All About Seduction(37)

The distinctive whisper of Mrs. Broadhurst’s skirts neared, and stirred an excitement in him. The material sounded different than earlier in the day, but the same as last night. Now that he knew the sound, he’d never forget it.

Her husky voice murmuring instructions for a footman to return at nine curled through Jack. He wanted to protest at just having her for a half hour. He didn’t, though. He waited until the maid engaged to mind him left the room. Mrs. Broadhurst might be used to the continual presence of servants, but he wasn’t.

He shut the book lest she realize he had not made it past the first page. He wanted to just gaze on her creamy skin, but shut his eyes instead. He waited for her touch on his forehead, but it didn’t come.

He opened his eyes.

With a shawl covering her shoulders, Mrs. Broadhurst stared into the fire grate. She raised a large glass of a dark liquid, took a sip, and then shuddered. It reminded him of the way the younger workers went at their gin after being paid. Not so much enjoyment of the drink, but because gulping it down was expedient to feeling the effects.

“Sugar helps,” he said.

She swiveled so fast her burgundy skirts hesitated and then swirled past where she stopped. He watched fascinated as they moved back into position.

“I didn’t want to disturb your reading.” Her nose scrunched as if she were uncertain of his comment.

“You’re not.”

She glanced toward the door as if willing a maid to return.

“I don’t need to be watched every minute,” Jack protested.

“I prefer it,” she said imperiously.

For a second they stared at each other. He didn’t have the heart to fight her now. His leg throbbed, his head felt as if it wanted to explode, and even though he could easily fall into a stupor, he wanted to stay awake while she was with him. He began the slow process of shifting up on the pillows to a position that more closely resembled sitting. He’d never make it to London in time at the pace he was healing. What the hell was he to do if he couldn’t get that job?

“How are you feeling?” Her voice was like the whisper of her dress. It curled around him and called to him.

“Like I broke a leg,” he said slowly.

Her lips curled just slightly, enough to make him feel it wasn’t a look of pity. He wanted to pretend he’d pull back the covers and his bones would be knitted once again and his toes would work. With her, he just wanted to try honesty. He had to grasp what this meant to his life, and where he went from here. Much as staying in her home was like heaven—or would have been if he weren’t in pain—it wouldn’t last once he was well enough to get by.

She moved to the chair. “They said you didn’t eat much. Is there anything I could offer to tempt your appetite? Hot chocolate, plum pudding, steak and kidney pie?”

He shook his head. “Not hungry.” Not for food anyway. He wished she didn’t have that damn shawl blocking his view of her skin, not that he could manage more than interest.

“Really, I’m sure Cook has laid in good stores of everything for the guests.” She leaned toward him and the shawl gaped a little. “I could send for most anything.”

Ashamed of his lechery, he shook his head. She was nothing but good to him, and all he wanted was to look down her dress. He sighed and forced his gaze to a safe place.

She gripped the glass with both hands. Did she feel in need of Dutch courage? The conversation of the maids earlier entered his head. Did Mrs. Broadhurst know her husband would be joining her later? Was that why she would spend less time in the sickroom tonight?

Perhaps there was a bit of strain around her eyes. Her intimacies with her husband were certainly none of his business. But he had to wonder what it was like for her with a man old enough to be her father’s father. Not pleasant, if the dark liquid in the glass was any indication.

“I’m feeling a bit better.” At least he wasn’t spending every waking moment gritting his teeth to keep from vomiting, although when the laudanum wore off he counted the seconds until his next dose. “Would you read to me again? I like listening.”

She did smile then. “Reading has always been my sanctuary.”

Her skirt rustled as she picked up the book from the bed beside him and settled back into her chair, her glass at her elbow. He took in her hair, twisted into a coronet, the curve of her neck and the pale rose on her cheeks. Damn, she was lovely.

“Did you read further? Would you like me to start where you left off?”