“You’re going to be miserable when that cold sets full in.” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. Worry knit her brow.
“Well,” he said and shivered, “I’m not going to get well sitting here naked.”
Her face flamed again. “You are not naked.” She stared at him for a moment or two. “I’m going to the attic. I believe, perhaps, you will fit into some of my father’s things. It’s been thirteen years, but I think you are of the same height, although I may be remembering wrong. Of course, they’re a decade out of style, but I’m sure you’ll survive.” She walked to the end of the bed and opened a chest, pulling out another quilt. “Here you go.” While she piled it on top of the three other quilts, she had to lean over him, and the scent of cinnamon reached him again.
“Cinnamon,” he said, his eyes suddenly heavy. “You smell like sticky buns.”
“You get well, and I’ll make you some. I’ll get you dry clothes.”
She felt his forehead once again and sighed. Comfort that he had not felt since childhood wrapped around him, and he drifted into sleep.
* * *
Colleen closed the attic door behind her then surveyed the room. It was a long rectangular room with only two small windows, one that looked out on the front of the house and one for the back. A multitude of old toys from her and her sister’s youth littered the room, along with rarely used pieces of furniture. Several trunks of clothes were stored up here, most of them her mother’s clothes from her coming out.
Jane Macgregor had allowed her daughters a childhood free of the duty to marry based on social standing and the etiquette she said almost choked her. They had been taught proper manners, but her mother believed that childhood should be unencumbered of obligations to the family.
Instead, Colleen and her younger sister, Deidre, spent many cold afternoons such as this one, dressing up and pretending to be princesses at a ball. The attic had been a world of their own creation, spun in golden dreams of what they thought adulthood in the ton would be like, never understanding what living that kind of life meant. They spent hours in the attic recreating their fantasy. Balls, teas, even visits to the King of England had been on their events list.
She breathed in the stale, musty air. Some months had passed since she had rummaged through the trunks, but that day had been warm and she had opened the window for fresh air. She glanced at the small square window, plastered with snow and ice, and decided that would be out of the question. Her eyes searched the room for the trunk that held her father’s clothes. She spied it in the corner behind a broken chair. She set her lantern on a table, testing it first to make sure it was able to hold her one source for light without falling apart.
After she moved the chair out of the way, she lifted the top of the trunk and knelt down to look inside. Neatly folded and packed tight, her father’s clothes sat within the trunk. She remembered her mother, Deidre and herself packing them away and crying over the fact that William Macgregor was gone from their lives. As Colleen shifted through the clothes, the familiar scent of her father’s pipe tobacco intermingled with must.
Even after all these years, that smell brought to mind sitting on her father’s lap as he read a story to her and her sister. Her father had been a strong, silent man, with a hearty laugh and a soft heart. He’d always had time for his daughters and wife, and when he died, it was as if the family had lost its soul. She sniffled and tears prickled her eyes, either from the bittersweet memories or the dust, she wasn’t sure.
After pulling out several white linen shirts and a couple of pairs of trousers, she began searching for a nightshirt. Certainly, her father had one of those. She emptied the trunk and still found nothing so she repacked the clothes she did not need and closed the trunk. Glancing around the room again, she could not think of another place her mother may have stored any clothes. The other trunks were filled with her mother’s and Deidre’s clothes. She knew because she had packed them. Surely her father had slept in some form of clothing, but what?
The memory of Sebastian Ware in his transparent drawers flashed through her mind, and her face heated. Good night, what was she thinking about him for? It was completely improper and she didn’t even like men with his personality. But it was hard to resist his charm, because, even injured and wet, he was a fine specimen of a man. Before she had covered him with a quilt, she had glimpsed his golden skin and lean muscular legs, and just thinking about it made her pulse quicken. She was sure if she had concentrated hard enough, she would have been able to see his nether regions through the material.
Mortification sent another rush of blood to her face. What was wrong with her? She had never even thought anything about a man in that manner before. He was attractive, but other than he seemed to have had a string of women in his bed, she knew little else.
She picked up her father’s clothes and headed toward the door before any other improper thoughts assaulted her.
* * *
Quietly, as not to disturb Lord Ware, Colleen crept into the room. He lay in the bed, shivering under the four quilts. She shut the door and hurried over, dropping the clothes on the foot of the bed.
He really didn’t look like such a rake when he lay sleeping. A lock of hair curled over his forehead, his features relaxed in slumber, making him look years younger. She was concerned about his fever. Her worry intensified when she placed her hand on his forehead once again. Heat rolled off him, and his shivering increased.
“Mr. Ware? Mr. Ware, I have some clothes for you.” He stirred, moving his legs about and thrashing his head from side to side. “Lord Ware…S-Sebastian, we need to get some clothes on you.”
In an instant, his hand whipped out, snaked around her neck and drew her onto the bed. He rolled over, and she found herself trapped beneath a practically naked man.
Chapter Three
Sebastian’s eyes never opened as he bent his head and touched his lips to hers. At first, Colleen didn’t react. She couldn’t. One moment she was standing, the next she was flat on the bed, Sebastian’s hot body on top of hers. She still wasn’t sure how that had happened in the first place.
He slid both of his hands up to cup her face, stroking his thumbs across her cheeks as his lips plied hers with tender kisses. Her heart fluttered then picked up pace. Her head started to spin because she’d only been kissed once before in her life. If Tommy Martin had kissed her as well as Sebastian, she would have never given him that black eye.
The bruising kiss Tommy had bestowed upon her had lacked passion of any kind. This was nothing like that.
Sebastian brushed his mouth over hers. His tongue traced the seam of her closed lips. The sensation was foreign—almost frightening. Nothing had prepared her for the yearning of his touch. His fingers still stroked her cheeks. His mouth still caressed her lips.
When she felt his tongue again, the simple touch sent her senses reeling. Her breasts swelled, her nipples tightened against his chest. She gasped at her body’s reaction. He used the opportunity to delve inside her mouth. Heat seeped from him, warming her, relaxing her. He pulled away from her, his lips hovering, his breath on her face, his eyes closed.
“Come on, love, just one little kiss.” His voice was deeper than before, and the sound of it danced along her nerve endings.
She couldn’t help the warmth curling in her belly, or the acceleration of her pulse. When he bent his head this time, she threw caution to the wind, closed her eyes and joined him in the kiss.
It was so delicious, so wicked, so incredibly wet.
She opened her mouth again, and his tongue slipped inside, sending a tidal wave of heat racing through her. She slid her hands around his neck and toyed with the ends of his hair. One hand eased down her throat, caressing her neck, her collarbone, then his fingers brushed against her aching breast. At first, the strokes were feather light. Once, twice, the tips of his fingers glided across her nipple and even through the woolen material of her dress, the sensation of the soft touches further puckered
her nipple.
His hand closed around her breast, and a surge of energy filled her body. Her heart beat violently against her chest. The tantalizing warmth in her stomach dropped and tumbled to her loins as he slid one of his legs between hers, then the other, situating his lower body between her outstretched legs, his private areas touching hers. He ground his groin intimately against her, and even through her dress she could feel the heat of him, the long, hard length of his arousal.
He skimmed both of his hands to her waist, and before she knew what he was about, the skirt of her dress and her petticoats were drawn to her waist, his hands on her bottom as he pulled her tightly to him.
Liquid heat poured through her, clouding her senses. His lips left hers as he kissed a path along her jaw, his tongue branding her skin. As he continued to rub the hard length of his erection against her, pressure built in that exact spot where they touched. Her body quivered, preparing for something she still did not comprehend. She didn’t know, could not fathom what she needed, but knew that Sebastian could deliver the relief she sought.
Even as it frightened her, Colleen could not dismiss the excitement coursing in her body. Sebastian quickened his movements. What Colleen did not understand, her body did and matched his rhythm, urging her to reach a pinnacle.
Sparks shot through her as his teeth nipped at her earlobe. She moved her hands from around his neck to the hard length of his muscled back. He dropped his head to her shoulder, and she waited—waited for him to continue the delicious assault. His breath was hot against her neck.
Seconds clicked by, but nothing happened. She opened her eyes only to find her glasses had fogged over. Blinking, she waited for them to clear, then Sebastian’s hands relaxed on her bottom. He was no longer moving. She pushed at his shoulder but he did not respond. Then she heard a suspicious snuffle. He was snoring. She lay beneath him, waiting for him to finish his seduction, and he had fallen asleep.
Reality crashed down around her. The man was fevered, half out of his mind. She had allowed him to kiss her. Not only kiss her, but grind against her, caress her, turn her into some kind of a hussy.
Her face burned with embarrassment and shame as she placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed. He didn’t move, only tightened his arms around her waist, his fingers still warm on her bottom, and mumbled something she couldn’t make out.
“Lord Ware?” she whispered.
Nothing. She wiggled her body, and his arms loosened. He was so heavy she didn’t know if she could get out from beneath him. Funny how his weight didn’t seem to bother her when she was writhing beneath him like some loose woman.
She took a breath, and with all the strength she had, shoved his shoulders. He rolled off her and thankfully stayed on the bed. She jumped up and scooted to the other side of the room, placing as much distance as possible between her and the wicked man. Her lips still tingled. How could she, the woman who frightened most of the men in the village so that no one dared approach her, turn shamelessly wanton because of just one kiss?
She lifted her fingers to her swollen lips and glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was disheveled, half of it fallen from the topknot. There were red marks along her jawline where his whiskers had scratched her. Her breathing was finally returning to normal, but her eyes were still overbright.
Good night. She looked like her sister did when her mother had caught Michael O’Hearney stealing kisses. Her eyes narrowed, and she looked back at the blackguard responsible for the embarrassment.
He shivered, and she realized she had left a sick man uncovered. Slowly, she approached the bed. When she had shoved him off her, he had rolled over onto the quilts. Carefully, she kept one eye on him as she worked the quilts from beneath him. A smile curved his lips, showing a hint of dimple, and then his face relaxed once again. So innocent and so deadly at the same time.
* * *
Colleen sighed as she carried the tray of food to her room. She’d had a long day getting ready for the storm, running into the village for supplies. Now she had a delicious stranger in her bed to worry about.
She stopped in her tracks and shook her head. Thinking of Lord Ware as delicious or delectable or any other kind of edible description was out of the question. Because thinking of him in that manner made her think of his lips. Thinking of his lips made her think of his kisses and that was just not a good idea.
She needed to forget that her whole body felt as if it would explode the moment he touched her. Even now heat swept through her at the memory. He was a rake, good at his chosen profession and it had nothing to do with her.
With that self-proclamation, she nodded and continued on her path.
Balancing the tray in one hand, she opened the door. When she spied his eyes closed and his even breathing, she released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Thanking her keeper for small miracles, she walked to his bedside. After setting the tray on the table, she looked down at him, not at all encouraged by his shivers.
“Lord Ware, I brought some broth for you.” He turned in the direction of her voice but his eyes didn’t open. “Sebastian, you need to help me.”
She sat on the bed beside him. His face was flushed with fever, his brow damp with perspiration. Along with the broth, she carried in a basin of cool water. She knew to bring down his temperature, she would have to bathe him with the water and pump him full of liquids. She had attempted to do just that after Deidre suffered her miscarriage but had not been successful. This time she would not fail.
* * *
“I will be granted a divorce!”
Colleen jerked awake at the sound of an angry male voice. For a brief moment, she was disoriented and almost panicked. The unfamiliarity of waking to the sound of a man caused her heartbeat to quicken as she looked around for help. Then her mind began to function—slowly at first, but it was working.
Straightening in the chair, she glanced over at her patient. His eyes were still closed, and he moved restlessly beneath the bedclothes. Wearily, she moved her head from one side to another, then rolled her shoulders. The past two days had been long, frightening and painful. Keeping watch over Sebastian had taken every bit of energy she had. Through the days and nights, she had listened to his rantings.
At first, she had tried to ignore him, but it had been impossible as he raged against a woman she imagined was his wife.
“There is no way I will be cuckolded. That is not my child.”
Pulling herself out of the chair and onto her feet, she stretched, working out the stiffness that had developed. She padded barefoot to the bed. Sebastian tossed and turned, thrashing about.
“You won’t stop me. I don’t care about the scandal.”
Colleen swallowed. She had learned a lot about him the last few days. He was married, or had been at one time. Through his ramblings, she gathered Mrs. Ware had the morals of an alley cat. But then, from what she understood, it was common among the ton to have marriages like that. It was one of the reasons her mother never wanted an arranged marriage.
His shivers were so pronounced she could see him quivering from beneath the mountain of quilts. Worry cramped her stomach. The fear of losing him to a fever brought tears to her eyes. Sniffing, she fought them, not wanting to succumb to feminine hysterics. She was stronger than that. Knowing there was nothing she could do but wait for the fever to break didn’t help.
She walked to the window and peered outside at the desolate image of her snow-filled meadow. The snow had continued for two days. She was a little worried about supplies, but now that the storm seemed to be tapering off, she knew the vicar and his wife would be out to check on her. They did not own a sled, but past experience told her they would fret if they didn’t see her soon. They might be her only hope, if Sebastian’s condition did not improve. She had worried many times during her lonely hours of watching over him.
“I don’t believe I’ve seen a lovelier sight.”
She gasped and turned at the sound of his vo
ice. He was still shivering a bit, but a slight smile curved his cracked lips, and his eyes looked clearer than they had in the past two days.
“From the look on your face, I’ve given you a worry.”
“Given me a worry?” she asked when she finally found her voice, which was hoarse with emotion.
His eyes were unclouded, and he seemed to be more alert than he had been in the past forty-eight hours. Relief poured through her and she fought the urge to jump for joy.
“Yes you did. Two days’ worth of worry to be exact.”
Sebastian closed his eyes for a second, his mind still foggy from his illness. Her voice, softer than the day they met, wrapped around him. When he opened his eyes, he noticed her concerned stare. The comfort she offered warmed him from the inside out. What stroke of fate had brought him to her path? Sebastian didn’t know but he knew that one twist had probably saved his life.
She wore a pristine white wrapper, but she had braided her hair, and it reached her hips. The sight held him momentarily speechless. He would have never guessed the woman had so much hair. All he could think of was running his fingers through it, feeling it tickle his chest…
“Two days… Bloody hell.”
Her eyes widened behind her spectacles at the blasphemy. Although it irritated him, he should have better manners than that. This woman had rescued him and nursed him through his sickness.
“I apologize. My language… Well, I apologize.”
She chuckled, a rich, full chuckle that sent a wave of heat down his spine that had nothing to do with the fever. “Oh, don’t worry. Harry had the mouth of a sailor.”
A smiled played about her lips as she walked forward and stopped by the side of the bed.
Close enough to grab.
Where the hell had that idea come from? He shook his head trying to clear it.
“Harry?”
“My stepfather.”
The Accidental Countess Page 3
