.”

“Don’t touch me,” she cried, shaking off his hold. Giving up on the door, she backed quickly away from him, panic on her face as she glanced at him and to the bed and back.

“All right, I won’t touch you,” Richard said quietly, hoping that if he remained calm, she would calm down as well. “ ’Tis all right. You are safe with me. Allis well.”

“Allis well?” she echoed with disbelief, not sounding the least bit calmed by his voice. “Who are you?”

“I am Richard Fairgrave, the Earl of Radnor,” he said solemnly.

“Then who is that?” she asked, pointing toward the bed.

Richard noted the way her hand was shaking, and sighed at her unnecessary upset. This was all his fault. He was the one who had fall en on her like a randy bull and then apparently lost all sense as the blood rushed to his manhood. That was the only explanation he could come up with for how he could have been stupid enough to try to tumble her on the bed where his dead brother lay. Good Lord, he’d completely forgotten all about the man’s presence, able to think only of the nearest horizontal surface and getting her onto it and himself in her.