All About Seduction(103)

Then the thumps grew louder. Her breath quivered. He was returning to her. She risked peeking at him. His smalls rode low on his hips, the tie loosely looped in front. A line of dark hair ran down from his navel. Her breath hitched. The material hid little, but clearly he was no longer in a state to finish. She should have felt relief, but instead a hole gaped inside her.

He flapped a worn white handkerchief in front of her face. “I hope it doesn’t reek too badly of coins.”

Even when he was impatient with her, he was still concerned about whether a handkerchief might offend her overweening sensibilities. She held out her hand. He pressed the handkerchief in her palm, then pulled back to grip his crutch. She came undone all over again.

He seemed as if he were a thousand miles away, and she didn’t dare reach out to him again.

Her shoulders shook as she mopped at her eyes and wiped her nose. Pressing her lips together, she tried to hold back the words bubbling up and frothing out. “I didn’t know what happened to you this morning. You were gone, and I thought something horrible had befallen you. I was so worried. I thought Mr. Broadhurst found out about us. Oh God, Mr. Whitton is dead, and I think my husband is a murderer.”

Saying it out loud meant her suspicions were no long nebulous things to be dismissed to the back of her mind. She’d seen the man in the overcoat. The man Mr. Broadhurst had hired and spoken to secretively the night of Mr. Whitton’s departure. “It is all my fault Mr. Whitton was shot. And I thought you . . .”

The thought was so awful she couldn’t finish it, and now Jack would know how dangerous it was for him to be with her. Surely, he would want to get out now, while he still could.

If she could only be with Jack. Run away with him and live with him. Except, she’d make him a horrible companion. She couldn’t cook. She had no idea how to clean a house, wash clothes, or grow vegetables in a garden. What she could do—plan a menu, summon the correct servant, and lay out ordered flower beds—were useless skills. She couldn’t do half the things she would need to do if they didn’t have money. Assuming Jack would even want her with him.

God, why did money have to matter at all? He was the epitome of a gentle man, and wasn’t that where being a gentleman started? With a better start in life, he would have achieved a great deal. He was smart, he was ambitious and willing to learn. And because of the stupid mill, he was a cripple.

He slid her dressing gown from the bottom of the bed and tossed it over his shoulder. Tilting his head, he said, “Come with me.”

“Where?” she hiccupped. They were in a small bedchamber and he wasn’t decent.

He turned his head and sighed. “We’re going to sit in front of the fire. We won’t be in bed. We won’t be engaged in the act, I don’t have to adhere to the rules of our bargain, and I’m going to hold you.” A dark stain spread across his cheek as he stared at the solitary wing chair in front of the fireplace. “I’d carry you, but I don’t think I’m ever going to carry anyone again.”

He crutched across the carpet. Gingerly, he lowered himself, wincing as he sat. And he was worried about her pain. Her eyes dropped to his cast. The material below it was dark.

Her chest squeezing, she slid off the bed, pulling her nightgown down. “You’re bleeding, Jack.”

“It’s not fresh, and you can’t do a thing for it anyway.” The crutches clicked together as he leaned them against the wall. His face was haggard.

“You should let me look at your leg.” She should leave and let him sleep.

“Not now, Caro.” He turned toward her and patted his good thigh. “Come here.”

She bit her lip. He shouldn’t have missed the doctor today, but the reason he had sent a warm wave of affection through her. She wanted to fly to him, but forced herself to take mincing ladylike steps. “I cannot sit on you.”

He caught her arm and yanked her down so fast her breath whooshed out of her. Then he tucked his arm under her legs, pulling her onto his lap the way one would seat a small child.

Pushing against the chair arms, she lifted her weight. “I will hurt your leg.”

“I’ll make a bargain with you.” Jack shifted her dressing gown off his shoulder and wrapped it around her, tugging her down in the process. “I will let you know if anything you do causes me pain, if you will promise the same.”

“It didn’t hurt. I didn’t know I could ever be free of pain.” Her lower lip quivered and she tried to stop it, and ended up tucking her face into his shoulder. “I didn’t think men cared if a woman was hurting.”