Love With the Perfect Scoundrel (7 page)

“I meant to straighten everything, but there wasn’t time,” she said, defeated.

“Never seen the point of it, really,” he lied, yet again. “It only becomes undone.” He flashed a grin toward her.

With a few quick movements, Michael expertly arranged the linens and placed her in the middle of the large bed, completely ignoring her pleas to stop carrying her about.

He met her annoyed gaze and glanced pointedly toward her bodice. She looked down and inhaled sharply.

“So,” he said and stopped.

“So,” she replied. “You will leave me and I will bind my…the
area
with greater care. The bandage has evidently slipped.”

“Evidently.”

“Yes.”

“Look, sweetheart, if you think for a moment that I’m not going to take a look—right now—then you’re a greater fool than I would take you for.” He put up a hand when he saw her open her mouth to disagree. “No, it’s no use. Now you can either voluntarily submit, or we can do it the other way.”

“And what way is that, Mr. Ranier?” she asked sourly. “Are you threatening me with a twitch?”

“Something like that.”

“Really?”

“Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of tying you up like a calf before we snip off its, ah—well, you get the idea.” He stopped and chuckled, unable to continue after spying the look of horror in her eyes.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she breathed.

Silence was his answer.

“Well!” She narrowed her eyes.

“Look, angel, it’s not like I haven’t seen you naked as a jaybird already.”

She sputtered and tried to rise but his hand on her shoulder stopped her.

“All right, all right. My apologies.” He wasn’t sure what it was about her, but he couldn’t stop himself from uttering completely outrageous things around her. It might have been because he enjoyed seeing a spark of fire to her otherwise cool expression. When annoyance filled her, her eyes became as vibrant as the bluebells in Virginia on a clear spring morning.

“So…” He drawled the word expectantly.

“So…what?” She asked with a measure of exasperation.

“We’re back to waiting for you to unbutton your gown,” he replied. “Would you like me to help?”

Her eyes flared with panic. “Absolutely not! Oh, for goodness sakes, allow me some degree of privacy.”

“Of course, Mrs. Sheffey.” He set about stacking wood in the grate and restarting the fire while he heard the unmistakable rustling of a woman undressing behind him.

It was ironic, he thought with a grin. In the colonies, he’d taken great care not to overly entangle himself where it concerned women. For some godforsaken reason he couldn’t figure, almost all of them, wide-eyed virgins to lazy-eyed harlots, were attracted to him like moths to a flame. The more experienced, daring ones had fluttered toward his blacksmithing furnace in the heat of the night, and he’d sometimes given pleasure and taken it in return. Never with a promise of anything more. But in the end, he’d learned it wasn’t worth the corporal relief. For invariably, they wished for a future with him and became overwrought when dreams were denied. And so he’d learned to employ every evasive trick imaginable to sidestep advances.

It was probably for that reason that Michael took such pleasure in wearing down the countess’s defenses with humor. It warmed his soul to watch this tiny, soft package of femininity wrestle with him over the notion of decorum.

He poured water into a basin on the washstand, and then turned to find her under a hill of blankets, her face turned away from him.

The floorboards creaked under his measured strides and she inched the covers higher.

He stared down at her even, refined profile resting against the pillow. A pulse fluttered frantically along the delicate column of her neck. He uncovered her as gently as possible and found her arms rigid at her sides.

“Two of the stitches have come loose.” He grasped a wet cloth and squeezed the excess water from it to dab the injury. “But at least it isn’t festering.”

Her eyes clenched shut. She was using every effort to remain silent. He glanced fully at her beautiful torso, and felt like the worst sort of peeping sinner. It was just that he’d never seen one like her—so perfectly proportioned and angelic, so ethereal and pure. She was more beautiful than he remembered from last night.

Her breast would fit in the cup of his hand, and he had an irrational desire to test the contemptible thought. “It’s no wonder this happened,” he continued on an exhalation, “what with all your efforts downstairs.”

She said not a word.

The devil on his shoulder reminded him she was a rich, pampered widow whose aristocratic husband had probably purchased and swaddled her in those long strands of pearls pooling in the hollows of her neck. The good earl had obviously followed the tradition of many peers of the realm by consecrating his wife’s body with his own and then marking his exclusive use with jewels from the vast family coffers. This was an elegant woman who expected everything in life, while Michael was a coarse rotter who was content if he could just fill his perpetually empty belly and survive. They were as alike as those lustrous pearls of hers to dross.

“I don’t think you need new stitches, provided, of course, you promise to spend tomorrow in this bed.”

“Anything,” she said tightly. All at once she turned her head and opened her eyes, which were shiny with withheld tears.

The devil in him withered away at the sight of her obvious pain and it nearly broke his heart. “Oh sweetheart…”

Her expression changed to horror. “Don’t look at me like that,” she whispered.

His gut twisted with guilt. She’d obviously witnessed his raw male response to her beauty. “Sorry.”

“You don’t appear sorry at all.” She covered her breasts with her slim hands.

“I
am
sorry, sweetheart. But all men are scoundrels. Didn’t the earl warn you?”

Her eyes flared again but this time with uncertainty. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“What are
you
talking about?”

“No,” she replied. “The person wearing the clothes should have to answer first.”

He dragged a hand through his hair. “Hold off. I should see to a new bandage.” Perhaps there would be something on the shelves. That would buy him a few moments to gather his wits.

With little thought, he ripped a frayed sheet he found into long strips. “All right then, let’s get this out of the way. Can you sit up? Here, let me help you.”

Before she could reply, he gritted his teeth and dug his arm under her tiny waist and dragged her into a sitting position. Her head fell into the crook of his arm, and she was forced to drop her hands from her breasts as he draped her lower body with a blanket. He knelt in front of her and found himself inches away from her heavenly, creamy flesh.

A little trickle of blood slipped past her ribs, and he grabbed the cloth to stop the flow.

“I can do that,” she said.

“Good.” His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears.

He anchored the bandage on her lowest rib, and continued to wind the white flannel upwards. “Raise your arms now,” he gritted out.

She inhaled, and God help him, she followed his directions. The faintest note of her heady, expensive scent reached his nose and resonated in his sensually starved mind. The lovely tips of her breasts tightened right in front of him and his groin followed suit to a painful degree.

Michael placed an extra bit of padding over the wound and continued binding the injury, inadvertently brushing one breast in his haste.

She made a sound of distress.

“Sorry,” he bit out.

The moment he tucked in the end of the cloth, she dropped her arms and wrapped one of her shawls about herself.

“Thank you,” she said with a small degree of desolation in her words.

An awkward silence filled the room as he stood and moved the basin.

“I shall leave you to your rest,” he said.

“No.”

He turned back from the doorway. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said, no.”

He returned to her bedside.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“And which one was that, sweetheart?” He had a sinking feeling.

“Why did you say all men are scoundrels?”

Hell.
“Sorry, Countess, I should’ve held my tongue.”

“As long as it wasn’t about pity, I don’t really care what you meant.”

“Pity?” He looked at her amazed. “Why would I pity you? Certainly, you’re hurt. But you’ll heal. And the snow will melt and you’ll be on your way soon enough.”

She was scrutinizing his face as if she doubted his words. “I’m something of an expert at recognizing that expression. I saw little else in London. And when you looked at me before, I read it all over your face.”

“And why is pity so very bad, sweetheart? There were some times in my life when I would have welcomed compassion.”

“Well, I
loathe
it.” Her voice hissed with tamped-down emotion.

He waited for her to continue.

“I’ve found pity is always tinged with hidden glee in the other person’s misfortunes.”

He raised a brow. “And what great misfortune have you suffered, Countess? Your husband’s death, is it? I find it hard to believe that anyone would be so cold-hearted as to take pleasure in that.”

“No, of course not. But you have quite cleverly changed the subject, Mr. Ranier. We were talking about you, not me.”

“Really?”

“Yes. If you were not looking at me with pity then what was it?”

“You know, if you cannot figure it out, Blue Eyes, I think it would be best for both of us if we just forget all about it.”

“It’s all right, Mr. Ranier. You can tell me. I already know there is something about me that deters gentlemen when it comes to the point.” She had looked away from his face. “But actually, you would do me a great favor if you could explain it fully to me. I mean, as you said, the snow will soon melt and I will take my leave of you. And I doubt I’ll have such an opportunity again for brutal honesty, and a full assessment of my flaws.”

What on earth? Her flaws?
He looked at her exquisite profile for long moments, dumbstruck. He shook his head slowly, but knew without question that this bizarre query had come from somewhere far beyond the elegant countenance she presented to the world. She had forced the words into the air, exposing a great vulnerability. But it was just plain ludicrous…“Your faults, eh?” He scratched his jaw. “Well, darling, if you’re looking for brutal honesty, the only one I can see is perhaps, just perhaps, mind you, you could learn a thing or two about cooking.”

She raised her eyes to his slowly. “Do not patronize me.” Her gaze held such pain he nearly fell back.

“What happened to you, Countess? Who put the idea in that pretty head of yours that there was the slightest thing wrong with you? If it was the earl, I’d be happy to dig up his carcass and brand an
S
on his forehead for stupidity.”

She gaped at him. “Do you know the Duke of Helston?”

That was not what he was expecting. “Who in hell is he? Blacksmiths don’t exactly rub along with nobs. Is he the blackguard who put these ideas in your head?”

“No, it’s just that the duke and his friends often like to describe inventive methods of torture.”

“Now look who’s changing the subject,” he said after a long silence.

She plucked at the twisted sheet. “Look, you don’t have to be kind. I just want your opinion. It would also help if you would give me a blunt perspective on the qualities gentlemen are most attracted to in a lady.”

“How can I give you my perspective without knowing what we’re talking about?”

She rolled her eyes. “You are worse than the Duke of Helston’s grandmother, and she’s something of an expert when it comes to evading questions.”

“If you want an honest assessment, sweetheart, then I’ll give it to you. But fair is fair. I want to know what has happened to make you come to these”—
asinine
—“uh,
interesting
conclusions.” He disengaged her small hand from the material.

She seemed to have come to some sort of decision as she took a deep breath and began to speak quickly.

“Two gentlemen cried off from marrying me in the last twelve months. Both fell in love with other ladies—both good friends of mine—actually, the best of friends. I’m very happy for them, really. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. It was for the best, I know. I’m much better off the way it is. It’s just that these gentlemen…”

“Go on,” he encouraged, while the word
idiots
took up residence in his mind.

“It’s just that they were very different from each other. One was a brilliant, powerful duke, a former commander in the Royal Navy with a fiery temper. And the other was a cool-headed diplomat…”

“And?”

“And I thought they’d be attracted to very different ladies. But they were not. Actually…”

He waited.

“Actually, I had thought I was similar to my friends. But, recently…very recently, I’ve come to realize I am very different from them.”

“The difference being?”
That you are the most beautiful, gentle, good-hearted angel on this godforsaken earth.

“I don’t want to say. I don’t want to influence your opinion. I, I want to know if you can sense it.”

“You know, I’m no good at flowery compliments. I can tell you the good points on a ewe or a mare but probably not on a woman. But that doesn’t matter. I don’t think compliments will drive out whatever it is that makes you think there’s something wrong with you, will they?”

“No.”

“All right, then I’ll tell you what I think.”

She looked at him expectantly.

“All females base their worth on their desirability to the other sex.”

She pondered the thought. “Yes, for the most part, you’re probably right.”

“But men base their worth on what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Think about it. They base it on their fortune and station in life, which is more realistic.”

“So?”

“So, perhaps you should start thinking like a man, sweetheart.”

Her face drained of all color. “Are you telling me my desirability lies solely in my fortune?”