Page 10 of When a Duke Loves a Woman
But as her gaze drifted over to those lush, full lips, she couldn’t help but feel a yearning in the center of her chest for all the things she’d not experienced: sweet words whispered in the dark, a heated mouth doing deliciously wicked things, a gaze smoldering with pleasure at the sight of her. A ridiculous thought as she’d never intentionally bared herself to a man and had no idea if what she possessed beneath her clothing would be pleasing to a bloke. She took great pains to give no hint at all regarding her true shape. No sense in giving the gents who visited her tavern any ideas or temptation. Or to discover she appealed not in the least.
She was still indulging in the luxury of combing her fingers through his hair when the brisk knock at the door had her jerking her gaze to the window, where the first rays of morning sunlight filtered into the room through a part in the yellow curtains. When had daylight arrived and how long had she been sitting there lost in her musings about this man?
Careful not to wake him, she gently twisted her hand free of his hold and hurried to the entrance, as the knock again echoed through her lodgings. With care, she opened the door only slightly and peered out. A small woman, slender and petite, one who more closely resembled the size of a normal female, smiled brightly with perfect teeth and sparkling blue eyes. “Hello. I’m Alice Turner. Dr. Graves sent me, said you were in want of a nurse.”
“No.”
The smile dwindled. Alice Turner blinked. “I thought there was a man here in need of looking after. Knife wounds and such.”
“He got better and left of his own accord.”
That smile again, blindingly bright. Too bright. “Oh. Well. That’s good news I suppose.”
“I’m sorry you came all the way out here for no good reason. Hold on. I’ll get a few quid for you.”
“That’s not necess—”
Closing the door in the woman’s face, she rushed over to the kitchen area and reached into a crock on a high shelf where she kept her emergency funds. After counting out five quid, she made a hasty return, opened the door, grabbed Alice Turner’s hand, and shoved the money into it, closing her fingers securely around it. “Have a good day.”
She didn’t wait for a response before once again leaving the nurse on the other side of the threshold. With a sigh, she leaned against the oak that barred her from the rest of the world. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why she’d just spouted lies to a stranger. Deception was one of the things she didn’t tolerate in herself or others, but she’d done it to protect him. Hadn’t he stated he didn’t want anyone to know he was here? Perhaps he was in trouble, had come to this portion of London to hide out. He wouldn’t be the first.
Or perhaps the truth was that she’d done it simply because she hadn’t wanted another woman seeing to the needs of the man in her bed.
Chapter 4
“I need you to manage things for the full day and night, until closing.”
Jolly Roger—no one believed that was his real name, but in this area of London one changed names as easily and sometimes as often as one changed stockings—narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips as though he couldn’t believe the words she’d just announced, words that had seemed foreign rolling off her tongue as she stood by the polished counter near the back of the public taproom of her tavern. Never before had she missed an entire day of work or put him in complete charge. Not that she didn’t trust him to do the job—she did. Occasionally she took some time to herself in the afternoon, and he’d handled matters while she was away, but her absence never lasted longer than a couple of hours because she’d never had anything better to do or anything she cared about more than her tavern.
Seeing to the needs of the man upstairs wasn’t going to be more to her liking than managing her tavern, but she felt an obligation to ensure he survived and had decided she was the best one to guarantee his survival—especially after she’d been daft enough, due to lack of sleep no doubt, to send the tiny nurse on her merry way.
“Are you not well?” he asked in a voice as robust as he was, with his barrel chest and stocky legs that served him well when he hauled casks up from the cellar. His red hair and bushy beard softened the hardness of him.
“I’m a bit under the weather.” She hated lying but couldn’t tell him the truth. While she trusted him implicitly with her tavern, she didn’t trust him not to give his opinion on the wisdom of having a man—even if he was too weak to cause any harm—in her lodgings.
“That’s not like you.”
“We all have a bad day now and then.”
He nodded. “Women and their monthly ills.” And walked away to begin lifting chairs down from the tables where they placed them each night at closing to make it easier to sweep and mop up.
“It has nothing at all—” She cut off her tirade, not liking one bit what he was thinking, that she was having her courses and succumbing to the pain of the monthly hell. Damn Eve and her bite into the apple that had cursed women for all eternity. But she wasn’t going to argue with Jolly Roger or set him straight, because that would only lead to more questions she wouldn’t answer and word would reach her brothers—and then the man who didn’t want to marry her would find he didn’t have a choice.
She strode through the kitchen and the door that opened onto the alleyway and very nearly tripped over Robin, who was setting out a saucer of milk on the stoop. In charge of keeping the stray cats in the area happy so they kept the rats unhappy, he twisted his kneeling body around to squint up at her. “Did ’e die, Gillie?” he asked conspiratorially, as though that had been the sought-after outcome.
“He,” she repeated.
He rolled his eyes at the correction. “Didhedie?”
“No.” Bending down until her gaze met his, she reiterated, “Remember, you’re to tell no one about him.”
He shook his head forcefully. “I like ’aving—having—secrets.”
“This one you keep forever.”
“Right-o.”
Satisfied by his response, she stalked up the outer stairs, irrationally irritated because she was changing her routine for a stranger. She shouldn’t have turned the nurse away but would look like a cabbage head now if she sent word to Graves to send Alice Turner back. Shoving open her door, she strode over the threshold and was in the process of slamming the sturdy wood shut when she stopped, considered. He hadn’t asked for her help, had done nothing to deserve her wrath. By the morrow, he should be well enough to leave. She’d borrow her brother Mick’s fancy well-sprung coach, as it would provide a comfortable ride without much bouncing around, smooth enough that it could rock a newborn babe to sleep. So the gent required only a few more hours of her time, and then he’d be on his way and her life would return to normal.
