“Stop cursing.”
“You’d curse too if you had a half-naked girl whose name is Winifrede Levering alone with you in a wreck of a barn and you were freezing your—well, never mind that. Just hold still. There, now you’re covered again. Oh, yes, you look like someone smacked you in the head.”
“You did. I tried to jerk away, but you still got me.”
He frowned at that, lightly touched his fingertips to her temple, then frowned again. “I don’t like to see bruises on a woman. Actually, I’ve always hated it. What’s worse is I’ve never been one to do it.” He threw some more straw over her, then lay down beside her.
“How many mistresses have you had?”
His eyes came open. “Why? You want the job?”
“No, I don’t even want you near me, but you fastened my chemise like you’ve done it many, many times. You even had your eyes closed.”
“I have done many little services. I remember the first chemise I fastened. It was swiftly and very well done. I’m not a clod. I was never a clod. I closed my eyes because looking at your breasts wouldn’t be the right thing to do. Actually, I’d already looked my fill at your breasts. Thus, doing the right thing this time wasn’t that difficult. What am I supposed to do with you now?”
He sounded like a reasonable man, but she couldn’t be certain. She hadn’t really known many men in her life, other than her father and the two she’d known better than just simple acquaintances hadn’t been reasonable. “Perhaps,” she said, feeling her way since she well realized that she was mired in a very big problem, “you could simply help me back to London. I will just lie low until I am well again. I’ll convince the aunts that I’m all right. You could perhaps just forget all of this?”
“And when you could, you’d try to steal one of my horses again?”
He had a point there.
“No, don’t even try to lie. You’re no good at it. Now, I think it’s in your best interest to tell me the truth and let me decide what’s best to be done.”
Total silence.
“Very well. Tell me about Sir Henry Wallace-Stanford.”
He thought she’d fainted, but when he came up on his elbow to look at her, he saw that she’d squeezed her eyes tightly shut.
“Who is he?”
“Not a good man.”
“I know that. Even Quincy knew that. Quincy has something of a second sight about people, inherited all the way down from a great-great-grandmother. Yes, Sir Henry came looking for you.”
“Oh, God. What did you say?”
“He told me he was in London on business and just wanted to see if the aunts were doing all right. Then he asked if the aunts had brought a guest with them.”
“What did you say?”
“Jack the valet wasn’t a guest. I said no. I’m not certain if he believed me, but he had no choice but to leave.” He saw that her hair was nearly dry. He himself was finally warm again. Her skin had lost that waxy gray color. She must be warmer as well. He came up on his elbow and began picking the straw out of her hair.
“Since you said you’d never seen a man’s chest before, then I assume that Sir Henry isn’t your husband.”
She groaned.
“No. Well, then, your father?”
“No. My papa’s dead. Mathilda and Maude will be frantic. We must get back to London.”
He was untangling hair from around a crooked piece of straw. “Since we’re both covered with straw, I think I’ll take my breeches off.” He rose, stripped, laid out his pants, then returned to lie next to her, straw poking him in places he hadn’t thought vulnerable since the time when he’d been fifteen and made love with sweet Florence Dobbins in the shade of a sand dune on the beach at Torquay. “If the sun holds steady, our clothes should be dry in a couple of hours. Now, how do you feel?”
“Fine,” she said. He heard some strange noises, turned to face her, and saw that she’d stuffed her fist into her mouth and tears were slowly trickling down her face.
6
HE DIDN’T think, just acted, pulling away the straw and bringing her close. Her body was incredibly warm against him, which was a surprise, since she’d been shivering just a minute before.