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This time, there was no mistaking the petty pleasure in her words. William gave up and vented a laugh. “Do you feel vindicated?”
“Of course I do! Though it is very curious that a gentleman who is reputed to be a wicked rogue is being anything but a rogue.”
“I am only not a rogue with you.”
“How dreadfully boring,” she drawled mockingly.
Her tone pricked at his vanity and that part of him that wished to slip her beneath him and sink his cock into what he knew would be sublime tightness. He wanted to make her cry from the sweet agony of releasing over and over again. William gritted his teeth until they damn well ached. “You are reckless, Pippa,” he growled.
The slippery chit twisted in the cage of his arms to face him. Her eyes were gleaming with delight and temptation. “Why is behavior that is acceptable for you reckless for me?” She reached out and lightly touched his chin before lowering her hand. “What men have done…”
“Hmm, ladies can most certainly do?”
“Perhaps I am a bit of aroguess.”
Her teeth flashed with her silent laughter.
“You like teasing me.”
“I admit it is a naughty pleasure. There are times you are entirely too serious. Old age, I suppose.”
“Go to sleep,” he said with an irritable grunt.
“As if I can do so because you command it. I am not the obedient sort, you know.”
He bloody well knew it. William craved her with a remarkable yet disquieting urgency but ruthlessly tempered himself. He leaned forward, and her breath hitched, but what he did was press a kiss on her forehead. William could not say why he did it, but they both stilled at that chaste contact. Her lashes fluttered closed, and a rosy blush crested over her face. When she opened her eyes, he could not decipher the tender look inside them. But something within him responded, and he swore she could feel and hear his increasing heartbeat.
She turned back to her side and snuggled down to sleep. A peculiar emotion clutched his chest as he listened to her soft prayer, hoping that the duchess or her friends did not worry about her absence. He choked on the bit that said she hoped she did not annoy him with her presence but that he would be wretched with temptation.
Silent laughter shook his shoulders, but he was careful to not make a sound lest he interrupted her prayers. This time when her breathing evened out, he knew Lady Pippa slept soundly, clearly tired from the agitation of the day. William closed his eyes and tried to sleep. As he edged closer to the dark call of slumber, he was jolted awake by Pippa’s leg with her hurt ankle being slung over his hip, and then somehow she lodged one of her elbows right below his throat.
Not wanting to jostle her foot and suspecting she placed it on him because it pained her, he left that appendage alone. William carefully removed her elbow and inched away from her. Finally, he fell asleep to come awake with half of her top body on his face. A sound of disbelief wrenched from him, and he found himself glaring at her swaddled chest. What was even more unbelievable was that she slept soundly still.
Bloody hell. It was going to be a long night indeed.
CHAPTERTEN
The following morning, Pippa woke in the small but well-padded bed alone. A quick peek through the single window showed that the sky remained quite ominously blackened. The trees swayed under the winds, but the rain had lessened to a mild drizzle. There was no sight of the marquess in the bed, and she blushed, recalling waking atop the man earlier that morning. She had met his gimlet stare and had hurriedly scooted over, her knee somehow knocking into his man’s part.
Pippa winced, recalling the grunt of pain from the marquess before he vaulted from the bed and marched from the room. A mortified giggle escaped her, and she gingerly pushed from the bed, careful of her ankle.
The most mouth-watering scent reached her nose, and her belly rumbled. She recognized the tantalizing aroma of bacon and not much else. There was a small washstand in the room, and she spied a pail of water and her riding clothes, which he had clearly dried. Other toiletries were on a small towel: a pearl handle comb, and a matching hand-held mirror.
Smiling, she hobbled over. Pippa did her best to wash, clean her mouth, and don her clothes, feeling more like herself. She saw two crudely made crutches to the left of the bed, evidently meant to aid her in walking about the cottage.
His thoughtfulness toward her was…Pippa could not find the word, but it made her feel cherished in a manner that was far different from how her family’s protective nature did. Using the crutches, she hobbled from the room into the common area, faltering when she saw him in the kitchen.
The marquess was indeed preparing food. Her heart quickened, and a flush swept over her body from noticing the muscles of his arms, for his shirtsleeves were rolled above the elbows. He was casually dressed, only wearing a white shirt tucked into his trousers. There was no cravat, and she could see the strong muscles of his throat. He was dangerously handsome, with his thick raven-black hair appearing so delightfully disheveled.
“Have a seat on the chair,” he said without looking up. “Food will be ready in a few minutes.”
She delicately cleared her throat. “Thank you, William, and also for the crutches.”
“You are welcome.”
Pippa went over to the table and sat. William lowered the knife he was holding and prowled over to her. Silently he stooped, gently taking her foot into his hand. He unwrapped the thin linen strip as he examined her ankle. Pippa was acutely conscious of the shock of excitement that shimmered through her at the feel of his fingers against her skin.
“The swelling has reduced. How fiercely does it hurt?”
