Part 16 (1/2)

They popped back open seconds later when she felt his hands slip under her skirt and travel up her leg with a gliding move that made her skin tingle.

She smacked one hand over the top of his to stop him, clutching it through the material of her dress. ”What do you think you're doing?”

”Searching for your garter,” he said in an innocent tone. ”I'm nearly there, I believe, if you would let me proceed.”

”Hmmph. Well, proceed with a bit less enthusiasm.”

A grin spread over his face. ”I can try, but it might be difficult. I do everything with enthusiasm, especially when it comes to undressing a desirable woman.”

”You are not undressing me, at least not in the manner you are implying. You are . . .” She paused, her words trailing off as she tried to think of a way to describe the current situation.

”Yes? What am I doing?” he teased, his grin growing wider.

”Oh, just get on with it and be quick.”

”Now, those are words a man never wants to hear.”

She stared as his meaning sank in. Then to her consternation, she began to smile. Wiping the look from her face before he could see it, she leaned her head back on the pillow and released her grip on his hand.

As soon as she did, his search recommenced, his big, wide palms gliding upward against her stocking-clad leg. Higher and higher he went, each new touch sending s.h.i.+vers through her body.

She bit the corner of her lip and fought the urge to sigh, the pain in her ankle nearly forgotten.

Moments later, his fingers located her garter. ”Hmm, satiny,” he said. ”I cannot wait to see.”

This time she refused to rise to his verbal bait. Instead, she stared intently at a painted medallion of fruits and flowers on the ceiling.

With what seemed a kind of slow torture, he began rolling her stocking and garter down her leg, his fingers trailing after.

The tingles started anew.

He ran one hand along the underside of her knee, then over her calf before he stopped, the thin silk stocking gathered just above her ankle. He slipped the now loosened garter free.

”Pink,” he said, holding it up between two fingers. ”You never cease to surprise me, Lady Thalia.”

”What color did you imagine it would be?”

”I had no idea. That's what makes it doubly interesting.” He laid the garter aside, then looked into her eyes. ”I shall endeavor to slip this stocking off as painlessly as possible, but brace yourself.”

She nodded and fisted her hands at her sides.

Fresh pain lashed her as he eased the stocking past her ankle, but it was over nearly as quickly as it had begun.

”All finished,” he said.

Turning toward the tray, he dropped her stocking onto it. Next, he lifted a bath towel and folded it into quarters, then eased it gently beneath her leg and foot.

Again, he left her barely any time to focus on the pain before he carefully placed the ice wrap around her swollen ankle. ”How does that feel?” he asked.

She tested the sensation. ”Lovely,” she said, sighing with relief.

”Good.” Leo smiled down at her. ”We'll leave it for several minutes until the warm poultice arrives, then switch them around.”

She nodded again and let herself sink deeper into the sofa cus.h.i.+ons.

Chapter 14.

Leo settled a second warm poultice over Thalia's injured ankle, taking extra care not to disturb her.

Twenty minutes earlier, he'd been seated beside her in a chair, softly reading Wordsworth aloud, when he'd glanced up to find her asleep. He'd watched her for several long minutes, the book utterly forgotten in his hands.

Her eyelashes fanned in delicate circles above her rosy cheeks, her lips pink and slightly parted in slumber. Her hands were lax, no longer gripping the fringe of her shawl. Her breathing was deep and even, her pain eased enough to let her rest.

When Fletcher entered the room with a fresh poultice, Leo had signaled him to be quiet, gesturing toward the sofa where Thalia slept. With deliberate silence, the older man had delivered a tureen containing the latest poultice, hot from the kitchen. Then he'd turned his gaze on Leo and studied him with a kind of unfettered curiosity. Leo had raised a brow, but the butler had merely bowed and left the room.

She'd continued sleeping while he removed the leather bag of ice that had pretty much seen its last and laid the new poultice over her ankle, her skin now dappled by a colorful array of bruises. Once this final compress had done its work, he would bind her ankle.

Resuming his seat, he picked up the Wordsworth again and began to read in silence.

Thalia awakened gradually and stared at the ceiling for a few moments before becoming aware of Leo bent over her feet. He was busy wrapping a long length of cotton around her injured ankle in a process that reminded her of a drawing she'd once seen of an Egyptian mummy. Her ankle, she realized, was still quite sore but was no longer smarting as badly as it had been earlier.

She wiggled her toes experimentally.

Leo glanced her way, his brilliant green-gold eyes meeting hers. ”You're awake.”

”So it would seem.” She raised a hand to her mouth to cover a yawn. ”Forgive me. It was quite rude to drift off like that.”

And quite unusual as well. Generally, she was far too much on her guard to fall asleep anywhere but in the privacy of her bedroom.

He shrugged. ”You are not feeling well. An injury can have that effect.”

Glancing away again, he resumed his careful binding of her ankle.

She lay quiescent under his ministrations, aware that it was pointless to resist. Besides, she was just too tired.

Of worrying and struggling.

Of arguing and pus.h.i.+ng him away.

But mostly she was tired of being alone, exactly as she'd been on the night she'd first met him.

She studied Leo as he secured the last of the bindings, watching the way the afternoon light played with the golden strands in his thick brown hair and the determined set of his jaw as he concentrated on his task.

”Would you stay to dinner, Lord Leopold?”