He smiled and gave her cheek a light caress. “Why is that bad? I want you to enjoy them.”
“I am enjoying them quite a bit too much,” she admitted with a mirthful laugh that was also tinged with regret. “But I am one of many to you while you are my one and only. You will likely remain the only man I have ever kissed.”
“And you think I will move on to kiss others?”
“Won’t you? Do not deny that you will. So, for us to take these charity kisses further by allowing me the privilege of calling youby your given name… I think this will hurt me all the more when I return to the vicarage and am soon forgotten by you.”
“I am hardly likely to forget you, Ailis.”
He was looking at her in that smoldering way he had looked just before kissing her. But this was just the way of rakes, wasn’t it? They had a natural ability to make every woman feel desired.
“Sadly, that is not true,” she said. “You will forget me. The memory of the kisses we shared will melt away just as this snow will melt away once the sun comes out.”
“And you? How will you remember me?”
“Quite fondly, Your Grace. These kisses will always remain a beautiful dream for me.”
His expression turned odd again, perhaps a bit wounded. “I see. I never thought of it that way. You are right, Temple.”
Ah, he had gone back to thinking of her as the priggish vicar’s niece, his Miss Temple of Virtue.
But her name…Ailis…had sounded awfully sweet on his lips.
Martha returned with his breakfast plate and pot of coffee, effectively ending their conversation.
After setting out the cups, silverware, and table linens, Martha asked the duke if she should leave. “Stay,” he ordered her.
“Of course, Your Grace.” She took the chair beside the bed and waited quietly while he ate his eggs and kippers, and Ailis had some warmed bread with jam. She hardly managed a bite, for the effects of his kiss lingered and left her unsettled. Her shoulder began to throb, but it tended to do so constantly throughout these past days, so she ignored it.
“You are looking pale again,” the duke said, frowning. “Have you finished? Shall I help you back into bed?”
“Yes, I would appreciate it. Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” He rose and set his table linen aside.
“Could we postpone those exercises, too?” she asked, for she was starting to tremble and her stomach was suddenly roiling.
“Of course. Nothing needs to be done today. We can start tomorrow. And only very mild exercises. There’ll be no serious stretching or rotation movements for a month at the least. Your shoulder is still too raw and needs to rest in that sling for another week or two.”
He wrapped his arm around her waist and assisted her in standing up, for getting to her feet was the worst and caused her the most pain.
“You are wobbling, Temple,” he said, and lifted her in his arms to carry her to bed. He set her down gently on the mattress as soon as Martha turned down the covers.
“You’ve had enough of an adventure for the morning, lamb,” Martha said.
Ailis grumbled, “I hardly moved.”
“Nor should you,” the duke said, stepping back while Martha tucked her in and settled the pillows at her back and under her arm to make her comfortable. “A dislocated shoulder is no small injury.”
“Are you serious about my having to wear a sling for another week or two?”
“Yes. You’ll do yourself permanent damage if you think to take it off earlier.”
“This seems a bit extreme. Just by taking it off?” How was she to prepare for the Christmas charity ball?
He folded his arms across his chest and frowned at her from the foot of the bed. “Do not even think to lift anything, or raise your arm to string holly or place mistletoe above an entryway. You won’t be able to do it. Do you wish to spend Christmas in agony in bed? Because that is where you will be while everyone else in Broadmoor enjoys themselves at your charity ball.”
“Fine,” she said, knowing she was pouting like a child.
