Someone to Watch Over Me (Bow Street Runners #1)(11)

"How strange," she said, "not to recognize one's own face."

"You have no cause for complaint," Grant said huskily. Even bruised and pale and ravaged, her face was incomparable.

"Do you think so?" She stared into the looking glass without a trace of the self-satisfaction she had displayed at the ball.That Vivien had had no doubt of her many attractions. This woman was far less confident.

"Everyone thinks so. You're known as one of the great beauties of London."

"I don't see why." Catching his skeptical expression, she added, "Truly, I'm not fishing for compliments, it just...seems a very ordinary face." She produced a comical, clownish expression, like a child experimenting with her reflection. A shaken laugh escaped her. "It doesn't seem to belong to me." Her eyes glittered like sapphires, and he realized with a flare of alarm that she was going to cry.

"Don't," he muttered. "I told you last night how I feel about crying."

"Yes...you can't stand a woman's tears." She wiped her wet eyes with her fingers. A wobbly smile touched her lips. "I didn't think a Bow Street Runner would be so sensitive."

"Sensitive," Grant repeated indignantly. "I'm as hard-shelled as they come." He gathered a handful of the linen sheet and swabbed hastily at her face.

"Are you?" She gave a last sniffle and peered at him over the edge of the sheet, and he saw a hint of laughter appearing behind the last glimmering tears. "You seem rather soft-shelled to me."

Grant opened his mouth to argue, but realized suddenly that she was teasing him. With great difficulty, he tamped down an unexpected surge of warmth in his chest. "I'm about as sensitive as a millstone," he informed her.

"I'll reserve opinion on that." She closed thenecessaire and shook her head ruefully. "I shouldn't have asked for a looking glass. I look rather the worse for wear."

Grant contemplated her dry, cracked lips with a frown. Reaching for a little glass jar of salve on the night table, he handed it to her. "Try some of this. Linley left a special mixture for bruises, dryness, scrapes, chafing..."

"I could use a barrel of it," she said, fumbling with the hinged porcelain lid.

Retrieving the jar, Grant opened it for her. Instead of handing it back, he held it in his palm and let his gaze wander over her. "The shaking is better this morning," he observed quietly. Vivien colored and nodded, seeming embarrassed by the involuntary tremors. "Yes, but I still can't seem to get warm." She rubbed her palms over the fair, chapped skin of her arms. "I was wondering...if it wouldn't be too great an imposition--"

"A hot bath?"

"Oh, yes." The throb of anticipation in her voice made him smile.

"That can be arranged. But you'll have to move carefully, and let the servants help you. Or me, if you'd rather."

Vivien stared at him, openmouthed at the suggestion. "I-I wouldn't care to put you to such trouble--" she stammered.

"No trouble at all," he said mildly. Only the glint in his green eyes betrayed the fact that he was teasing her.

Before she could suppress it, an image appeared in her mind, of herself soaking in a steaming tub while he bathed her na**d body.

"What a blush," Grant observed with a sudden smile. "If that doesn't warm you up, nothing will." He drew his fingertip over the velvety anisescented salve and brought it to her mouth. "Hold still."

Vivien obeyed, her gaze locked on his face as he gently applied the salve to her lips. The sore, dry surface absorbed the preparation at once, and Grant dipped his finger into the jar again. The room was utterly quiet except for the sound of Vivien's deep, trembling breath.

There was a tugging sensation in Grant's chest that bothered him profoundly. He wanted to kiss her, hold her, comfort her as if she were a lost child. He would never have guessed that Vivien Duvall could be so endearing and vulnerable. Damn her, if this was somehow an act on her part, he would probably end up throttling her.

Obviously she had already driven some other poor bastard to it already.

Grant paused at that thought, and grimly warned himself not to be affected by her. Enjoy her, take what he wanted...but not for a minute would he allow himself to care for her. That much trouble, he didn't need. He rubbed more of the salve between his fingers, until the cool scent of anise spiced the air. With the lightest possible touch, he spread the salve over her bruised, swollen throat. Vivien was very still beneath his hand, her gaze focused on his hard face.

"We knew each other before last night, didn't we?" she whispered.

His lashes lowered, and he took his time about replying. "You could say that."

Another soft pass of his fingertips over her skin, rubbing the salve deeper into her bruises.

Mired in confusion, she tried to analyze the sensation of his touch, the surprising sense of familiarity and comfort she found in his presence. Nothing in the world was familiar to her, not even her own face...but somehow he made her feel safe and reassured. She wouldn't feel this way in the company of a stranger, would she? "H-how well did we know each other?" Vivien asked unsteadily.

"We'll discuss it later." Exactly what he was going to say to her, and how he would present the situation, would take some consideration. In the meantime she would rest and heal, and remain under his protection. Although Vivien seemed none too pleased with his evasiveness, she refrained from pursuing the matter, and he guessed she was still too exhausted to debate. Reaching into the pocket of his waistcoat, he extracted his watch. The lateness of the hour made him frown. "I have to leave for Bow Street," he said. "I'll visit your town house today and fetch some clothes for you."