Page 17

She did just that and extended her hands toward the flames, her features relaxing with an exhale.

Gideon glanced around, suddenly self-conscious. It had been a while since he’d entertained guests in his home.

“Would you like whisky?” He walked toward a side table lined with liquor. “It might warm you up from the inside.”

Leila shook her head. “I’d rather have some tea, if possible. I don’t drink spirits.”

He nodded and immediately called for a maid to bring tea.

When he turned back, he couldn’t help but stare at his unexpected guest.

Now standing in the glow of the fire, he could see how her wet gown clung to her curves like a second skin, revealing the graceful lines of her figure. Droplets of rain slid down her throat and disappeared beneath the neckline of her dress.

She stood tall and poised, straight as a spear, yet her outstretched hands moved with graceful, wave-like motions as she warmed them by the fire.

He swallowed hard, his pulse quickening as he fought to keep his gaze respectfully on her face, though the effort cost him considerable willpower.

The way the soaked silk molded to her body was utterly mesmerizing.

He found himself wondering what it would feel like to follow the trail of those raindrops… with his tongue.

“You’re completely soaked,” he said, his voice rough. “You’ll catch your death in those clothes.”

She glanced down at herself, as if just now realizing the extent of her drenched state.

A blush colored her cheeks as she folded her arms across her chest in a self-conscious gesture. “I’m afraid I don’t have any dry clothes with me.”

She seemed so vulnerable and completely helpless. And here he was, watching her, his thoughts less than honorable. What a cad.

“We need to get you warm,” he murmured, already crossing the room toward his dressing chamber, as if he had any clothing suitable for her there. “I’ll look for things that might… suffice, temporarily.”

He scanned the dressing room, and his gaze fell on the ornate trunk in the bottom right corner. He did, indeed, have female clothing there that might fit her… but he was not about to open that trunk and clothe a stranger in his wife’s gowns.

He shook his head and quickly shut the door. “I’ll ask Mrs. Hill to find you something once your room is prepared.”

“Thank you,” Leila said, still shivering. She continued wringing the water from her soaked clothing, pulling at the fabric that clung to her body.

She looked up at him, a question in her eyes. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring again.

She was vulnerable, undoubtedly scared, all alone in a stranger’s house—wet and

cold, with her husband nowhere close to protect her.

Gideon cleared his throat. “I should send word to your husband immediately. He’ll be worried—”

“No,” she said sharply, pausing in her ministrations. She quickly masked her reaction with a chuckle and a wave of her hand. “I mean, there’s no need. He wouldn’t notice I was gone until morning anyway. And since he is ill, I’d rather not worry him in the middle of the night.” She paused. “Besides, I’d rather not send anyone out in the rain.”

“Right.” Gideon cleared his throat. “Of course. It must be hard to navigate London alone, Lady Leila, while your husband is ill.”

“It’s just Leila,” she said softly.

“Apologies. It’s a habit.”

She smiled. “I understand. In this part of the world, you are quite fond of your titles and last names, aren’t you? But isn’t it much simpler to call someone by just one name?”

“Well, I, uh…” He paused—usually quick with a polite answer—now caught off guard by a question he’d never truly considered.

Yes, they did like their titles, didn’t they?