Adam’s head began to throb as Rebecca fell into step with him. They moved off the gravel drive to walk the most direct route through the lush gardens. A few yards from the road, Adam needed to wipe his brow.
He kept walking, grateful when they moved into the shade of tall elm trees but damned if he didn’t feel himself. “I think we both deserve a drink after that. Damn it’s hot today.”
“No, it isn’t,” she noted with concern. She stepped in front of him and he had to stop or barrel into her. “Your face is damp.”
“It is not damp, madam. I’m sweating like a damn hog in an oven,” he grumbled.
Her previously concerned expression instantly became one of annoyance. “They mean the same thing. One is polite. One is not.”
Adam shook his head at her criticism and regretted it immediately. He staggered to the nearest tree trunk until the sensation of unsteadiness stopped the garden from swaying before his eyes. “Bollocks.”
“Perhaps you should rest here a moment.”
“I’m not a child to be babied,” he insisted but her idea was appealing. He wiped a hand over his face and put his back to the tree. “I heard fabric rip as you were pulled from the carriage. You are uninjured, aren’t you?”
She set her hand to the shoulder seam of her gown protectively, and he noted her shawl was tightly drawn around her shoulders. “My gown suffered some damage that will be easy to repair. It could have been so much worse if you’d let me fall.”
“We were lucky,” he promised. Very lucky. If Mrs. Warner had demanded the carriage top be employed to protect them from the rain she’d foolishly worried about, neither one of them might have made it to safety. If they’d been traveling any faster…
Adam shuddered. His head throbbed, and he put his hand over the spot but it only made it worse. He jerked his hand back, staring at fingers that were now bloody. “Devil take it!”
Mrs. Warner rushed to remove her gloves and reached for Adam’s head. “Let me see.”
“You are too small to see the top of my head.” Adam took stock of himself. He did not feel at all steady, so he slid down to a sitting position and stretched out his long legs.
She made a clucking sound of disapproval and kneeled beside him to stare into his eyes. “You are hurt, worse than you want to say.”
Her soft green eyes were filled with real concern, something he’d never expected to see on her face. “Well, that is disappointing.”
“Disappointing?” Rebecca immediately began searching through his hair for the wound, and he chose to imagine it a sensual caress until she spoke again. “You have a gash to your head that has bled. Dear God, you could have died.”
“Always looking on the bright side,” he murmured, and then noticed how close the lady was to his body. He inhaled slowly, delighted in this unexpectedly rare treat. Mrs. Warner had never been the friendliest sort. “You smell nice.”
“Really, Rafferty,” she chided. She suddenly slipped her hand inside his coat, rummaged in his pockets and began to dab at his head with the handkerchief she found there. “This is hardly the time to worry about my perfume.”
“As you say, I could have been killed. Seems like an appropriate time for noticing the little things in life that please me.” He felt pain and hissed. Eager for a distraction, he dropped his gaze to her shoulder—now bare of the shawl, which had fallen away unnoticed by the lady. The respectable garment Rebecca had worn to church, so stylish and modest, was less so now thanks to the accident. The struggle out of the carriage seemed to have ripped the seam apart, and her pale skin looked very soft and inviting. He curled his fingers into the skirt of her gown and held it. “Lovely.”
She drew back to peer into his eyes again, and then she glanced down at his fist. “What are you doing?”
What was he doing? Adam had no idea, but he wasn’t of a mind to stop. “I can’t walk back to the manor just yet,” he admitted. “Talk to me.”
“Just sit there quietly.”
“Never been good at being quiet or still, you know.” He let go of the gown and lifted one hand. He brushed his knuckles up the outside of her leg, past her hip and across to her belly. Yes she was proving a good distraction from his injury. “Or good.”
Mrs. Warner dragged in a shocked breath. “Rafferty!”
He struggled to meet her eyes, more amused by her outrage than chastised, and tried to ignore a horrible sensation churning in his belly. He would not cast up his accounts in her presence. “I do adore tangling with feisty wenches. You’re always so pretty and proper on the outside. But underneath…therein might lie all the wickedness a man could ever desire. Have you ever given in to temptation since you were widowed?”
Chapter 2
“No. Most assuredly not,” Rebecca hissed, entirely shocked by the Earl of Rafferty’s insinuation. “I would never.”
“Pity,” he murmured. “I think you and I could have a great deal of fun together.”
“Well. I don’t think—”
Rafferty groaned.