Cold-Hearted Rake
Page 59
Seeing her uneasiness, Devon smiled and shook his head. “I’ll wait until Sutton returns.”
“No, I’m perfectly able to do it,” Kathleen insisted, pink-cheeked. “I was a married woman, after all.”
“So worldly,” Devon mocked gently, his gaze caressing.
Her lips pressed together in a determined line. Trying to appear composed, she began on the placket of buttons. The garment was made of exceptionally smooth white linen, the fabric heavy with a slight sheen. “This is a very fine nightshirt,” she remarked inanely.
“I wasn’t even aware that I owned one, until Sutton brought it out.”
Kathleen paused, perplexed. “What do you wear to sleep, if not a nightshirt?”
Devon gave her a speaking glance, one corner of his mouth quirking.
Her jaw went slack as his meaning sank in.
“Does that shock you?” he asked, a glint of laughter in his eyes.
“Certainly not. I was already aware that you’re a barbarian.” But she turned the color of a ripe pomegranate as she concentrated resolutely on the buttons. The nightshirt gaped open, revealing a brawny, lightly furred chest. She cleared her throat before asking, “Are you able to lift up?”
For answer, Devon pushed away from the pillows with a grunt of effort.
Kathleen let her shawl drop and reached beneath him, searching for the end of the cloth binding. It was tucked in at the center. “Just a moment —” She reached around him with her other arm to pull at the end of the cloth. It was longer than she’d expected, requiring several tugs to free it.
No longer able to maintain the position, Devon dropped back to the pillows with a pained sound, his weight pinning her hands. “Sorry,” he managed.
Kathleen tugged at her imprisoned arms. “Not at all… but if you wouldn’t mind…”
Recovering his breath, Devon was slow to respond as he took stock of the situation.
She was torn between amusement and outrage as she saw the glint of mischief in his eyes. “Let me up, you rogue.”
His warm hands came up to the backs of her shoulders, caressing in slow circles. “Climb into bed with me.”
“Are you mad?”
As she strained to free herself, he reached for the loose braid that hung over her shoulder and played with it idly. “You did last night,” he pointed out.
Kathleen went still, her eyes widening.
So he did remember.
“You can hardly expect me to make a habit of it,” she said breathlessly. “Besides, my maid will come looking for me soon.”
Devon moved to his side and tugged her fully onto the bed. “She won’t come in here.”
She scowled. “You’re impossible! I should let the camphor burn a few layers of skin off you.”
His brows lifted. “I would think you’d treat me at least as well as one of the horses.”
“Any one of the horses is better behaved than you,” she informed him, reaching into his nightshirt and around his back with one arm. “Even the mule behaves better.” She tugged at the end of the bandage until it came free. The mass of the poultice and bindings loosened, and she managed to pull it off and toss it to the floor.
Devon lay still beneath her ministrations, obviously pleased with himself.
Looking down at the handsome scoundrel, Kathleen was tempted to smile back at him. Instead, she gave him a reproving glance. “Dr. Weeks said you’re supposed to refrain from movements that put pressure on your ribs. No pulling or lifting anything. You have to rest.”
“I’ll rest as long as you stay with me.”
The feel of him was so clean and warm and inviting that she felt herself weakening. Carefully she eased into the crook of his arm. “Is this hurting you?”
“I’m feeling better by the minute.” He pulled the covers over them both, enclosing her in a cocoon of white sheets and soft wool blankets.
She lay against him front to front, shivering with pleasure as she felt how perfectly the hard, warm contours of his body fit against hers. “Someone will see.”
“The door’s closed.” Devon reached up to toy with the delicate curve of her ear. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”
She shook her head, even though her pulse was racing.
Devon nuzzled against her hair. “I worried that I might have hurt or frightened you yesterday, in my…” He paused, searching for a word. “… enthusiasm,” he finished dryly.
“You… you didn’t know what you were doing.”
Self-mockery thickened his voice. “I knew exactly what I was doing. I just wasn’t able to do it well.” His thumb grazed the edge of her lower lip, teasing the full shape. She caught her breath as his fingers slid across her jaw, nudging the angle upward, stroking the soft skin beneath her chin. “I meant to kiss you more like… this.”
His mouth covered hers with tantalizing pressure. So hot and slow, his lips coaxing a helpless response before she could think of withholding it. So gentle, his mouth firm and teasing, sending ticklish pangs down to parts of her body that she didn’t even have names for. The kisses went on and on, a new one starting before the last had quite ended. Beneath the covers, one of his hair-roughened legs brushed against hers. Reaching around his neck, she let her fingers sink into his silky dark hair, shaping to his skull.
His hand drifted along her spine until he had molded her hips against his. Even through the layers of flannel and linen that separated them, she felt their bodies conform intimately, softness yielding to hardness. He kissed her more aggressively, his tongue probing, searching deeper, and she moaned at the pleasure of it.
“No, I’m perfectly able to do it,” Kathleen insisted, pink-cheeked. “I was a married woman, after all.”
“So worldly,” Devon mocked gently, his gaze caressing.
Her lips pressed together in a determined line. Trying to appear composed, she began on the placket of buttons. The garment was made of exceptionally smooth white linen, the fabric heavy with a slight sheen. “This is a very fine nightshirt,” she remarked inanely.
“I wasn’t even aware that I owned one, until Sutton brought it out.”
Kathleen paused, perplexed. “What do you wear to sleep, if not a nightshirt?”
Devon gave her a speaking glance, one corner of his mouth quirking.
Her jaw went slack as his meaning sank in.
“Does that shock you?” he asked, a glint of laughter in his eyes.
“Certainly not. I was already aware that you’re a barbarian.” But she turned the color of a ripe pomegranate as she concentrated resolutely on the buttons. The nightshirt gaped open, revealing a brawny, lightly furred chest. She cleared her throat before asking, “Are you able to lift up?”
For answer, Devon pushed away from the pillows with a grunt of effort.
Kathleen let her shawl drop and reached beneath him, searching for the end of the cloth binding. It was tucked in at the center. “Just a moment —” She reached around him with her other arm to pull at the end of the cloth. It was longer than she’d expected, requiring several tugs to free it.
No longer able to maintain the position, Devon dropped back to the pillows with a pained sound, his weight pinning her hands. “Sorry,” he managed.
Kathleen tugged at her imprisoned arms. “Not at all… but if you wouldn’t mind…”
Recovering his breath, Devon was slow to respond as he took stock of the situation.
She was torn between amusement and outrage as she saw the glint of mischief in his eyes. “Let me up, you rogue.”
His warm hands came up to the backs of her shoulders, caressing in slow circles. “Climb into bed with me.”
“Are you mad?”
As she strained to free herself, he reached for the loose braid that hung over her shoulder and played with it idly. “You did last night,” he pointed out.
Kathleen went still, her eyes widening.
So he did remember.
“You can hardly expect me to make a habit of it,” she said breathlessly. “Besides, my maid will come looking for me soon.”
Devon moved to his side and tugged her fully onto the bed. “She won’t come in here.”
She scowled. “You’re impossible! I should let the camphor burn a few layers of skin off you.”
His brows lifted. “I would think you’d treat me at least as well as one of the horses.”
“Any one of the horses is better behaved than you,” she informed him, reaching into his nightshirt and around his back with one arm. “Even the mule behaves better.” She tugged at the end of the bandage until it came free. The mass of the poultice and bindings loosened, and she managed to pull it off and toss it to the floor.
Devon lay still beneath her ministrations, obviously pleased with himself.
Looking down at the handsome scoundrel, Kathleen was tempted to smile back at him. Instead, she gave him a reproving glance. “Dr. Weeks said you’re supposed to refrain from movements that put pressure on your ribs. No pulling or lifting anything. You have to rest.”
“I’ll rest as long as you stay with me.”
The feel of him was so clean and warm and inviting that she felt herself weakening. Carefully she eased into the crook of his arm. “Is this hurting you?”
“I’m feeling better by the minute.” He pulled the covers over them both, enclosing her in a cocoon of white sheets and soft wool blankets.
She lay against him front to front, shivering with pleasure as she felt how perfectly the hard, warm contours of his body fit against hers. “Someone will see.”
“The door’s closed.” Devon reached up to toy with the delicate curve of her ear. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”
She shook her head, even though her pulse was racing.
Devon nuzzled against her hair. “I worried that I might have hurt or frightened you yesterday, in my…” He paused, searching for a word. “… enthusiasm,” he finished dryly.
“You… you didn’t know what you were doing.”
Self-mockery thickened his voice. “I knew exactly what I was doing. I just wasn’t able to do it well.” His thumb grazed the edge of her lower lip, teasing the full shape. She caught her breath as his fingers slid across her jaw, nudging the angle upward, stroking the soft skin beneath her chin. “I meant to kiss you more like… this.”
His mouth covered hers with tantalizing pressure. So hot and slow, his lips coaxing a helpless response before she could think of withholding it. So gentle, his mouth firm and teasing, sending ticklish pangs down to parts of her body that she didn’t even have names for. The kisses went on and on, a new one starting before the last had quite ended. Beneath the covers, one of his hair-roughened legs brushed against hers. Reaching around his neck, she let her fingers sink into his silky dark hair, shaping to his skull.
His hand drifted along her spine until he had molded her hips against his. Even through the layers of flannel and linen that separated them, she felt their bodies conform intimately, softness yielding to hardness. He kissed her more aggressively, his tongue probing, searching deeper, and she moaned at the pleasure of it.
