Page 52 of Once More, My Darling Rogue
“No, never a friend.”
“Who then?”
“Leave it be, Phee.”
Only she didn’t know if she could. His eyes had held more than anger at her opening the box. She’d seen torment there. She wasn’t certain how she’d recognized it, only that she had experienced it herself before—shame, humiliation, pain. She wanted to console him, but instinctively she knew that would only worsen things between them. He was a man of immense pride, a man with demons.
After handing her down, he took the lantern from a hook on the outside of the conveyance and led her off the road onto a path. As she spied the river, a shudder went through her. Taking her arm, he stopped her progress.
“There,” he said, pointing. “That’s where I found you.”
She could see the water lapping at the bank, so dark, so shadowy. It was a wonder he’d seen her at all. “How did you get me to your residence?”
“I carried you,” he said offhandedly. It wasn’t far, but still she thought it a great distance to carry someone. “Is anything familiar?”
“No.” She looked up and down the river, glanced around. Shook her head and repeated, “No.” She peered over at him. “Why were you out here walking?”
“This exercise isn’t about me.” He spun on his heel and started off so quickly that it took her a few seconds to realize he was done here. Perhaps he was done with her. She hurried after him, not able to catch up until he was already at the cab and hanging up the lantern. He held the door open for her.
“You can be quite vexing,” she said as she stepped into the conveyance and settled on the seat.
“St. James,” he called up to the driver before settling himself beside her.
This time without alarm or disquiet she accepted his body touching hers. She wouldn’t admit it to him but she found comfort in his nearness. Being so close to the river had unsettled her, formed a cold knot in the center of her stomach. Something had happened there, something she didn’t think she wanted to remember.
“Perhaps the secret to unlocking the door to my memories is through you,” she said. “If you were to share more about yourself, rather than striving to remain so mysterious, everything I know might suddenly gush forth.”
“Nice try, sweetheart.” She could hear the humor laced in his voice. She liked it. She liked when he wasn’t quite so somber and serious.
“Sweetheart is an endearment and I don’t believe I am endeared to you in any manner whatsoever.”
“Yet here I am giving you time that should go to my club.”
“Because you want me properly tending to your needs.”
Since they were crammed together, she was quite aware of his stiffening beside her, and she wondered what in her words had caused the reaction.
“What do you know of my needs?” he said, his voice low and dark.
“I know you need your clothes laundered and your bed made and your boots polished. Mrs. Beeton obviously had a dislike for idle hands. Mine shall be truly busy from dawn ’til dusk and then some.”
“You’re not to do anything that causes you to hurt yourself further. I don’t have time to be tending your wounds.”
“You’re so gruff, but I believe you’re all growl and no bite.”
“Oh, I bite, sweetheart. Ladies beg for it.”
Something dark and tempting wove through his rough voice and caused a pleasant shiver to race through her. She should let it go, and yet, curiosity, the cat, and all that. “Why would ladies want to be bitten?”
He lowered his head, as much as he was able in their cramped confines, and she inhaled the maleness that was him, all him. “Doesn’t hurt. A little nip on the lobe, the lips, the collarbone. It can be quite provocative if done right.”
“Bite me and you’ll find that I scratch.”
Chuckling darkly, he straightened. “As though I didn’t already know that.”
“Have you tried to bite me?”
“If I had you’d have remembered.”
