Page 93 of The Boxing Baroness

“He said you probably didn’t have a concussion, but that you still needed to rest.”

She scowled even harder and slapped his arm away. “I’m not a cripple. I can get up on my own.”

Sin bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling and took a step back. He couldn’t recall when he’d begun to find her rude treatment appealing rather than offensive.

“I’m going to wash my face and clean my teeth—if that is permissible?”

“Yes, by all means,” he said mildly. “The water from earlier will be cold. Do you—”

“It’s fine,” she snapped. “You don’t need to stay in my room tonight.”

Sin ignored that comment and settled into the wing chair, listening to the evocative sounds of splashing behind the screen and trying not to think of her slipping off her nightgown and wiping her body with the cool water. He forced himself not to imagine how her nipples would stiffen and—

He groaned, readjusted his erection, and took out his watch; it was almost midnight. Hell. It would be a long night.

When Marianne came from behind the screen several minutes later, she’d removed her robe and was garbed only in a whisper-thin nightgown.

Sin stood and slipped the old watch back into his pocket, his pulse pounding like a herd of horses as the light behind her illuminated her body, temporarily robbing him of the power of speech.

“I was serious, Your Grace. You needn’t stay,” she said as she climbed into her bed and pulled the heavy blankets up around her chest. “I don’t need anyone to watch over me.”

“I’m sure Cecile is already settled in my room.” Actually, he had a hunch that Cecile had joined Guy in the caravan. But he kept that information to himself.

She opened her mouth—probably to argue—but then closed it.

Sin smiled and she saw it.

“You like that, do you? Having people follow your orders?” she asked, visibly peeved.

“I’ll admit I feel a certain sense of achievement getting you to obey without argument.”

“Hmph. Well, don’t become accustomed to it.”

“Good night, Marianne,” Sin said by way of answer, snuffing the candles.

Once the room was dark, he resumed his seat in front of the fire. He stretched out his legs and closed his eyes, trying—and failing—to banish the image of her from his mind’s eye.

“You may light some candles to read,” she said. “It won’t keep me awake.”

“Thank you, but I’m fine.” His thoughts were far too turbulent to read. Or sleep. And it wasn’t Bonaparte he was thinking about, but the woman on the bed. Even battered and bruised and hostile, she fired his imagination and sent his blood rushing.

Sin dropped his head to the chairback. How had he allowed himself to become attracted to such an inappropriate female? Was there, in all of Britain, a woman less suited to him? And yet no matter how often he told himself that she was not for him, he still wanted her.

He could not, in good conscience, even offer her a carte blanche, as he’d done with Alanna. Although Marianne was better educated—and likely smarter—than Alanna, she was not of the ton. Indeed, she was vocal in her dislike and distrust of male aristocrats. And rightfully so after her humiliating entanglement with Dominic.

Over the past month he’d changed more than he’d done in the prior ten years. Perhaps that wasn’t entirely surprising given this journey he was on, but it left him unsettled and unsure, two feelings he’d not experienced since he was seventeen, when he’d been in love with a different, but equally inappropriate, woman.

He’d made the right decision all those years ago when he’d given up Jenny, but the cost of that decision had been almost unbearable at the time.

Now, as a man with fifteen years more experience, Sin knew how precious and fleeting life could be. The temptation to grab what happiness he could was nearly overwhelming.

The prospect of spending weeks with Marianne—without the annoyance of her wretched job—set off a chain reaction in his body: joy, anticipation, and even a bit of fear. Fear that he’d not be able to do the proper thing and leave her be.

For weeks now he had imposed such rigid control over his mind and body that his very muscles ached from it. He was exhausted from battling his own desires. It had been many years since he’d wanted a woman so badly. Not since Jenny—and he wasn’t even sure if what he’d felt at seventeen could compare to what he was feeling now. He’d loved Jenny, but he’d never—

“I’m not tired.”

Sin startled at the sound of her voice.