The Last Gamble. Anabelle Bryant

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СКАЧАТЬ of what he might consider at the moment. His wound could only hurt like the devil.

      ‘Please sit down.’ She indicated a chair at the kitchen table and stepped to the sink to gather clean cloths, a bowl of water and small jar of honey. ‘When Biscuit was a puppy he sank his teeth into me a few times and I quickly learned the best dressing.’ He still hadn’t spoken and she wondered if his silence was due to the pain of the bite or an increase in anger.

      She breathed a bit easier when at last he pulled out a chair and rested his left arm on the tablecloth. He set to work rolling his shirtsleeve, the exposed skin below red and angry, though she couldn’t help admire the hard muscle flexed in wait of her attention nor the sheen of raven-black hair dusted over smooth, sun-bronzed skin. As she’d suspected earlier, he wore a silver ring on his thumb, though no other rings adorned his fingers. It was a strange accessory, though she could not deny it intrigued her. Suddenly aware of the silence, she rushed out a few words.

      ‘Biscuit is a healthy dog. I doubt there will be any adverse complications. I’m truly sorry this happened.’ At a loss to say more she advanced to the table and leaned forward to examine his arm more closely. ‘May I clean and bandage the wound, Mr Reese?’

      ‘At this point I must insist you call me Luke.’ He exhaled, from frustration or another reason she could not know.

      ‘Well then, Luke. Let’s begin.’ She dipped the cloth into the bowl of water and washed over the swollen area. It no longer bled and, once cleaned, proved smaller and not as deep as she’d originally suspected. Perhaps because his arm was all carved muscle and virile strength. Biscuit might have chipped a tooth. Good heavens, was he this hard all over his body? The mental question shocked and her eyes flared at the meanderings of her thoughts. Colour heated her cheeks and she dropped her attention, her gaze lingering on his silver thumb ring before she forced herself to focus. ‘This shouldn’t hurt overmuch.’

      ‘Flesh wounds rarely do.’

      Well, that was telling. The man carried a broken heart over the loss of his child. She swallowed emotion for his pain, but really, what could she ever say in reply? Realizing he perceived her reaction as concern, she attempted to ease his discomfort and set to cleaning out the puncture marks.

      ‘So, how long have you lived in Coventry?’

      The innocuous question put her on immediate alert. ‘Not long.’ She wet another cloth and wiped away the faint smears of blood on his skin. She rather liked smoothing the cloth across his muscle. For some irrational reason, she experienced a captivating sensation inside instead of the other way around. Most likely she hadn’t calmed yet from the ridiculous series of events at the front door. Otherwise there was no way to explain how her composure seemed to quiver, for lack of a better word. ‘It’s a pleasant community.’ She glanced to where he watched her, his silver-eyed scrutiny breathtaking in the slanted light from the kitchen window. She leaned a little closer to examine her work. He leaned a little closer too. Did he not trust her to tend his wound?

      The air prickled around them as if it asked for something, but she knew not what that could be.

      ‘You must find life here very different than London.’

      The man was single-minded, but how could she blame him? He sought his stolen son. She dropped the cloth to the table and lifted the lid on the honey jar, only to pause in hesitation. How ironic that here, in Coventry, she, a single woman, sat with a bachelor man in her kitchen, a bastard as he’d proclaimed at the tearoom, with his shirtsleeve rolled as she prepared to coat his bare skin with honey, a forbidden thrill shimmying through her. While in London under the scrutiny of the ton, she would have been the biggest scandal of the season, ruined, and victim of the cut direct for merely speaking to a gentleman without a proper introduction. Never mind the honey.

      ‘I don’t miss London.’ She dipped her fingertip into the jar, inexplicably excited and at the same time distracted in her reply.

      ‘So, you’ve visited.’

      She met his eyes and he looked intense, the dove-grey depth of his irises darker than before. ‘I prefer Coventry. That’s all I meant to imply.’ She needed to collect her thoughts before she lost control of her tongue. Thank heavens he’d never noticed she wore only a chemise and short stays. What kind of woman would he think her to be? A proper governess would keep her chastity secure.

      ‘London is only two days’ ride. You could accompany me there and be returned within a week. Of course, I would pay all expenses. I could rent a carriage for you and then, after you speak to Viscount Dursley on my behalf, you’d be free to visit with anyone you know in the city before returning to Coventry. All without cost to you. Just an investment of time. Why, I’ll even take you to The Underworld if you prefer an adventure.’ He paused before further presenting his plea. ‘I realize you have responsibilities here and earn your living in Coventry. I would generously reimburse you for any wages lost due to my imposition.’ He paused, his eyes narrowed as if unsure to continue or perhaps deliberating his next words with care. ‘I need your help.’

      His admission tempted for all the right reasons and set her heartbeat into an anxious gallop for all the wrong ones. She’d like to assist him. She cared about Nate and his welfare, but she could not return to London. How could she help him understand without appearing selfish, or worse, hardhearted? Luke had known so much sorrow in his life. Her stomach twisted with the struggle of her decision. Why was it her life became increasingly more complicated at every turn? Any logical governess would not turn down the promise of wages. She had no need for the money, but the person she presented to the world would eagerly wish for the funds.

      She dabbed a bit of honey across the wound, her cheeks hot with the intimate gesture, quick to cover the wound with clean bandages and secure the gauzy cotton bandage. She watched as he unfolded his shirtsleeve, covering all that hard, smooth flesh, much to her regret.

      ‘Thank you.’ He inhaled deeply as he fastened his cuff. ‘I smell apricots.’ His eyes scanned the baskets on the kitchen counter. ‘You smell like apricots.’

      Her face warmed further as she confessed. ‘It’s my soap, French-milled. An indulgent luxury here in the country.’ Despite her best efforts, conversation with Luke prompted her to reveal more than she would ordinarily. Just like Biscuit’s insult, she had the unnerving feeling her words would come back to bite her.

      ‘An indulgence indeed.’ His tease fed on her hidden fear, that he’d fast realize a provincial governess would not have the funds or the means to special order French-milled soap. She needed to change the subject. ‘You might appeal to the law. Will a court not listen to your complaint against Viscount Dursley? Perhaps an investigator or hired man could assist in the search.’

Chapter Five

      Again, Luke was filled with the desire to grasp Georgina’s shoulders and shake her into compliance. He needed her to travel to London. He needed to touch her. Perhaps grabbing her shoulders would lead to no good, a kiss more than coercion. Or a kiss as a form of coercion.

      Sitting at her kitchen table while she ministered to his wound, her nimble fingers gentle with each purposeful caress, caused an empty well to fill within his soul. There was no other way to explain it. And, too, he still hadn’t forgotten the press of her lush breasts against his body, the sweet fragrance of apricots. A modest governess who indulged in imported soap? Did she favour silk underthings too?

      Her neckline revealed a tempting half circle of creamy flesh flushed to a rosy glow by the unlikely events leading to his place СКАЧАТЬ