What a Reckless Rogue Needs (The Sinful Scoundrels, #2)(67)

He shook the blanket out and laid it over her. “Warm now?”

“Yes, thank you.” His simple gesture made her yearn to have someone love and care for her. Someone who would take a heavy tray or bring a blanket to her. Someone who would laugh with her and hold her close and reassure her when the weather was bad. With all of her heart she yearned to have someone to lean on, someone to depend on, someone who would love her even though she had made mistakes. But unless something changed, it seemed the poor choices she’d made would dictate the few choices available to her.

The rain grew fiercer.

He looked up at the painted ceiling. “So far it’s holding.”

“The house is sound,” she said. It was a fine house for a family. Of course it was small compared to Worthington Abbey and Deerfield, but it would make a good house for a young couple. Little wonder the Faradays kept coming back.

She wished that she and Colin would live here, but it was a foolish thought, one she shouldn’t entertain because it would only make her sad when he inevitably told her he did not think they would suit.

It would happen. No sane man wanted a wife with a wanton reputation, no matter how undeserving.

“If it doesn’t let up soon, we may not be able to leave,” he said.

“Oh, no,” she said. “We have to return before nightfall.”

“We may not have a choice, but there’s no need to fret. It won’t last forever. As soon as the roads are passable, we’ll depart.”

“Our families will worry.”

“The rain isn’t our fault. It’s every bit as bad at Deerfield as it is here.”

“You’re right,” she said. “No doubt we’ll be able to leave in the next hour or two.”

He sighed. “It won’t be in the next hour or two.”

“Perhaps we should try to travel now before it gets dark,” she said.

“With this much rain, the roads are bound to be muddy and potentially dangerous. In case you haven’t noticed, the hail is still pounding the roof and the water is standing outside.”

She poured tea over the sieve into the cups. “Come, I made you a cup of tea.”

When he returned, he leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Thank you.”

Oh, dear, he seemed a bit amorous, but perhaps he just forgot himself. She reminded herself not to interpret the gesture as a tender one.

He sat right next to her and sipped the tea. “It’s good.”

Who am I trying to fool? Myself? She inched over next to the rolled arm of the sofa. “Yes, the tea is just the thing. I’m glad we have supplies. It would be miserable if we had no food or drink.” I am prattling like that silly Mrs. Quimby.

He eyed her over his cup with an amused expression.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“I wish there were cards or a game to play,” she said.

“We never found either,” he said, setting his cup on the tray. “Someone or some persons probably took them along with my mother’s miniature.”

“I’m sorry. I’d hoped to find it.”

He set her cup aside for her and cupped her cheek. “So sweet,” he said, his voice low and full of sensual promise.

“Are you ready to give up your life in London for Sommerall?” she asked in a voice just barely above a whisper.

Before departing London, he recalled waking up to the devil of a head, bottles on the night table, and an actress whose name he’d forgotten again. “I’ve not put a time table on it. When the time is right, I’ll know.”

Meaning it wasn’t the right time now. He was studiously avoiding the subject of marriage. On the other hand, they had agreed to use the three weeks to get to know one another better. Yet it troubled her. When the three weeks ended, their conversation was bound to be uncomfortable, but she would take the lead and assure him that she did not expect him to sacrifice for her. For now, she would take advantage of the opportunity to be alone with him and learn more about him.

“Tell me something about you I don’t know,” she said.

“I like hot baths and stay in until the water grows cold and my toes and fingers wrinkle. Now tell me something about you I don’t already know,” he said.

“I love scents,” she said. “They mesmerize me. I stop sometimes to inhale the smell of beeswax candles.”

He regarded her with fascination. “What other scents do you like?”

“Rose soap and warm sugar biscuits.” She paused. “I love the scent of freshly washed and ironed linens; they smell of sunshine. Sometimes I hold them and keep breathing in the warmth and the sun. What scents do you like?” she murmured.

He nuzzled her neck. “I like the scent of your skin and the feel of your soft cheeks.” He met her gaze. “I like your slender fingers and the pearl earrings that dangle from your ears.” He flicked one with his finger. Then he smiled a little. “I like when you’re feisty and want to spar with me.”

“Surely you jest,” she said, laughing.

“No, I like that you’re spirited and clever.” He considered her with a mischievous expression. “There are other things about you I like very well, but I’ll keep them to myself.”

She sniffed. “Doubtless they are wicked.”