Page 7 of If You Were the Only Girl in the World
“I left a fire burning in the front salon, sir!” The man called up the stairs.
“We await you there, Fitz.” Nate strode down the hall, very unhappy about having to surrender the delicious Miss Schubert to anything other than his arms…or perhaps his lap. That made him snort in laughter.
She glared at him, but her censure was a ruse. On a laugh, she said, “This is not funny.”
“Right you are. Turn the handle on this door.” She did and he walked in to the carefully appointed grand salon where his Grandmother Olivia, who wasn’t really related, had decorated to host millionaires and prime ministers, German diplomats and Chinesetaipans. Nate set his burden down on the large settee and then got down on his knees to put his hands to Katrina Schubert’s sturdy black oxfords.
She withdrew her foot from his grasp. “What are you doing?”
“If we’re to heal this injury, we must remove your shoes and stockings.”
“I can.”
“I see.” He sat back on his heels, hands to his thighs. And then he got the best look at her since that night when she’d been illuminated only by moonlight. Tonight in the gaslight from the wall sconces, she glowed like a confection. Honeyed hair, caramel in fractured lights, eyes the likes of cocoa with bright green flashes, pink cheeks, fine creamy skin and those lips, full, wide and meant for tasting. Kissing. Jeepers, as his young cousins would say, she was the top.
He shook himself. “Shall I call for Mrs. Monroe to remove your shoes?”
Miss Schubert snorted. “Isn’t she the cook?”
“She is. But she’s also the maid of all work, too. And the only woman in the house at the moment. I can pull the bell and have her up here.”
“No. We won’t burden her. I bet she welcomes her bed at night. If she’s the woman who does all the work here.”
“Well, Fitz is a good housekeeper, too.” Nate tipped his head. “Can I then…remove your shoes?”
“You may.” She stuck out her left foot. “This one, please.”
CHAPTER3
No. 110 Piccadilly
London
The touch of Carbury’s hands to her feet brought as much relief as his rescue had. Katrina watched him. So careful, tender as if he were the doctor.
She laughed.
“Oh, now I say, that’s a good sign.”His dreamy hazel eyeslocked on hers. He had unlaced her shoe and his fingers rested on the skin above her throbbing ankle. “Shall I continue up to remove your hose?”
“Oh! Um. No!” She made a little circular motion with one hand. “Turn away.”
He rolled his eyes and complied, a grin on his face as he directed his glance toward the side.
“No peeking!”
He chuckled and looked straight ahead. “I’m a lonely soldier.”
“Baloney. You were never known to be a lech.”
He nodded. “Thank you. You know my reputation?”
“I do. Or did. I hope you haven’t changed.” She slid up the skirt of her walking suit over her knee and unhooked her garters.
“In many ways. Not that.”
“Good. For me, that is.” Rolling down her black cotton stockings, she noted how her body had broken out in a sweat caused by her fright. She held her wadded up stocking in one hand and with a wince, surveyed the injured ankle. It was already swelling. “I knew of you ten years ago. Every debutante’s duty, you know, to investigate all the eligible gentlemen of the Season.”
“May I look at you now?”
