All About Seduction(65)

Her hand shot to her bodice and her gaze shot down.

He didn’t wait until she discovered her buttons were all neatly in their holes. She had confirmed his worst misgivings. Pivoting, he went back in the room. His image of her was shattered and he no longer wanted to look at her. Bloody hell, what on earth was she doing?

He pushed the door to the breakfast room open and crossed to the bed.

“Jack.” Her voice trembled.

He had no right to be angry or disappointed. She had not betrayed him. “What?” shot out of him.

He turned to sit on the bed. Her face creased with distress as she tried to moor her hair, but the task was hopeless.

“It’s not what you think,” she whispered.

Surely she didn’t care what he thought. Or if she did, why would she? He was a millworker. Nothing to her. His kind didn’t count in her world.

He pivoted and crutched back toward her. “What is it, then?”

Her blue eyes filmed over. Good God, she wasn’t going to cry. Her mouth tightened and she put a hand over it as she turned away. She might as well have punched him in the stomach. Why would she care about his opinion of her? Or had what happened in the library distressed her?

Jack hesitated, wanting to offer comfort that at the same time warred with his keening disappointment.

Behind her the door opened and the maid who had been minding him earlier backed through with a tray in her hands.

Did Mrs. Broadhurst want the entire household gossiping about what she’d been doing in the library? She squeaked as she lifted her hair with both hands.

Jack pitched his crutches, leaned sideways to try to look as if he’d lost his balance and had to grab her to stay upright. But the two-stone plaster cast overbalanced him, thwarting the pretense. He tried to stop his fall by putting down his broken leg, but with the bent knee angle of the cast, getting his foot underneath him was impossible. He grabbed at Mrs. Broadhurst’s shoulder and nearly brought her down with him.

She spun, trying to steady him, but his cast glanced on the floor. Pain burst up and down his leg. The maid dropped the tray she brought. The dishes clattered and crashed to the floor.

Mrs. Broadhurst circled her arms around him and tugged at him. “What happened?”

“Tried to turn too fast. Sorry I grabbed your hair,” Jack said.

“You didn’t—”

He quirked an eyebrow and moved his arm to her shoulder. Mrs. Broadhurst colored and her chin dipped.

The maid helped and in a few seconds they had him on the bed. Yet, the feel of Mrs. Broadhurst against him warred for primacy with the pain in his leg.

“Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am. Just went to fetch him nuncheon.”

“It’s quite all right. Would you be so kind as to send my maid to my room after you have cleaned the mess? It seems I need a bit of repair to my toilet.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The maid dropped to her knees by the door and used the napkin to sop up the liquid. She picked up the shards of plate and piled it with the food on the tray.

In his home, the food would have been sorted out from the broken dishes and put on the table, but this wasn’t his home. “I’ll take some medicine now,” said Jack.

Mrs. Broadhurst hurried toward the sideboard and measured out the liquid. She returned with his glass. Biting her lip, she handed him the glass, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“Why would you toss aside your crutches like that?” she finally asked after the maid had left the room.

“You prefer the servants to gossip about why your hair was so mussed? They will, you know.”

Her face reddened.

“I only meant to give you a credible explanation, but if you prefer the gossip, I won’t trouble myself in the future.”

“You won’t need to in the future.” She twisted her hands together and looked over her shoulder at the door. Her voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. “But thank you.”

Did she mean no more impromptu encounters with one of her guests, or did she intend to be more careful of her appearance?

“The least I can do, after all you’ve done for me.” He turned and looked at the well-tended fire. Then he drank his bitter medicine.

She fingered a bit of hair above her ear as if it annoyed her. “I must go fix . . . this . . .” She took a step backward and then whirled toward the door.

He wanted to stop her, to pin up her hair for her. She strode toward the door, her head tilted toward the strand she continued to worry.