Free Captive Scoundrel by Annette Blair Page A

makes you say that?”
     
    “I hear that you were a rake of the first order.”
     
    “Good God, way out in Arundel? How old were you? Five?”
     
    Her laugh, like cool water sluiced over his fevered body. They’d taken a turn in their relationship. It spoke more of man and woman, less of patient and nurse. And Justin wasn’t certain he liked it. “I left raking behind when I married.” Aye, and his manhood as well. “Pray, where did you hear such tales?”
     
    “Mrs. Tucker.”
     
    “You befriended that harridan? I am impressed. Your talents are endless, it seems. Can you tame a wild beast?”
     
    She looked directly into his eyes. “Not yet.”
     
    “Perhaps, but you have awakened him.”
     
    Her green eyes widened.
     
    “Be prudent with your maidenly innocence, my dear, lest you be ravished for the sport of it.”
     
    “Are maidens more likely to be ravished than matrons?”
     
    “Yes, for maidens are tender and easy to the bit.”
     
    “Like lambs? Tender and tasty to the palate, you mean.”
     
    “Do I?”
     
    Faith turned to tidy the room.
     
    He had learned to measure her by her barometer of blushing agitation. And at this moment, it threatened combustion.
     
    “Harris told me about your way with women. How they flirted outrageously. You were deemed quite the catch, he said.”
     
    “Harris is an old fool.”
     
    Her laugh was easy and melodious, and Justin savoured it. “I have called him such myself,” she said. “But I love him.”
     
    “Foolish child. How can you love someone you hardly know? You throw the word about as if the absurdity exists.”
     
    She straightened, alert, wary. “Does it not, in your opinion?”
     
    He damn near snorted. “It does not.”
     
    “Believe as you wish. But you are more likely to be captured by what catches you unaware, physical or emotional.” She tilted her head. “And I begin to believe love can be both at once.”
     
    Justin chuckled self-derisively. “And I called you a child.” That would teach him to consider this woman dangerous in more ways than the usual. If he allowed it, she might make him believe in fairies and love-potions. Now that he was better, he should send her away, but at the notion, pain struck at his centre, deep and agonizing. “Damn it, Faith! Stop fussing and come rest.”
     
    “You have a decidedly low opinion of my actions. But to humour you, your grace, I shall rest.” She sat in her chair, lay her head back and closed her eyes. “For a moment.”
     
    She was probably more exhausted than he. Sooty circles rimmed her eyes. Her hair hung limp. Damn. She should see to herself, at least as well as she saw to him. “Faith?” God’s teeth, she slept quickly. “Faith, wake up.” He grasped her skirt and tugged. “Blast it, your neck will be sore.”
     
    She jumped. “Are you ill?” She stood so fast, she looked as if she might faint.
     
    He held her hips to steady her, sliding his hands to her waist, learning her shape with his palms. “I wonder how you can care for someone else, when you cannot care for yourself.”
     
    “I have the sense to cosh you. You frightened me senseless. Are you behaving like a bear because you’re hungry as one?”
     
    He curled his fingers into her, stroking her waist ever so slightly. “No, but I may have a thorn in my paw.”
     
    She pursed her lips. “I must conclude then that both paws are injured, for they seem to be seeking ease against my person.”
     
    He surprised himself with his bark of laughter, as much as he apparently surprised her. He gave her waist a squeeze. “I hereby order you to go and rest. I shall call if I need you.”
     
    She stepped from his hold. “Are you ordering me to neglect you so you may discharge me without conscience? Thank you, but no.” Her look changed. “You’re flushed. Do you have a fever?” She placed her hand on his forehead, slid it to his cheek.
     
    He turned his face into her touch, nearly kissing her palm,