Page 8 of When a Duke Loves a Woman
She watched as emotions rolled over his face like storm clouds chasing the sun, so quickly she might have missed them if she hadn’t been scrutinizing him so closely. Initially, he’d appeared to have a spark of yearning, which was ridiculous because there was nothing about her for which a man as magnificent as he would yearn—well, maybe her ability to grant him a speedy recovery. Then there had been a flash of anger, followed rapidly by what seemed to be mortification. He’d averted his gaze as though embarrassed. On the other hand, he was lying in a stranger’s bed without a stitch of clothing. He had to be feeling rather helpless and vulnerable.
“Here we go,” she said as flatly as she could, having no desire to bruise his pride any further. There were far more men than women in her world, and she’d replaced enough glassware to know what idiots those of the male gender could be when their vanity was at stake—as though throwing a glass or a punch at an offender would suddenly proclaim the tosser as courageous and strong. Carrying the spoon to his mouth, she wondered why he had to possess such gorgeous lips that made her imagine the wicked things he might do with them. Her stomach tightened as he sipped the broth, then licked his lips and closed his eyes as though he’d never tasted anything so sublime.
“How long?” he rasped.
“Pardon?”
“How long have I been here?”
“A few hours. Sun’ll be rising soon.” She’d indulged herself and taken a good deal of time and great care while removing the blood and dirt from his person. She scooped up more broth, tested its temperature—
“Stop doing that,” he commanded with a forcefulness she’d have not expected in his weakened state.
Startled, and a bit angered by his tone, she said succinctly, “I don’t want you to burn your mouth.”
“I’ll take the risk.”
She fought not to be offended, lost the battle. “My mouth is clean.”
“I need to get out of here,” he grumbled, made a move to get up, groaned, dropped back down.
“Did I not remark on Dr. Graves saying you can’t leave for a spell? Not to mention he cut off your clothes. I’ll have to mend them before they’re serviceable. I’m not any happier about this than you are.”
“Your husband will be even less so.”
“I have no husband.”
He narrowed his eyes. “With whom do you live?”
“No one.”
“You’re a woman living alone?”
“Don’t get any naughty ideas. I could lay you flat if I had to.” She set the bowl back on the tray. “You should probably try to get more rest. The sooner you regain your strength, the sooner you’re out of here.”
“Who knows I’m here?”
What the devil difference did it make? “Me, Graves, Robin.”
“Who’s Robin?”
“The lad I sent to fetch Graves. I’m really not enjoying this inquisi—”
“No one can know I’m here.”
Again, another spark of anger. “Worried about your reputation?”
“Worried about yours.”
Taken aback by his words, she felt her anger dissipate. She owned a tavern. Her reputation had long ago gone to hell. “My reputation is hardly your concern, and it’s not likely to take a beating.”
“You’re a spinster with a man in your bed. I won’t be able to marry you.”
“I bloody well wouldn’t want you to, you arrogant arse.” Coming up off the bed, she picked up the tray. “Get some sleep before I decide to ignore Graves’s warnings that you could bleed to death and kick you out into the street.”
Storming from the room, she couldn’t help but think that men were the most irritating creatures God had created.
Good Lord! He’d never had a woman yell at him. He found it rather invigorating. If he weren’t in so much pain and so embarrassingly weak, he might have reached out, grabbed her, and brought her down to the bed so he could taste that tart mouth of hers. But hewasweak and in pain and so bloody tired.
