The Bedding Proposal Part 13

And waited.

He was beginning to think she was going to renege when she leaned over and pressed her lips to his forehead, her touch as warm and smooth as rose petals.

"There," she murmured, easing away. "All better."

His eyelids lifted. "Hardly."

And before she could slip away, he wrapped his good arm around her and pulled her against his chest. The impact sent a new jolt of pain through his wound, but he didn't care. Her lips were just too sweet to resist.

"Leo," she warned. "Remember what I said."

He smiled. "Fancy that. You called me Leo."

Then he was kissing her, taking her mouth with a gentle, insistent pressure that made his blood heat and his body ache with a different sort of pain altogether. He waited for her to protest. But instead, softly, slowly, she began to kiss him back.

What am I doing? Thalia wondered as a hazy, languorous warmth stole through her. Why am I letting him kiss me, this man I do not want?

Yet even as the thought flickered through her mind, she knew it was a lie. For as imprudent and insane as it might be, she could not deny the attraction she felt for him.

Nor the pleasure of his touch.

Kissing him was lovely, more than lovely, better than the most decadent whipped confection or the sunniest spring day. She'd never known anything quite like it in her life-a curious realization considering that she had been married and was far from a virginal innocent.

Yet perhaps in this she still had much to learn, his touch now, as before, a quiet revelation. How easy it would be to let him go further. How simple to forget time and place, and allow herself to slide down into the bed beside him.

As if hearing her thoughts, he deepened their kiss, parting her lips to ease his tongue inside. He licked her as if she were indeed a treat, using long, luscious strokes that made her toes curl in her slippers and fire sizzle in her veins.

He threaded the fingers of his good hand into her long, loose hair to caress her scalp and the nape of her neck. She arched, unable to deny the pulse of pleasure that rushed through her with a wild beat. Down he went, fingertips moving over her throat and collarbone and shoulder, then lower to steal beneath the edges of her robe.

Finding her breast, he cupped it through her nightgown, along with the traitorous peak that nestled wantonly into the firm flesh of his palm. Smiling against her mouth, he flicked his thumb over the aching point and made her shudder. He was about to do it again-and she was about to let him-when a log popped in the fireplace.

The sound brought her back to her senses.

She jerked, abruptly breaking away.

"There," she said, hating the breathless quality to her voice, "you have your good-night kiss. Now you can sleep."

He quirked a dark golden brow but didn't stop her when she slipped out of his hold. "Thank you for the kiss. It was perfection. As are you." Reaching out, he recaptured her hand and pressed his mouth to her palm. "As for sleep, I fear it may yet elude me, but I shall try."

Thalia said nothing. Instead, she got to her feet on unsteady legs and made her way to the door. When she stood on the other side in the darkened hallway, she clutched a fist against her chest, aware of the swift, almost painful rhythm of her heart.

He'd said he might not sleep tonight.

She knew she would not either.

Chapter 12.

"You rang, milady?"

Thalia looked up from where she sat at her desk in the study. She had returned to her town house nearly a week ago, glad to be back in the familiar confines of her own home. Her tabby cat, Hera, was asleep nearby, curled up inside a wooden tray full of correspondence.

"Yes, Fletcher," she said, laying down her quill pen. "I wanted to inform you that I am expecting company this afternoon. Lor-" She paused, the name sticking suddenly in her throat. She cleared it before continuing. "Lord Leopold Byron will be paying me a call. See he is shown into the drawing room and advise me of his arrival."

The butler's white eyebrows rose high on his wrinkled forehead. As a rule, she didn't receive gentlemen callers, especially not the kind who had sent her a gift that she had been sorely tempted to keep rather than send back. But Fletcher had too many years in service to show any further reaction whatever his opinion might be.

"Shall I ask Mrs. Grove to have a tea tray standing ready?" he inquired.

She frowned. She hadn't really considered the social niceties of Lord Leopold's impending visit. Actually, since her return to Town, she'd been trying not to think of it-or him-at all, which sadly had proved impossible.

Much of the time, especially at night, thoughts of him were all that seemed to go round and round in her head-that and the impulse to scold herself for agreeing to his impossible arrangement. But of all the scenarios she had considered, whether to have the tea tray sent up had never occurred. Still, being polite never went amiss.

"Yes, have Mrs. Grove make up a tray," she said.

Maybe food would prove a useful distraction. Men loved to eat. If she filled him up with enough crumpets and tea, perhaps she could scoot him back out the door before he quite knew what had happened-one of their fourteen days together done.

Two weeks!

Guilt or no guilt, what had she been thinking when she'd agreed to his terms? He had been shot and she had apologized; that should have been enough. What she ought to have done was stand firm and say no, especially when it had come to that last kiss, which should never have happened at all. But as she reminded herself, the allotted two weeks would pa.s.s quickly and then she would be able to put him out of her life once and for all. He'd promised to leave her alone once their time together was over, and she planned to hold him to that pledge.

Now she just had to get through it.

She also had to make sure there was no further kissing or touching. She'd been weak, allowing him to take liberties. But she would not be weak again.

"Thank you, Fletcher," she said, dismissing the butler. "That will be all for now."

He withdrew quickly for a man of his advanced age. No doubt the entire household would know about Lord Leopold's impending call within the next ten minutes. But they were bound to know about him regardless once she let him set foot over the threshold.

Luckily her servants gossiped only among themselves and not outside the house. Most of them had come with her from Lord Kemp's household after the divorce and they were fiercely loyal. She had nothing to worry about on that score.

As for her reputation, it was ironic that the rumor mill would finally be right. For years her detractors had claimed that she entertained men in her house; now she really would be guilty as charged. Although it didn't seem quite fair to count one man as men. Then again, when it came to London Society, one was all it took to be painted with a brush of shame.

A pair of green eyes stared at her from atop her stack of letters. "What?" she asked the feline. "You weren't there. He didn't give me any choice."

Hera blinked, her expression oddly knowing. Then the cat lifted a paw and began to groom her fur.

"What is that supposed to be?"

Leo glanced over at his twin from where he stood in the entry hall of their town house. He accepted his greatcoat from a footman before dismissing the man. "What does it look like?" he said to his brother. "It's a sling."

Lawrence made a small show of walking around him, his gaze roving over the empty rectangle of black cloth tied with a knot at the back of Leo's neck. "Yes," Lawrence said, "but why are you wearing it? It's not as if you have need of its support."

"Of course I have need. I was shot, if you will recall."

Lawrence crossed his arms over his chest. "How could I forget? I leave you to spend a few days at Holland House and you return home amid a flurry of lurid stories about how you went out to take a swim only to return shot, half-naked and slumped over Thalia Lennox on the back of her horse. The betting at the clubs is rampant that she shot you as the result of a lovers' quarrel, then thought better of it. But, of course, I know the truth."

Leo grimaced. "Wheedled out the truth, you mean."

To his immense irritation, Lawrence was the one person on earth to whom he could not successfully lie. Not only did they look alike; they often thought alike too and knew each other's tells. His twin couldn't deceive him either, so he supposed they were even. Still, he could have done without the needling he'd endured since revealing the actual sequence of events.

"I'd have had it out of you one way or the other," Lawrence said. "Just be glad Mama and the rest of the family have no idea what really transpired."

"And they never shall, shall they?" Leo said in a menacing tone.

Lawrence chuckled, then made a twisting gesture across his lips as if turning a lock and throwing away the key. "You know I always keep your secrets."

"Only because I keep all of yours."

Lawrence shrugged with easy agreement. "So why bother with the sling when your arm is only a bit sore?" Suddenly, he held up a hand. "No, wait, I just realized. You're going to see her, aren't you?"

"What if I am?" Leo slid his arm inside the cloth so that it was secured against his chest; one sleeve of his greatcoat dangled empty.

"Playing for sympathy, hmm? Just don't slip up. She won't like it if she finds out you're trading on her guilt."

Leo smiled. "I'm already trading on her guilt. How else do you think I got her to agree to spend the next two weeks with me?"

Thalia paused in front of the closed drawing room door. She brushed a few stray cat hairs off the skirt of her eggplant merino wool gown, then smoothed quick fingers over her hair to make sure no stray wisps had come unanch.o.r.ed from their pins. Taking a deep inhalation, she opened the door and walked inside.

Lord Leopold turned from where he stood next to the window, late autumn sunlight making the gold strands in his hair shine brighter among the brown. His cheeks were dusted with healthy color and he looked a great deal steadier than he had the last time she had seen him. Of course, he'd been lying flat on his back in bed the last time she'd seen him, but she could tell that the past few days had wrought an improvement.

Her gaze went straight to the black cloth sling he wore around his injured arm. She frowned, wondering if his wound was still hurting a great deal.

"Good afternoon, Lord Leopold," she said walking farther into the room; she left the door ajar at her back. "I must say I was surprised to receive your note this morning informing me that you would be paying a call. It has only been a few days since you left Holland House. I thought surely you would remain home for a while longer, recuperating from your injury."

She took a seat, then gestured for him to do the same.

Rather than taking the chair she indicated, he sank down onto the cushions beside her on the sofa. "I probably should still be resting, but I feared that if I put off a visit much longer, it would invite you to change your mind about our arrangement."

She met his eyes, noticing the twinkle in their green-gold depths. "Believe me, the thought did cross my mind," she said. "But men are not the only ones who can be honorable. I gave you my word and I will abide by it. Why else do you imagine you are sitting here in my drawing room?"

He smiled slowly. "Why else indeed?"

A quiet tap came at the open door; then Fletcher shouldered his way inside, bearing a laden silver tea tray.

Thank heavens for Fletcher and his forethought in suggesting that Mrs. Grove prepare something for her and Lord Leopold, Thalia mused. The repast would make an excellent diversion.

"Here, let me help you," Lord Leo said to the elderly servant, rising automatically to his feet and walking forward.

"But your arm, Lord Leopold," Thalia said. "You mustn't strain your injury."

Lord Leo stopped, looking curiously nonplussed. "Ah, yes, my injury." He frowned.

"Not to worry, milord," Fletcher croaked in his thready voice. "I've been carrying tea trays for nigh on fifty years. I can manage this one just fine."

And although he was visibly slow and the china cups rattled in their saucers, the old man completed his task without spilling so much as a drop of tea or leaving a splash of cream on the tray.

"Shall I serve, milady?" the butler asked with great dignity after he'd straightened as much as his old back would allow.

"No, I shall take over from here. And please thank Mrs. Grove. This all looks most excellent."

Fletcher bowed, casting a long, appraising glance at Lord Leopold before he withdrew.

Lord Leo waited until the servant was gone before reclaiming his seat. "Should he still be working? He looks as if he ought to be pensioned out."

Thalia busied herself arranging a selection of sandwiches and sweets on a plate. "He may not be young, but Fletcher is an excellent butler and serves me admirably. If he wished to retire, I would support his decision, of course, but he is a proud man and insists on earning his keep."

She handed him the filled plate and a fork. "His sister and her family live in the countryside. They have offered to take him in, but he says he would rather be put on a spit and roasted alive than spend his last years with them."

Leo gave a brief laugh. "That makes quite an image."

"It does rather, doesn't it? Personally, I believe he stays for me."

"Oh? How so?"

Reaching for the urn, she poured the tea. "He was my butler when I was Lady Kemp. In spite of his many long years of service with his lordship's family, which go back to the late Lord Kemp's time, Fletcher did not take my ex-husband's side in the divorce. When I was asked to leave my former home, Fletcher came with me and has been in my employ ever since. He has become as dear to me as family and will always have a home here, if that is his wish. I feel the same about the rest of my staff. They are all very kind and loyal and I could not do without them."

She looked at Lord Leo for a long moment, then stared down at her cup. Why had she had told him all those things? she wondered. It wasn't like her to be so forthcoming, especially to a stranger.

Except Lord Leo wasn't a stranger, she realized, not anymore.

She scowled and drank her tea.

"I am glad you are in such good hands," he said. He bit into one of the small, crustless sandwiches she had put on his plate. "And talented ones as well," he remarked once he'd swallowed. "This is delicious. My compliments to Mrs. Grove."

Thalia smiled. "I shall tell her you approve. Just wait until you taste her shortbread. It is quite the best I have ever eaten."

Finished with his sandwich, he picked up a narrow rectangle of sugar-sprinkled pastry and bit in, his teeth white and even. "Hmm, you are right again," he told her. "My own cook is quite adept but not as good as yours, though don't tell mine that I said so. Mrs. Grove's cooking gives me even more reason to look forward to our coming weeks together."

He smiled, his eyes sparkling like gemstones.

Her heart fluttered in her chest in an annoyingly girlish way. But she wasn't a girl, she reminded herself. She was a mature woman with far too much experience to let herself be swayed by a handsome face and a winning smile.

But oh, what a smile it is.

Two weeks of this-of him-how was she going to manage?

Irritated, she bit into her own piece of shortbread and slowly chewed.