“He isn’t conscious,” his female protested.Good girl,Grayson thought, relaxing once more.
“He’ll be awake soon enough,” the man muttered.“And then I promise you there’ll be hell to pay.”
How right you are, Grayson thought grimly.
When his mind finally cleared, Grayson had the good sense to keep it to himself.He had enemies, and though he thought himself untouchable, there always was a chance that one of them had gotten reckless.Unfortunately, the dull ache in his head and his shoulder assured him that he had been hurt and badly.
It came back to him then in bits and pieces.The begrimed urchin who was not a boy.The gunshot.And then what?All he had was a hazy memory of the young pup and flashes of conversation.Had he passed out?It was hard to believe that he could go a round with Gentleman Jackson himself, yet a bullet had rendered him helpless as a babe.
He was not accustomed to feeling helpless.
And no longer would he, Grayson decided.It was time to wrest control of the situation from whoever was behind it.And he was fairly certain that someone had to be paying the pup who had attacked him, for he had ruined no one’s sister.
With the possible exception of Charlotte Trowbridge, innocent virgins held no allure for him, and he certainly had never gotten one with child.His father had lectured him early on about a man’s responsibilities, and he had sired no bastards.
Keeping his breathing low and even, Grayson listened for any sound that would indicate he had company.Vaguely he remembered the presence of a man and a woman, along with the female with the gentle touch and pleasing voice.
Nothing.Grayson heard only the call of birds outside his window.Deliberately he fluttered his lashes, while snatching a quick look at his surroundings.He was alone.
Opening his eyes, Grayson first inspected his shoulder, where he found a clean dressing covering the wound.Moving his arm experimentally, he bit back an oath.Although it hurt like hell, he was grateful that the bullet had not struck him any lower.
Glancing downward, he realized that he was naked from the waist up, and the discovery brought back memories of the girl’s light caresses.Fool.The chit probably was some street thief who would do anything for money, including shooting an unarmed man.
But he was in no grimy prison.With increasing amazement, Grayson studied the room.Spacious and open, it glowed with the morning sun shining through the open draperies.The walls were white panels with touches of gilt, and the ceiling was elaborately carved.Although few, the pieces of furniture, including the large bed in which he lay, were fine examples of Louis XIV.
With some effort, Grayson managed to ease himself to his feet.He swayed and righted himself with a swift grab at the bedpost.Blood loss, he thought, willing away the trace of dizziness.
Slowly he put one foot in front of the other until he reached the window.Keeping to the wall, he peeked out through the draperies and drew in a long, slow breath at the sight that met him.Instead of the sooty skies of London, he was met with green lawns and the unmistakable outbuildings of a country home.
Where the devil was he?
Neatly arranging the toast and jam and tea upon the tray, along with the last of the ham, Katie headed toward the stairs.It was a peace offering for their guest, as she had come to think of him.She had no idea who he really was, but she was responsible for shooting him in Wroth’s study and dragging him here, and now she was going to make her apologies.
Although Kate sincerely hoped he was the understanding sort, from the looks of him, she doubted it.But perhaps a nice breakfast would make him more amenable to explanations.
Drawing a deep breath, she started up the steps, cursing the skirts that got in her way.Out of deference to their visitor, she had forgone her usual breeches for one of her old gowns, but even at a size too small, it was cumbersome.Snatching at the material with one hand, she balanced her burden in the other as she hurried toward Hargate’s largest bedroom.
Pushing open the door with her hip, Kate peeked in, relieved to see that the man was still abed.Although she was sorry for his injury, she suspected that the mysterious stranger would be much easier to handle prone than upright.She well remembered his cool confidence in the study, and it made her wary.
Apparently, she was not wary enough, for she crossed the threshold only to be halted by a hand that clamped down hard over her mouth and an arm that snaked around her from behind.As she watched in dismay, the tray toppled to the floor, spilling its contents on the Aubusson carpet.
A sound of horror was caught in her throat when she saw the last of the ham topple from its plate.Angry now, Kate tried to get a leg around to fell her attacker, but her fiendish skirts kept her imprisoned, and then she was pulled back against a body that she knew in an instant was that of their guest.
“Wroth!”she cried against his fingers, but it came out as nothing more than a muffled gasp.No matter, for this man was not the marquess, anyway.Perhaps he was a criminal who had been intent upon burglarizing Wroth’s town house, Kate thought wildly, before her good sense denied it.
She tried to think clearly, but he leaned over her, his breath tickling her ear, and her previous fears receded in the face of a new threat.She flushed, suddenly aware of the length of him, pressed to her.
“Are you alone?”he asked, in a voice that evinced no strain whatsoever.It seemed a bullet wound did little to ruffle this man’s composure.Kate nodded quickly in answer, then eyed him in amazement as he pivoted swiftly and silently closed the door behind them.
Her relief at no longer being held to his muscular form was short-lived, for he turned her toward him, and Kate found herself confronting his bare chest, only inches from her face.She had viewed it last night, of course, but in the light of day, it took on a new vitality, its muscles rippling beneath its dusting of dark hair.Remembering the feel of that expanse, Kate sucked in a sharp breath and felt blood surge to her cheeks.
“Who’s behind this?”he asked roughly, and Kate jerked her gaze back to his face.Assured and intent, he seemed oblivious to his state of undress and her inappropriate reaction.
She swallowed hard, seeking her usual calm demeanor, but she was distracted by his closeness, his height, his heat.Despite her efforts to deny it, warmth stole through Kate’s limbs and pooled in the lower half of her body, leaving her brain devoid of reason.Unable to form an answer to his question, she simply stared up at his dark angel’s visage.
Despite his threatening stance, she felt no menace emanating from him.His eyes were not cold and bleak, but a clear gray that spoke of difficulties overcome, achievements won, and a solitary life that touched something deep within herself.
She could admire this man, Kate suspected, slightly awed by the prospect.Then her gaze slid lower to full lips, so very near and poised to speak, and she stared, fascinated.
