Fastening the tie at her waist, she went to the door.
* * *
Leo dozed against the warm, clean sheets, the ache in his arm keeping him from sinking into a peaceful slumber.
He’d refused the dose of laudanum the doctor had pressed on him; he hated the stuff and had done so ever since he’d fallen—or rather jumped on a dare from Lawrence—from a second-story window at Braebourne as a boy. He’d been trying to land in a nearby tree at the time and had actually succeeded until the limb he was standing on snapped and sent him plummeting to the ground. He’d dislocated his shoulder. Even now, he remembered the pain and how violently sick the laudanum had made him. He’d vowed never to take it again; the pain was far preferable.
He shifted, catching sight of the red stain beginning to form on the white cloth bandage wrapped neatly around his upper arm. His wound was seeping, exactly as the doctor told him it would.
There had been no bullet to dislodge, the shot a clean one that had gone straight through. Another few millimeters and the bullet would have hit bone, putting him at risk of losing his arm—or at least the use of it. As it was, the doctor had doused the wound with liberal amounts of fresh water, then brandy that had burned like fire. Now it was simply a matter of putting up with the discomfort until it healed.
The doctor had also recommended bleeding him, but Leo decided he’d already lost enough blood for one day and refused the treatment. He’d never held with the idea of letting blood to remove ill humors; he’d known far too many people weakened by the procedure, fatally so in the case of his late father.
Leo was drifting back into another shallow doze when the door latch gave a quiet snick. After the door closed again, a figure moved toward him, illuminated by the low candlelight. He peered through his lashes and saw a woman, but not just any woman. It was Thalia.
He closed his eyes again, his pulse gaining speed. He worked to regulate his breathing, drawing in her light floral scent. She stopped when she reached his bedside. Even with his eyes shut, he could sense her studying him.
By rights, he ought to be angry with her given everything that had happened. She’d tricked and manipulated him, stolen his clothes and put him in a situation that had resulted in his being shot.
But she’d also returned to find him, fearlessly faced down an armed brute of a man in his defense, then led him to safety. And she’d apologized.
Considering that, how could he be cross? If anything, he felt gratitude and a grudging admiration. She was what was known in the vernacular as a formidable woman. Brave, resourceful and clever. And he liked her all the more for it.
She’d wanted to give him a disgust of her. But her gambit had failed, since he was more determined than ever to have her in his bed. She’d told him she didn’t want him as a lover, but if that were true, then why was she here in his room—alone, at night? And in her dressing gown no less.
Maybe this injury of his might not be such a bad thing after all, assuming he could work it to his advantage.
One minute passed, then two, as she stood at his bedside. Finally she gave a soft sigh and began to turn away.
He moved against the sheets as if he were just waking and opened his eyes. “Hmm, is someone there?” he asked in what he hoped was a sleepy voice. “Who is it?”
She swung around and stepped back into the small circle of candlelight near his bed. “Pardon me. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“No matter. I’ve been drifting in and out.” He looked at the curtains that were tightly drawn over the windows. “What time is it? It must be late.”
She tucked her hands against the folds of her dressing gown. “It’s after two. I just . . .”
He’d never heard her tongue-tied before. He found it rather endearing. “Yes, just what?”
“I wanted to check on you, that’s all. See if there might be anything you need.”
He needed all sorts of things, but none of them seemed particularly prudent until his arm had a chance to heal. “Still feeling guilty for getting me shot?” he said, unable to resist teasing her.
She bristled. “I did not get you shot, at least not intentionally. How was I to know you’d get caught stealing clothes and be chased by a lunatic with a gun?”
She crossed her arms over her breasts.
He stared at their lush roundness for a long, appreciative moment before forcing his gaze upward again. “Maybe because you’re the one who left me naked in the first place? It was bound to cause trouble.”
“Yes, well, I’ve already told you I’m sorry.” She frowned. “I should not have come. If you have need of anything, ring the bell for one of the servants.”
She turned to move away.
Before she could, he reached out with his good hand and caught hold of her wrist. It was narrow and fine-boned, delicate for so resilient a woman. “Don’t go,” he said in a soothing voice. “We’ve quarreled enough for one day, do you not think?”
She stood motionless and made no effort to free herself. At length, she raised her eyes to his. “Yes.” She gestured toward his bandaged arm. “What did the doctor say? Shall you recover or might there be . . . permanent damage?”
“I lost a fair amount of blood and needed stitches, but with proper rest and care, I should heal.”
Actually the doctor had told him he should be back to most of his normal activities in a few days, so long as he kept the wound clean and the dressings changed regularly so that infection did not set in.
“Are you in a great deal of pain?” she asked, her eyes filled with compassion.
“Some,” he said, his voice deliberately soft.
“What have you taken for it? Is it time for another dose?” She glanced around, obviously searching for a medicine bottle.
“No. I’ll be . . . fine.” His voice sounded even weaker.
He paused, wondering whether he was overplaying his hand. But apparently not, since she just kept looking at him, her dark eyes soft and gentle in a way he’d never seen. He closed his own so as not to betray himself.
“I should let you rest,” she murmured after a minute.
“No.” His fingers tightened around her wrist. “Stay. I like your company.”
“Do you?”
“Surprisingly, yes,” he said in a teasing voice. Cracking open one eye, he caught sight of a faint smile hovering on her lips. It made him want to smile back—that and kiss her. “Please honor me with your companionship, if you would be so kind.”
“How am I to respond to that? You make it rather hard to say no.”
“Then don’t. Say no, that is.”
She shook her head. “Very well, let me get a chair.” She moved to free her wrist from his grasp.
Instead he pulled her closer. “Sit here on the bed next to me.”
“I couldn’t, my lord—,” she protested.
“Of course you can.” He tugged again until, with some reluctance, she sat.
He relaxed more deeply against the sheets. “Good. That’s good.” With a fingertip, he traced the satiny skin on the inside of her wrist. “Do you not think after everything that has passed between us that you might call me Leo? We’re here together alone, you in your robe and me in my drawers. And don’t puff up—you’ve seen me naked, after all. And stolen my clothes. Not to mention coming to my aid when I was at a decidedly low ebb. Surely we are beyond formality at this point?”
She arched a brow. “I have found that a measure of formality never goes amiss. Besides, were I to start using your given name, it would only encourage you and as we both know, you have no need of that.”
He laughed, then groaned when a fresh stab of pain shot through his arm.
Her eyes softened again. “Are you certain there is nothing I can bring you to ease your hurt? Surely the doctor left a sedative of some kind.”
“He tried, but I didn’t want it. Laudanum and I don’t mix well.”
“A glass of wine, then? Or brandy?”
“Later perhaps. Right no
w, there are other things I’d like better.”
“Leo—,” she said in soft warning.
“See how easy that was? Say my name again just so I know you’ve got the knack of it.”
“I should go.”
“What? And desert me again? You did leave me out in the wilds, naked and defenseless, if you’ll recall.”
She lifted a single dark eyebrow. “I don’t think anyone would ever describe you as defenseless.”
“And yet, here I lie, gunshot and in pain.”
She studied him briefly, a new frown creasing her forehead. “I already told you I am sorry. What more can I say?”
“Nothing. But you could do something to make it up to me.”
“Such as?”
“Admit that you aren’t nearly as indifferent to me as you claim.”
“Lord Leopold—”
“Leo,” he reminded. He slid his fingers along her arm, gratified by the answering tremor that rippled just beneath her skin. “Spend some time with me after we return to London. Two weeks in which we can get to know each other better. If, at the end of that time, you still wish to be quit of me, I shall cease my pursuit and never trouble you again.”
“Two weeks, you say?”
He nodded. “But you can’t shut me out like you did before. You have to give me a fair chance to show you just how compatible we can be.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then I shall continue to chase you, even more ruthlessly than before,” he said, his words filled with unmistakable intent.
“That hardly seems fair.”
“Neither was being shot by an outraged cottager who didn’t like finding a naked stranger purloining a few of his clothes from the laundry line.”
“Borrowing, remember?”
“I did offer to pay him outright, but as he pointed out, I had no money on my person at the time.”
Her expression grew troubled. “Have you spoken with Lord Holland about the incident? Is the man to be jailed?”
Leo shook his head. “No. I am not pressing charges.”
“But he shot you!”
“He did. Were I not who I am, though, a wealthy aristocrat with a powerful family and influential friends, the law would likely see his actions as justified. I was stealing from him no matter my real intent.”
“He ought to have accepted your word as a gentleman, even if you were unclothed at the time.”
He smiled at her protective outrage. “Perhaps. But you have to admit it isn’t every day a naked aristocrat wanders into a farmer’s back garden looking for a pair of breeches to cover his bare buttocks.”
Her eyes rounded briefly before a smile crept over her mouth.
“At least he was only a middling shot,” Leo remarked. “Just think how you would feel now had he killed me.”
Her cheeks paled, all amusement disappearing from her face.
“Two weeks with me, Thalia,” he urged. “Then I shall absolve you completely and never mention it again.”
“Fine,” she said on a hastily exhalation, “you can have your two weeks. But don’t think that means you will be spending them in my bed.”
“A tumble on the sofa would serve just as nicely,” he said with a wicked smile.
She cuffed him on the shoulder.
“Ouch. Injured here, remember?”
“Sorry,” she said, looking genuinely contrite.
He closed his eyes again and worked to look even wanner than he felt, deciding it couldn’t hurt to fan the flames of her guilt a bit more.
“Are you certain you won’t take a glass of brandy?” she asked.
He peeked out from beneath his eyelashes, and felt a little guilty himself. She really did look upset.
“No. I just need to rest.” He paused, a small silence settling between them. “So when shall I call at your town house?”
“When you are well. But understand something. This time together will not change my mind about becoming your mistress.”
He hummed low in his throat. “We shall see.”
“I do not want a lover, Lord Leopold,” she said with exasperation.
He traced the length of her forearm again, then caught her hand, threading his fingers through hers. “But I wouldn’t just be your lover. I would also be your friend.”
And I do want to be her friend, he realized. I want to discover everything there is to know about the beautiful, mysterious woman who is Lady Thalia Lennox.
For a long moment, surprise and confusion shone in the rich caramel of her eyes, as though no other man had ever said such a thing to her.
Then it was his turn to frown.
“I really do need to go,” she said. “And you need to rest.”
But he tightened his hold again. “Not yet. There’s one more thing I require before I can sleep.”
“What might that be?”
“A kiss. To make it all better, as they say.”
“I don’t think a kiss will heal the bullet hole in your arm.”
“No, but it can’t hurt it either.”
Her lips twitched; then she gave a grudging laugh. “You are incorrigible, Lord Leopold.”
He grinned. “Leo. Now, let’s have that kiss.”
“This is a very bad idea.”
“It’s an excellent idea. Look upon it as an act of mercy.”
She shook her head, then sighed. “Close your eyes.”
He shifted beneath the covers, his pulse racing faster, as fresh arousal awoke inside him.
“Eyes,” she reminded softly.
Dutifully, he closed his lids.
And waited.
He was beginning to think she was going to renege when she leaned over and pressed her lips to his forehead, her touch as warm and smooth as rose petals.
“There,” she murmured, easing away. “All better.”
His eyelids lifted. “Hardly.”
And before she could slip away, he wrapped his good arm around her and pulled her against his chest. The impact sent a new jolt of pain through his wound, but he didn’t care. Her lips were just too sweet to resist.
“Leo,” she warned. “Remember what I said.”
He smiled. “Fancy that. You called me Leo.”
Then he was kissing her, taking her mouth with a gentle, insistent pressure that made his blood heat and his body ache with a different sort of pain altogether. He waited for her to protest. But instead, softly, slowly, she began to kiss him back.
* * *
What am I doing? Thalia wondered as a hazy, languorous warmth stole through her. Why am I letting him kiss me, this man I do not want?
Yet even as the thought flickered through her mind, she knew it was a lie. For as imprudent and insane as it might be, she could not deny the attraction she felt for him.
Nor the pleasure of his touch.
Kissing him was lovely, more than lovely, better than the most decadent whipped confection or the sunniest spring day. She’d never known anything quite like it in her life—a curious realization considering that she had been married and was far from a virginal innocent.
Yet perhaps in this she still had much to learn, his touch now, as before, a quiet revelation. How easy it would be to let him go further. How simple to forget time and place, and allow herself to slide down into the bed beside him.
As if hearing her thoughts, he deepened their kiss, parting her lips to ease his tongue inside. He licked her as if she were indeed a treat, using long, luscious strokes that made her toes curl in her slippers and fire sizzle in her veins.
He threaded the fingers of his good hand into her long, loose hair to caress her scalp and the nape of her neck. She arched, unable to deny the pulse of pleasure that rushed through her with a wild beat. Down he went, fingertips moving over her throat and collarbone and shoulder, then lower to steal beneath the edges of her robe.
Finding her breast, he cupped it through her nightgown, along with the traitorous peak that nestled wantonly into the firm flesh of his palm.
Smiling against her mouth, he flicked his thumb over the aching point and made her shudder. He was about to do it again—and she was about to let him—when a log popped in the fireplace.
The sound brought her back to her senses.
She jerked, abruptly breaking away.
“There,” she said, hating the breathless quality to her voice, “you have your good-night kiss. Now you can sleep.”
He quirked a dark golden brow but didn’t stop her when she slipped out of his hold. “Thank you for the kiss. It was perfection. As are you.” Reaching out, he recaptured her hand and pressed his mouth to her palm. “As for sleep, I fear it may yet elude me, but I shall try.”
Thalia said nothing. Instead, she got to her feet on unsteady legs and made her way to the door. When she stood on the other side in the darkened hallway, she clutched a fist against her chest, aware of the swift, almost painful rhythm of her heart.
He’d said he might not sleep tonight.
She knew she would not either.
Chapter 12
“You rang, milady?”
Thalia looked up from where she sat at her desk in the study. She had returned to her town house nearly a week ago, glad to be back in the familiar confines of her own home. Her tabby cat, Hera, was asleep nearby, curled up inside a wooden tray full of correspondence.
“Yes, Fletcher,” she said, laying down her quill pen. “I wanted to inform you that I am expecting company this afternoon. Lor—” She paused, the name sticking suddenly in her throat. She cleared it before continuing. “Lord Leopold Byron will be paying me a call. See he is shown into the drawing room and advise me of his arrival.”
The butler’s white eyebrows rose high on his wrinkled forehead. As a rule, she didn’t receive gentlemen callers, especially not the kind who had sent her a gift that she had been sorely tempted to keep rather than send back. But Fletcher had too many years in service to show any further reaction whatever his opinion might be.
“Shall I ask Mrs. Grove to have a tea tray standing ready?” he inquired.
She frowned. She hadn’t really considered the social niceties of Lord Leopold’s impending visit. Actually, since her return to Town, she’d been trying not to think of it—or him—at all, which sadly had proved impossible.
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