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The most mouth-watering scent reached her nose, and her belly rumbled. She recognized the tantalizing aroma of bacon and not much else. There was a small washstand in the room, and she spied a pail of water and her riding clothes, which he had clearly dried. Other toiletries were on a small towel: a pearl handle comb, and a matching hand-held mirror.
Smiling, she hobbled over. Pippa did her best to wash, clean her mouth, and don her clothes, feeling more like herself. She saw two crudely made crutches to the left of the bed, evidently meant to aid her in walking about the cottage.
His thoughtfulness toward her was…Pippa could not find the word, but it made her feel cherished in a manner that was far different from how her family’s protective nature did. Using the crutches, she hobbled from the room into the common area, faltering when she saw him in the kitchen.
The marquess was indeed preparing food. Her heart quickened, and a flush swept over her body from noticing the muscles of his arms, for his shirtsleeves were rolled above the elbows. He was casually dressed, only wearing a white shirt tucked into his trousers. There was no cravat, and she could see the strong muscles of his throat. He was dangerously handsome, with his thick raven-black hair appearing so delightfully disheveled.
“Have a seat on the chair,” he said without looking up. “Food will be ready in a few minutes.”
She delicately cleared her throat. “Thank you, William, and also for the crutches.”
“You are welcome.”
Pippa went over to the table and sat. William lowered the knife he was holding and prowled over to her. Silently he stooped, gently taking her foot into his hand. He unwrapped the thin linen strip as he examined her ankle. Pippa was acutely conscious of the shock of excitement that shimmered through her at the feel of his fingers against her skin.
“The swelling has reduced. How fiercely does it hurt?”
“It is much better.” Pippa tentatively wiggled her toes. With him this close she took the opportunity to absorb his features, noting that he looked tired still. “Did you not sleep well, William?”
The marquess glared up at her but said nothing. She fought back a giggle;what had she done?He then leaned forward slightly and plucked the jar that had been on the table. He unscrewed the lid, scooped up some of the cream and rubbed it across her foot, from her ankle down to her toes. A mortifying snort slipped from her, and she slapped a hand over her mouth.
The corner of his mouth hitched in a small smile “You are ticklish.”
“Terribly so.”
“This is good information to know.”
Alarm prickled at the base of her spine. “You would not ever dare,” she gasped, narrowing her eyes. “Please, my lord, let me mention that I have a veritable thirst for revenge.”
He made an odd sound in his throat but made no comment. Using a clean set of strips of linen, he carefully bandaged her foot and lowered it to the floor. He took up his supplies and set them on a small shelf in the kitchen. He washed his hands from a basin of water and went back to the food he had on the fire.
Who was this man really, and why did he care for her so thoroughly?
“The rain has reduced quite a bit, so after we break our fast, I will attempt to ride to the duke’s estate to inform them of your plight.”
A surge of unease rose within her chest. “I am certain the way is still too perilous to travel, and the rain could resume in full torrents at a moment’s notice. Look at the sky; the clouds are still dark and roiling. I think you should give it more time.”
“The duke and duchess must be petrified, thinking the worst has befallen you. We must inform them of your situation and get you a carriage back to their estate.” His words were said in a flat, matter-of-fact tone, leaving little room for compromise.
She looked up at him; he was busy putting the final touches on their breakfast, unaware of the panic rising in her from the thought of something happening to him if he were to attempt this journey. He had a valid, distressing point. Theo and the ladies from 48 Berkeley Square would be beside themselves with worrying about what befell her. And Agatha, with her wild and creative imagination, would probably be exacerbating the matter. Regardless, she could clearly see the danger in him going, and if an awful accident befall William, how would she know? How would she leave with her foot to rescue him?
Pippa lowered her regard lest he saw the worry in her expression. Peering at the chessboard, the game set out was intricate and challenging. She was painfully aware of him taking several slow, measured steps closer, but she kept her attention on the chessboard. Studying it keenly, she did not glance up until the marquess lowered a large plate before her. It was piled high with rashers of bacon, thick slices of bread slathered with strawberry jam, sliced apples, and a piece of cake.
“All of this is for me?” she inquired with relish.
“I am a quick learner. If not for a false sense of maintaining ladylike sensibilities, I am certain you would have taken a fourth bowl of stew last night.”
She grinned, popping a piece of apple into her mouth, and chewing thoughtfully. “Who do you play?”
“Myself.”
Pippa met his regard, her heart squeezing at the flash of loneliness spied in his eyes before his expression was rendered inscrutable. “Do you wish me to play with you?”
His chin lifted a bit arrogantly. “I am unbeatable. What challenge would there be for me?”
She choked on her indignation, then the gleam in his eyes informed her that he teased her. Pippa had never known such awareness of another gentleman, and she wondered if this sensation would always be with her once the marquess was close. “We shall wager on it!”
“Ladies do not wager.”
