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“Once the rain has stopped and the roads are not mud logged, I will return you to the duchess.”
She met his stare, and in his gaze, she saw the knowledge that echoed inside her. Pippa would have been alone with the marquess for at least a night. The world would see her as irrevocably ruined or compromised.
“The duchess will not force you to make an offer,” she assured him, hating that foolish ache determined to make itself known.
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. “There is no creature or person on earth that can force me to go against my own convictions.”
His words were implacable, and she knew this was not a man that could be pressured against his wishes. The force of his will was palpable. Pippa was suddenly glad she had relinquished the idea of courting him, even if he was so very appealing to her senses.
“I meant she would not try to urge you to do so or anyone there once I ask for their discretion in this matter. We are all friends who believe in…forging our own destinies. They would not force me into an unhappy union merely because of a storm. We all know it is insufferable to live at the whims of others.”
He made no reply, only padded over and gently lifted her foot from the pail. It was only then she noted the pain had eased, only a dull throb lingering. Using a small, worn-looking towel, he tenderly dried her foot. Her entire body vibrated with the awareness of him, and she breathed slowly, hoping to calm the sudden racing of her heart. Was he also affected by her nearness? Pippa peered at his bent head, wishing he was not so hard to read and understand. Satisfied her foot was dry, he dipped his fingers into the jar and removed that peppermint-scented cream.
“Your miracle cream,” she murmured. “It was wonderful for my hand.”
“It is my grandfather’s concoction. It has never failed us.”
“He made it himself?”
William rubbed the last of the cream on her foot and stood. “Yes. He was a physician.”
Astonishment seared through her. “A physician?”
He gave her a cool, quizzical smile. “Yes.”
“Would you permit me to ask his story?”
The marquess’s gaze hooded. “I have never told it to another.”
“I understand if you do not wish to now. I never meant to pry.” Her stomach made a mortifying rumble.
He watched her, tilting his head. “Are you hungry?”
“I…I am.”
William walked over to the counter and, to her amazement, stooped and withdrew pots and pans. The earthen stove was lit, and he placed a pot on the surface and then set about chopping onions and leeks.
Confusion yielded to amazement. “Youcook?”Pippa couldn’t help her own incredulous laughter from slipping out.
A smile tugged at his mouth. “It seems you might learn all my secrets before the storm is over, Lady Pippa.”
She felt an absurd rush of pleasure. “I daresay I would not mind knowing them, but you can be assured I would never repeat what you tell me.”
After a long, silent moment, he said, “My grandfather was a local physician. He was married to my grandmother happily and had three children, living in this cottage when he learned he had inherited the marquessate. He never gave up this home, though he inherited such wealth and vast estates from a distant cousin. I was a lad when my grandfather brought me here. He showed me what it is like to live a simple life, to value and appreciate it. I have come here often over the years whenever I wish to escape the tedium or hassle of town life or my estate. I was on my way here when I saw you riding.”
It was quite baffling, but suddenly the marquess no longer seemed cold and aloof. Pippa looked around, seeing the cottage through this fresh detail. Suddenly she saw a family at the center by the fire, laughing and filled with love. “It is a beautiful cottage,” she said with a smile. “Is it your grandfather’s knowledge how you know how to treat my ankle?”
William smiled, and its masculine beauty sent a low tremor in her belly.
“Yes. My grandfather also taught me to forage for myself. He taught me how to hunt and, to my mother’s distress, how to cook.”
Pippa felt quite delighted with the marquess at the moment. While the storm continued to rage on outside, it was warm and comfy in his little cottage. Another crack of lightning was followed by a deep rumble of thunder as the storm was very close to the cottage. The rain thundering down on the roof and gardens sounded more like pebbles than drops of rain. And a wind was building up and screaming eerily as it shook the trees and bushes around the house. The house did not shake, but the windows rattled, and she was happy that she was not alone in the cottage in the storm.
As she observed the marquess cooking with such easy grace and skill, Pippa discerned he was not a man given to verbosity. She did not mind, somehow enjoying simply watching him. After setting the pot on the stove with water and the potatoes and carrots he’d chopped, he went into a small room beside the bedroom. She tried to crane her neck to see what was in that space, but he closed the door before she could see anything.
When he returned only a few moments later, he had two cushions in his grip and thin strips of linen. William stooped before her and gently bandaged her foot.
“Thank you,” Pippa murmured, his tender care filling her belly with that peculiar warmth.
