Page 4 of The Tantalizing of a Scandalous Rake

A slight groan issued from his lips in response.

“That’s no excuse,” she told him, but his eyes remained closed, his position unmoving.

Maybe she could rouse him enough to persuade him to move to the stables. She dropped down to her knees and gave his chest a prod.

“Sir? Time to wake up, sir.” She poked him again and recoiled at the feel of something sticky. “Oh Lord, do not tell me you have vomited over yourself.”

She frowned and glanced at her finger. Her heart sank. Not vomit.

Blood.

“Oh Lord.” She lifted the edge of his jacket and grimaced. Even in the milky moonlight, she could make out the dark stain on his waistcoat. Someone had stabbed this man.

∞∞∞

Either Adam had fallen asleep on a beach somewhere and swallowed a mouthful of sand or he’d drunk far too much last night. He scowled to himself whilst trying to wrench open eyelids that felt as though they had been sealed shut with wax. The Beauty of Buttermere’s ale was not that strong, though, and he could not recall feeling anything more than slightly merry.

“Told her the ale was bad,” he muttered to himself, though the words came out raspier than anticipated.

He cracked open an eye and groaned. His head pounded and his vision swam. When he forced open the other eye, he just made out movement.

“My ale is fine,” someone replied.

He moved his attention to the source of the voice and waiting several painful heartbeats until the image came into focus. “The Beauty...”

He’d recognize those features anywhere, even when viewed through two tiny slits and dry eyeballs. Hell, he’d been admiring her half the night. After all, he was only human and she was the only woman he’d ever met who could drain an ale in mere seconds.

To say he had been fascinated was an understatement.

But why was she here? Despite the colorful life he led, he’d never woken up with a woman in his bed without recalling inviting her there and, during his stay in Cumbria, he’d been careful to avoid women altogether, especially any dalliances.

He was many things...or at least beencalledmany things—rogue, rake, gambler, chancer, even blackguard on occasion when he bested someone at cards—but he kept his promises. He’d vowed to his mother to avoid women and that he would do. Most especially since he knew she had engineered this whole ‘you must go to Cumbria and lay low or my heart shall surely give way’ thing to ensure they met suitable women. If the woman thought she could best him, she did not know her son at all.

Which led back to the questions—why was the beauty here?

He spread his fingers wide on the sheets and tried to push himself up, but pain seared through his side. God Lord, maybe the ale had been worse than he imagined. She had poisoned him and now his insides were wrapped around themselves.

“I’m going to die.” He huffed out the words and let his eyes shut.

“You are most certainly not going to die,” he thought she said.

“You have killed me, woman.”

“The physician has been and he assured me it is a mere scratch. You shall heal well.”

He let his brow furrow and opened his eyes again. She remained a blur—a pretty blur, though. A scratch? Whatever did she mean? He rummaged through his brain for scraps of the previous night but came up frustratingly empty. He recalled her drinking the ale, then he drank a little more, watched in amusement as she fended off many, many advances and then...then he could not recall the rest. Besides the fact he had vowed to steer clear of the opposite sex, there was no chance he would take the beauty to bed and forget it.

Never.

Adam curled his fingers into the sheets as a sharp stab of pain tore through him from his side. He released a groan.

“Stay still, I need to clean it.”

He looked down to spy her near the end of the bed. His clothing had vanished. Not a good sign. But why was she pressing against where the pain was?

He did not want to ask it. He didn’t need to be experienced in waking up next to women and not remembering how he got there to know she would be furious he’d forgotten everything. But he suspected he had to.

“Was it good?”

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