Page 93 of The Lyon Returns
She yawned. “Are you quite finished?”
“Yes. No. What did you mean about me not smelling badly?”
Her mouth curved in a sleepy grin. “Every romantic or horrid novel I’ve read to date with a house party has a requisite scene whereby the gentlemen stay up half the night drinking and smoking cigars. I cannot abide the smell of cigar smoke.”
He snorted, unable to hold onto his irritation thanks to her never-ending ability to say the unexpected. “No cigars for me, tonight, I’m afraid.”
“But you imbibed copious amounts of liquor?” she asked, sounding hopeful.
A reluctant huff of laughter loosed from his lips. “Again, sorry to disappoint.”
“Hmm. As to your other assertion—concerning the bed, we are two adults, embarked on a shared course. Of course we can manage ashared bed for the span of two nights.”
His loins reacted at once, his manhood stiffening to a near full erection at the thought, and he realized why he had berated her. Self-defense. “Yet, here you are,” he grumbled, half-heartedly, sweeping his hand in a wide, encompassing arc.
She rose to her feet, and tightened the sash of her wrapper. “Yes, here I am, waiting up for you.”
Blood hammered in his ears, that fast. “W-waiting up? For me?”
“Sir, you must know by now I possess an excessively curious nature. We’ve had nary a moment to talk since we arrived. I wish to know your news concerning the…” she broke off and lowered her voice to a whisper, “treason charge. Forgive me if I nodded off. It has been an excessively long day.”
He’d stammered. He’d bloody well stammered thanks to the inane hope she’d waited up in hopes of another illicit encounter. As far as he could tell, that was the last thing on her mind.
“I see.”
A small shiver coursed through her.
“You’re cold. Why didn’t you call for someone to stoke the hearth?” His hands flexed at his sides as he struggled against the need to pull her close and offer her his warmth. And, all right, feel her against him.
She gave a one-shoulder shrug. “I somehow got the impression you prefer a colder atmosphere in which to sleep.”
He stared at her a long moment, bewildered, unwillingly moved. The damned woman. How did she do that? How did she see so much?
“Was I wrong?” she asked, sounding uncertain. “We can call for—”
“No,” he said gruffly. Desire ate him alive—to take her in his arms, carry her to the big bed, lie her down, and feast on her sweet lips, for starters. Had he ever craved any woman like this?
He turned away from her and started for the basin. “Lie down, and I’ll tell you everything while I prepare myself for bed.”
After a brief hesitation, she started for the four-post bed.
He moved with sure steps to the wardrobe, withdrawing his robe, then headed for the basin, where he paused. “I intend to strip, in case you wish to avert your eyes.”
He heard the bedsheets rustle, not daring to glance over at her.
“Thank you,” she said, the muted sound of her voice telling him she faced away from him.
Even knowing that, his flesh felt feverish and over-sensitive as he removed his clothing and set about washing. The water in the pitcher had grown quite cold, he realized. Good. Mayhap it would help cool his ardor.
“Well, sir?” she prodded. “Tell me your news.”
“The duke decided not to wait on the Home Office to make its decision. Hence the presence of Sir Phillip, the Solicitor General.”
“I thought as much,” she said.
He smiled to himself.Of course.He enjoyed the quick working of her mind. “Sir Phillip procured the file, and the testimony,” he told her as he dried.
Minutes later, finished with his ablutions, Gideon slipped into his silk robe and tied the sash, uncertain what to do with himself now. He supposed, head for the bed.
