Chapter Three
Sebastian was becoming a problem.
Or perhaps she was the problem. She should be thinking of him as His Grace, the Duke of Westbridge, and not as if she had the right to use his Christian name.
But there was something about caring for a person as they faced death that created an intimacy that was difficult to put off once the crisis was over. She felt she knew him.
Judging by his behaviour, he felt a similar bond with her.
He had apologized for tricking her into opening the book in his night table.
But there was something in the way he looked at her, the smile full of mischief and the twinkle in his eyes, that made her think his contrition would not last very long.
For example, she was sure he was quite capable of managing his meals, save for some difficulty cutting his meat. But he was still allowing her to feed him, staring at her with puppy-like devotion and taking bites meekly from the fork she offered.
Worse yet, she was allowing him to get away with it and enjoying the looks he gave her.
He made her feel special, more friend than nurse.
But there was an innate sensuality in the way his mouth closed over the spoon, then opened so his tongue could lick the bowl.
It hinted at something she’d never experienced before that was deeper than friendship.
At the end of the day, when she retired to the cot in the dressing room, she did so with an unfamiliar regret. It had come to feel so natural being with him that it was hard to go even this short distance away.
The bed he lay in was wide. There was ample room for two. The pillows were soft, the sheets cool and white. She could lie by his side, close but separate. And if, by accident or intent, their bodies touched…
‘Cassie?’
She blinked in surprise as the fantasy dissolved. He was staring at her, probably hungry. The maid had just brought up his tray and she was woolgathering as the food grew cold. She smiled in apology and began slicing the beef into small bites and peeling and sectioning the orange.
And why was she doing it? The cook could do as much in the kitchen, if she asked.
His valet could change the bandage if it was needed.
The house was filled with servants to attend to any need.
It was time for her to admit that the danger had passed and he no longer needed her nursing.
Perhaps, after luncheon, she would pack her bag and take her leave.
But not just yet. She tucked a napkin beneath his chin and put a pillow behind his head so he might sit up.
He opened his mouth, dutifully and waited.
She popped a slice of orange into it.
He chewed and swallowed, watching her. Then, he licked his lips.
Her breath caught in her throat. It was as if she could feel teeth and tongue against her skin, tasting her. She swallowed as well, trying to chase the feeling away. ‘You are strong enough to feed yourself today, I think.’
‘Do you?’ he said and held out his good hand for the fork.
He was staring at her again and she was unable to look away. When she tried to pass him the utensil it dropped uselessly into the bedclothes.
He grabbed her hand, his fingers gently twining with hers. Then, slowly, he pulled it forward until his lips touched the pulse point on her wrist. His tongue darted out again, tracing designs on her skin, and he nipped her, just as she’d imagined.
She was holding her breath again. She let it out in a slow sigh but made no effort to pull away. Her heart was racing. He must be able to feel the pulse against his lips. The knowledge made it beat even faster.
Now he was drawing her hand down, sliding it beneath the napkin to rest against the bare skin of his chest. It was her turn to feel his heartbeat, his blood coursing at her touch. He took his own hand away and reached out, cupping the back of her neck, drawing her head down until their lips met.
She had always assumed her first kiss would be a chaste peck from a boy nearly as innocent as she was.
She had not been ready for this: open-mouthed, passionate, possessive and oh, so delicious.
He tasted like oranges and sin and as his tongue moved against hers, she thought of the words he had encouraged her to read: the shedding of clothing and the feel of bodies, skin to skin.
He was nearly naked already, only a sheet covering parts of him that she’d done her best to ignore while caring for him.
But Lord help her, she had looked. And she had imagined, was imagining even now.
It would be so easy to push the sheet away and stretch out on the bed, giving herself over to her earlier daydream.
She tried to gasp, shocked at the thoughts she was having, but it only seemed to deepen his kiss. Her hand, which was still trapped between them, pushed ineffectually against his chest, trying to create some space. But he held her fast, his good arm sliding from her neck to stroke her shoulders.
His good arm…
The thought was hazy. The beginnings of a plan.
She slid her hand up his body to the bandage on his shoulder and pressed down.
Now he was the one to gasp, inhaling on a curse and releasing her, his back arched and muscles spasming in pain.
She sat up just as quickly, sliding off the bed and back into the chair beside it, straightening gown and hair before she spoke. ‘I am sorry, Your Grace. I did not wish to hurt you.’
‘The devil you say,’ he muttered through clenched teeth. Then, he smiled. ‘But a kiss like that was worth the pain.’
It had been worth the risk of disgrace, as well. If anyone discovered what had happened, that moment of pleasure would be her ruin. Perhaps it was the danger involved that left her blood singing in her veins and her body eager to climb back onto the bed to see what would happen next.
She willed herself to be calm and give him no hint of how it had affected her.
It was not as if the act had surprised her.
She had known from the moment she had come here that he was a rake and not to be trusted, especially now that he was getting better.
He had tried to seduce her and would do so again if she gave him the chance.
He would have done the same with any woman foolish enough to be alone with him.
It was her response that was the problem.
She had assumed that when the assault on her virtue came, she would be strong enough to resist. But though she had bested him physically, her heart still wanted to give in.
If she let this continue, he would use and discard her, just as he had who knew how many others.
What would become of her then?
Being careful to stay out of reach, she walked around the bed and felt amongst the bedclothes to find the fork they had dropped. She placed it in his hand and set the luncheon tray in front of him so he might eat.
Then she walked towards the dressing room.
‘Where are you going?’
She turned back to look at him, her face set in the cool, confident smile she used when tending the sick. ‘I must attend to a personal matter. As I told you before, you are strong enough to feed yourself. You can manage without me for a few moments, I am sure.’
He stared back at her with an unreadable expression. ‘Do not be long.’
‘Of course, not.’ It was a small lie, but circumstances required it. She allowed herself one last look at him, burning the image into her mind to serve as both keepsake and warning. Then, she turned away, walked into the dressing room and shut the door behind her.
After listening at the door for a moment to be sure he was not following, she stuffed the few items of clothing she’d brought with her into her bag and let herself out through the door at the back of the little room which led to the adjoining suite.
From there, it was a short walk to the hall and down the stairs.
The only servant she saw was the footman at the front door, who opened it for her without question.
Once outside, she glanced back at the upper windows with a twinge of regret. She had not said a proper goodbye. But it was too late to part as friends. They were more than that, far closer than they should be, if she was honest.
And now, the situation had ended the only way it could have. She was going home. She had achieved what she’d set out to do. Julian would not be a murderer. And Westbridge, her Sebastian, would be fine without her.
She was gone.
He should never have kissed her. Her response had been willing enough, but there was no sign of experience in it.
The goal should have been to pique her curiosity.
He’d moved too fast, taken too much pleasure in the feel of her hand on his bare skin, the weight of her body stretched over his, and the sweet taste of her lips.
When she’d put a stop to it, he should have had the sense to apologize. Instead, he’d gloated. He had treated a precious moment as if it was just another conquest. He had fallen back to playing Lothario, too cowardly to reveal the glimpse of his heart that might give her a reason to forgive him.
Then, he’d watched as the heat in her gaze had changed to impersonal courtesy, as if nothing had happened.
He might tell himself that it was just a mask for her true feelings.
But there had been something final in the look she’d given him as she’d left the room, as if she was closing a door on a part of herself.
He set the lunch tray aside and swung his feet to the floor, ready to go after her. But when he tried to rise, he was overcome by vertigo. He clutched the sheets at his side, waiting for the world to stop rocking, too embarrassed to call out for help.