In Love With a Wicked Man by Liz Carlyle Read Free Book Online Page B

flirting,” she said, “which is more of a mental strain, I daresay, than thinking. I must insist you stop it at once.”
    His eyes glittering, he opened his mouth as if to parry words, then abruptly shut it again, twitching at his bedcovers as if uncomfortable. “I beg your pardon,” he said. “You’re right. It seemed to . . . just slip out. I must strike you as ungrateful.”
    “No, I—I’m sorry.” Good heavens, the man seemed to keep her eternally off balance. “If it amuses you to pretend to flirt—”
    “ Pretend? ” His eyes lit with mirth.
    “Yes,” she said tartly, “and if you find it diverting, I daresay I must bear it with grace. Were it not for me, you wouldn’t be here in this awkward situation.”
    “Yes, you suggested as much earlier,” he said. “And I’m sure it’s not the case. Still—and tell me precisely—what the devil did happen?”
    “It is very much the case.” Kate wrung her hands, and explained how their horses had nearly collided, and how he had forced his horse to wheel around, thereby taking the worst of it upon himself.
    But the man brushed aside the story and simply said, “And why, Lady d’Allenay, were you in such a temper? I confess, you do not look the type.”
    “Because you do not know me,” she said. “I’ve a frightful temper, and it often serves me ill. As to why, well, I had quarreled with Nancy. My sister.”
    “Ah, the beauteous Miss Wentworth,” he said blandly. “I met her when the doctor came in. Do you mean to tell me what the quarrel was about?”
    “Certainly not,” said Kate. “It would be of no interest to you whatever.”
    “I am bedridden,” he reminded her. “By this time tomorrow, I’ll likely find Bristol’s tidal charts engrossing.”
    Just then, a knock sounded and his tray was brought in. Kate had ordered a light repast; not just the broth, but a little sliced chicken and a bit of bread and cheese.
    “Oh, bless you,” he said, falling on it as if famished. “I was afraid of being reduced to porridge.”
    “It was suggested,” she said lightly, “but you do not seem all that incapacitated. And it is, after all, your brain which has been concussed, not your stomach.”
    That did indeed appear the case. After a little help in situating the tray, and with the most discerning of table manners, Edward made short work of it while Kate nattered on about the weather, and tried not to hover.
    When she returned from helping Hetty out the door, she paused at the foot of the massive bed, her hands lightly crossed. “Well, I should leave you now, I daresay,” she said. “There is a footman in the great hall at all times. Should you need anything, you have only to ring that bell.”
    He crooked his head to look at the wire that was now wrapped about his bedpost. “Yes, your housekeeper threaded that round the room slick as a ribbon.”
    Kate unfolded her hands. “The hooks were already in place,” she replied. “This was once my brother’s room. He lived here as an invalid for a time, and the regular pull was too far for him to reach.”
    “Ah, I see.” He fell quiet for a moment. “But now he’s gone, I collect? Otherwise, the title would have fallen to him?”
    “Yes,” she said simply. “So the wire goes directly to the footman’s station. Even in the middle of the night, he’ll promptly attend you. And on no account must you get up. Not this evening, and certainly not in the night. Well, not unless—”
    She cut an uneasy glance toward the dressing room door.
    He waved away the embarrassment. “I understand, Lady d’Allenay,” he said, “and to be honest, I feel as if a cartload of bricks fell on me, and haven’t the least wish to stir from this bed.”
    “Good.” She gave him a little nod. “Then I shall wish you a good evening.”
    “But I thought we were going to have our train conversation,” he said, his gaze very direct.
    “In the morning, perhaps.” Kate pulled open the door.
    “I have