been. If he’d eaten the soup, if she’d faced the women alone…
He was sleeping on his back, one arm curled over his head, a tapestry covering him from the waist down. Above he wore only his loose shirt. The top two buttons of his placket were open, exposing his neck and a bit of chest. The morning light was still misty, but in a way that made him even more beautiful, more classical. A sleeping Adonis.
She eyed that inch of chest. Four buttons were still fastened. Tit for tat. Smiling, she stealthily undid one, then the next. He didn’t stir, so soon all six were open and she could widen the cloth to expose more smoothly muscled chest. He was a lot stronger than he looked. When she saw inflamed scratches, however, she winced and her finger hovered, wanting to soothe.
They were justly deserved—the stupid, lust-crazed rake—but she sighed to have damaged perfection.
He was a lust-crazed rake, however. She remembered how he’d reacted to her trying to wake him. But then, he probably had women crawling into his bed all the time, pursuing him for his beauty and charm. Was it his fault if he obliged? What young man could resist such temptation?
Petra drew back her hand sharply. The point of temptation was that it was hard to resist, but good people did, and she absolutely must. In fact, she must leave this sinful nest.
Where were her sandals? She remembered crawling into the coach, but nothing after that. She went on her stomach to peer over the end of the makeshift bed and came eye to eye with a peevish-looking dog. Did dogs get headaches?
“Yip?” Coquette said, rather pitifully.
Petra gathered up the dog, struck again by how small and fragile she was beneath her luxuriant coat.
“There, there, little one, it’s all right now. The bad people are tied up and we’ll soon be away from here. Your master did quite well. Once I’d woken him up and fought him off, that is. He’s a wicked wretch, isn’t he?”
Coquette remained discreetly silent, but she wriggled free to first sniff at Robin, then go to the door. Of course, she needed to go out.
Petra saw her sandals on the floor and how muddy they were. She picked them up, intending to carry them outside. However, Robin was blocking her way to the door she’d used to enter, and the other door was so close to the wall that it would be a tight squeeze.
She reached over and opened the door for Coquette, wondering if the tiny dog could manage the steps. She did. Petra frowned at the man in her way, but couldn’t help noticing the fine line of his jaw and the promise of his parted lips. If she were his wife, waking beside him, she could lean down…
She twitched herself straight.
Veil. Where was her veil? She’d felt nothing like this since putting on a nun’s habit, and the last time she had felt like this, it had led to disaster.
She found the veil over her belt, horribly creased. She flapped it out, folded it, and pinned it on, feeling to be sure it was straight.
“There’s a stray tendril on your forehead.”
Petra froze, then glared down at his smiling, lazy eyes.
“You! How dare you take off my cap? It’s sacrilege.”
“It is no kind of sacrilege to reveal such beauty, Petra.”
“And to sleep with me. You slept with me.”
“It’s the only bed around.”
Petra opened and shut her mouth a few times.
“It’s scandalous.”
“We spent hours together in this carriage yesterday,” he pointed out.
“It was a seat then. It’s a bed now.”
“It’s merely a carriage somewhat overstocked with boxes and packages.”
“It’s a bed. We shared a bed. What if anyone should hear about this?”
“Who, Petronilla mia ?”
“Anyone. Your men will talk—”
“They won’t talk about anything I don’t want them to talk about.” The calm certainty of that silenced her, but only for a moment.
“What about the whores, then?”
“Don’t be foolish.”
She made a fist and raised it, but instantly he gripped her wrist.
“No more
He was sleeping on his back, one arm curled over his head, a tapestry covering him from the waist down. Above he wore only his loose shirt. The top two buttons of his placket were open, exposing his neck and a bit of chest. The morning light was still misty, but in a way that made him even more beautiful, more classical. A sleeping Adonis.
She eyed that inch of chest. Four buttons were still fastened. Tit for tat. Smiling, she stealthily undid one, then the next. He didn’t stir, so soon all six were open and she could widen the cloth to expose more smoothly muscled chest. He was a lot stronger than he looked. When she saw inflamed scratches, however, she winced and her finger hovered, wanting to soothe.
They were justly deserved—the stupid, lust-crazed rake—but she sighed to have damaged perfection.
He was a lust-crazed rake, however. She remembered how he’d reacted to her trying to wake him. But then, he probably had women crawling into his bed all the time, pursuing him for his beauty and charm. Was it his fault if he obliged? What young man could resist such temptation?
Petra drew back her hand sharply. The point of temptation was that it was hard to resist, but good people did, and she absolutely must. In fact, she must leave this sinful nest.
Where were her sandals? She remembered crawling into the coach, but nothing after that. She went on her stomach to peer over the end of the makeshift bed and came eye to eye with a peevish-looking dog. Did dogs get headaches?
“Yip?” Coquette said, rather pitifully.
Petra gathered up the dog, struck again by how small and fragile she was beneath her luxuriant coat.
“There, there, little one, it’s all right now. The bad people are tied up and we’ll soon be away from here. Your master did quite well. Once I’d woken him up and fought him off, that is. He’s a wicked wretch, isn’t he?”
Coquette remained discreetly silent, but she wriggled free to first sniff at Robin, then go to the door. Of course, she needed to go out.
Petra saw her sandals on the floor and how muddy they were. She picked them up, intending to carry them outside. However, Robin was blocking her way to the door she’d used to enter, and the other door was so close to the wall that it would be a tight squeeze.
She reached over and opened the door for Coquette, wondering if the tiny dog could manage the steps. She did. Petra frowned at the man in her way, but couldn’t help noticing the fine line of his jaw and the promise of his parted lips. If she were his wife, waking beside him, she could lean down…
She twitched herself straight.
Veil. Where was her veil? She’d felt nothing like this since putting on a nun’s habit, and the last time she had felt like this, it had led to disaster.
She found the veil over her belt, horribly creased. She flapped it out, folded it, and pinned it on, feeling to be sure it was straight.
“There’s a stray tendril on your forehead.”
Petra froze, then glared down at his smiling, lazy eyes.
“You! How dare you take off my cap? It’s sacrilege.”
“It is no kind of sacrilege to reveal such beauty, Petra.”
“And to sleep with me. You slept with me.”
“It’s the only bed around.”
Petra opened and shut her mouth a few times.
“It’s scandalous.”
“We spent hours together in this carriage yesterday,” he pointed out.
“It was a seat then. It’s a bed now.”
“It’s merely a carriage somewhat overstocked with boxes and packages.”
“It’s a bed. We shared a bed. What if anyone should hear about this?”
“Who, Petronilla mia ?”
“Anyone. Your men will talk—”
“They won’t talk about anything I don’t want them to talk about.” The calm certainty of that silenced her, but only for a moment.
“What about the whores, then?”
“Don’t be foolish.”
She made a fist and raised it, but instantly he gripped her wrist.
“No more
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