“There is no village. No tavern.” He spread his arms wide. “This is the only dwelling on this small stretch of rock, so until the storm passes, madam, I am afraid you are quite trapped here.”
He didn’t saywith me, but then he didn’t have to. She blinked three times, studying him intently, striving to determine if he was having a laugh at her expense or outright lying in an attempt to keep her within easy reach. He wouldn’t be the first man to do so, although he had been the first to indicate he had no interest in her whatsoever. The cur. It had come as a blow to her pride. Utter nonsense. The man obviously had questionable taste when it came to women. Or perhaps he objected to fallen women being out in public instead of hidden away.
Obviously, someone had removed her clothing, which was presently draped over a short screen and drying near the fire. As no woman was in the room, serving as chaperone and seeing to her needs, she did hope it hadn’t been him, hating that a tiny part of her was hoping that it had been him. Teach himto reject her, would she? God, pride was an awful thing, responsible for her current predicament. However, if he had done the honors of stripping her bare and meant her ill, he probably wouldn’t have taken such care with her camisole and drawers.
He must have noted where she was looking because he asked, “You always travel in the sky in only your underclothes?”
She was so tempted to reply in the affirmative, to fuel whatever fantasies he might harbor about women in balloons, but she didn’t want to add to his less than favorable opinion of her. “When I realized I was in a spot of bother, I began shedding what I could because I knew if I did indeed land in the water, the weight of the drenched clothing would drag me under. I don’t suppose you noticed if anything made it to shore.”
“My attention was on you.” He didn’t seem comfortable admitting that, as if he found fault with himself for focusing on her.
“Don’t fret. I shan’t send word to theIllustrated London Newsannouncing your devotion to me.”
He grimaced, after which his eyes narrowed, and she wondered if he was considering tossing her back out into the storm. She didn’t know why she was striving to taunt him.
While they’d had few interactions, she knew his reputation. Thetonviewed him as trustworthy and, according to gossips rags, mamas were always shoving their daughters in front of him. Debutantes no doubt swooned if he gave them so much as a passing glance. Not that she blamed them. He was truly too deuced gorgeous.
Especially as he stood there in a shirt he had yet to button or tuck. Such a lovely and wide V of smooth skin was visible. Around his neck he wore a pewter chain. Attached to it and dangling a few inches below his throat was a pewter disk she couldn’t quite make out. She’d never seen a man wearing a necklace. Somehow it made him look all the more masculine, made her want to get up, cross over to him, and slide her fingers between the pewter and his skin. She was convinced both would be equally warm.
Needing a distraction from those disturbing thoughts, she glanced about at her surroundings. Nearby was an incredibly large bed that had to have been custom-made. A wardrobe across from it. A cupboard. A washbowl on a stand. A small square mirror hanging above it. The settee upon which she reclined. Beside it, a narrow table that sported several remnants from glasses, the contents of which had, on multiple occasions, spilled over and dried into messy rings. Something a servant wouldn’t be allowed to let stand, which left her with suspicions regarding his staff. That perhaps it was minimal at best, nonexistent at worst. Scattered throughout the room, hither and yon, were stacks of books, many of them appearing ready to topple over at any minute. She cleared her throat. “Am I to assume then that this is the guest bedchamber?”
“The only bedchamber.”
His, then. Where he slept. In that massive bed. Which she’d suspected, considering she’d watched him draw on his trousers and shirt.
“And staff?”
“You’re looking at him.”
She nearly laughed. No respectable lord would refer to himself as staff. Perhaps he was more disreputable than she—or the gossips—had been led to believe. “No spare servants’ quarters languishing about in case they might be needed?” He leveled a stare at her. She nodded, with the understanding that her options for escaping him were becoming quite limited. “Am I to assume, then, that you had no assistance in getting me out of my clothing?”
In spite of the distance separating them, she could have sworn he was blushing. “You were like ice, trembling. I dared not leave you in it. Are you still cold?”
She couldn’t quite stop quaking, tiny little tremors, but irritating all the same. Perhaps the frigid sea had worked its way into her very core, and she’d never know warmth again. She drew the blanket more closely around her. “The fire’s helping. Pity you don’t have servants. I think a bath would do me wonders.”
“Then a bath you shall have.” Abruptly, he headed for the door.
“Wait! What? No.”
He stopped and turned back toward her.
She shook her head. “I’ve inconvenienced you enough already.”
“I’ll be more inconvenienced if you die.”
She batted her eyelashes at him. “The gossips whisper you’re a silver-tongued devil, able to charm even the most cantankerous of women. I’m teetering on the edge of swooning at your concern for my health.”
One corner of his mouth eased up and the motion did strange things to her stomach, caused it to tighten and tumble. The same way it had felt just before her balloon began hurtling toward the sea. It would be best not to tease him, not to give any aspect of her person a reason to be more aware of him.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned against the doorjamb. “I once saw two young girls fanning you while you were spread over a chaise longue.”
It had been at a scandalous soiree attended by men and their paramours. The theme had been ancient Greece. For the two hours the young women had been with her, she’d paid them more than most servants earned in a month. She lifted a shoulder. “I enjoy being spoiled. Rather deserve it, I think.”
“Yet, you don’t want me warming water?”
“I don’t want you deciding I’m too much of a bother and tossing me back out into the storm.”
“It would just toss you back, and I’d once more have to deal with a drenched female.”
