Page 40 of Every Rake Has A Silver Lining

However, he wasn’t finished with his illusion. He pulled thecounterpane from the bed, and rumpled the sheets, tossing the pillows at odd angles. Hands on his hips, he studied the tableau, then nodded.

At the door, he turned. “I shall return with some refreshment shortly. Is there anything you . . . desire?”

“No.” She choked on the word.

With a soft chuckle, he exited, closing the door with a much too loudclick.

Charlotte stared at the twisted linens far too long. How long could she put him off? Or perhaps the real question was: How long did shewishto put him off? If the kiss at the church was any indication, Simon’s boasts about his bedroom skills were not exaggerated, and to be honest, she found the prospect of experiencing them rather tempting. Her mind wandered, wondering what sort of naughty things Simon might do on the bed. Before her imagination could take her much farther than a few sensual kisses, the door opened.

“I brought a few things for you anyway.” He placed a tray holding tea, some sandwiches, and a glass of wine on a nearby table.

“Why didn’t you have a servant bring that up?” If he expected her to serve him, he was sadly mistaken.

“Ah, they would expect you to be naked and purring like a kitten in bed. And being a gentleman?—”

Purring like a kitten?! The man had an ego the size of—well, she couldn’t think of anything large enough at the moment. “You flatter yourself,” she said, unwilling to admit her own thoughts moments before had been similar.

He frowned, something she admitted he did rarely. “Being a gentleman, I offered to bring it myself.” He poured some tea, forgoing the sugar but adding a dash of milk, then handed it to her.

She blinked. “How did you . . . ?”

He shrugged, the careless lift of his shoulder natural and solike him. “I observe and learn. Besides, it’s tea. How many ways can one take it?”

She sipped the perfectly prepared beverage, studying him over the rim. “It’s early in the afternoon for wine, wouldn’t you say?” With her luck, he was a drunk who hid it well.

“No. I wouldn’t say. But it’s not to drink. At least not all of it.” With calculated precision, he peeled aside the rumpled sheets and dripped wine onto the middle of the bed.

“You fool! Wine is difficult to get out!”

A smirk covered his face as he peered over his shoulder. “So is blood. Oh, it’s not a perfect match, but it will discourage any questions.”

Oooh.That pesky heat made a reappearance, but mercifully, Simon either didn’t notice or had the decency not to comment. She suspected the former, for surely, given the opportunity to chide her, he would leap upon it like a lion on its prey.

“So a tiny splash of wine is to indicate my deflowering?”

He frowned again at the splotch on the bed linens. “Yes.”

“And how many women have you deflowered?” she asked, not certain she really wanted to know.

He met her gaze. “Doesn’t it look realistic enough?”

“How would I know?”

“Right.” He rubbed a hand across the back of his cravat-less neck. “I don’t suppose you have a razor?”

“Whatever fo—” She recoiled. “To cut me?”

Eyes widened, he stared. “Of course not. Myself.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

He blinked. “I promise you; I didn’t mean to cut you.”

“Not that. About the women? How many have you deflowered?

Simon’s face contorted, the rakish grin typically spreading across his face—gone. He appeared, in a word, pained. “Only one. It was a long time ago. I don’t want to discuss it. It’s not important.”

Oh, but from his reaction, it clearly was.

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