“Actually, I’m feeling much better, and…”
“And what?” she snapped back, forestalling whatever he might have said next.
Neither of them spoke for a minute that seemed to drag on forever.
Finally, he spoke first. “I wanted to thank you for your care and hospitality, and…”
Whatever he was trying to say was lost when he collapsed in a sudden crash to the floor at her feet.Lord.Would no one deliver her from this hulking temptation?
She dropped to her knees on the stone floor and for the second time in three days placed her ear within kissing distance of those full lips of his, hoping to God he’d breathe again. In a quick gust, his peppermint-scented breath blew past her nose. A nose already assailed by wafts of warm man and sandalwood soap.
When he sat up in a rush of embarrassment, his head collided with hers, and he clung to her for a moment. “A stor,” he muttered, and brushed his calloused hand carefully over her forehead.
Harriet pushed hard on his chest. She needed some distance from all his heat. “See? You have about as much sense as Nicholas. Never listening to me. You haven’t recovered from that knock on the head, which, by the way, could have been made much worse by this tumble.” She stopped to take a breath. “And for heaven’s sakes, what ‘store’ were you talking about? Have you forgotten where you are?”
He jerked away from her gaze and turned to leap to his feet. “Just a bit of a fumble. Nothing serious.”
“Please, let me call for a footman.” She reached for a bell near the door to her chambers, but he was quicker and stayed her hand.
“It was nothing. I’m fine. Don’t…”
Something flickered in his eyes, even bluer than she’d thought. He suddenly pulled her to his chest and brushed a light kiss over the place where they’d smacked heads. It felt more like the soft landing of a butterfly.
“Stop—what…what are you doing? Why did you kiss me?”
“That wasn’t a kiss. I wanted to make sure my head smacking yours didn’t cause you any pain.” He followed her down the passageway when she moved back a few steps. The man took up entirely too much space in the narrow hall. “This is a kiss.”
Harriet put her hands against his chest, thinking she could push him away, which was a mistake. The warmth of his skin through her cousin’s fine muslin shirt shot through the nerve endings in her fingertips. The feel of his strong, steady heartbeat undid her, so she didn’t pull away when he placed his hands along her jawline and took a tentative sip at her lips.
He deepened the kiss for the shortest of seconds and then quickly pulled away. She wasn’t ready to let go. He whirled and strode purposefully back toward the ducal chambers, away from her. Away from her fickle body that she feared would grant him anything, if only he’d share his warmth a little longer. She had to get this man out of her life before it was too late. Her traitorous heart, though, drummed an erratic tattoo that seemed to say, “Too late, too late, too late.”
It was Harriet’s turn to mutter to herself. “No more Madeira with Nana in the morning,” she mouthed, and flung open the door to her bedchamber.
Richard poundeda fist as hard as he could into his chest. Anything to relieve the frustration from having intended to thank Lady Blandford for her kindness, but ending up falling on his ass and then stealing a kiss that lit up the interior of his thick skull. He shook his head wearily, smarting from punching himself.
And all of this within scant hours of being warned by Captain Bellingham. His old friend and commander was right. She was not one of the women he’d romanced and seduced in every port they’d ever visited. She was the widow of a marquess, a hero of Waterloo. Hell, she was also the granddaughter of a duke. As nothing more than a lowly Irish Marine, he’d probably just broken about a hundred English laws and protocols in the span of a few minutes. For the first time in his life, he wished he could talk to his father and unload all the sins he’d just committed. He also craved his father’s advice on how to survive wanting a woman he couldn’t have.
But then again, she didn’t exactly seem like a woman who didn’t want his attentions. She had, after all, returned the kiss. He hadn’t imagined that. The feelings coursing through his veins at that moment were both terrifying and exciting, like setting off up a jungle river to tangle with slavers.
He whirled at a slight tap at the door.Now what?
With a soft flutter, she glided in, and gave him a long look. “That can never happen again.”
He was by her side in an instant and repeated the earlier kiss, which obliterated the solemn look on her face. When she flushed and pushed him away, he said the only thing he could conjure in the moment. “Is that what can never happen again? I just want to be sure I understand.”
She gave a ragged sigh, like water sluicing out of a cracked pitcher.
He held his breath, wondering what she’d say next, how he’d react, when the door crashed open without warning, and Nicholas tumbled into the bedchamber with his two mastiff guards. “I m-met your captain this morning. How big is his s-ship? When will you s-sail away? Can I go aboard to s-see where you live?
“Whoa, slow down there, Lord Blandford. You’re going to scare your faithful subjects.” The minute the words left Richard’s mouth he could have kicked himself. He’d made a mistake. The open smile on the child’s face flickered and disappeared until now he’d lowered his head and was studying his boots in silence.
Nicholas must have misinterpreted his teasing as a reaction to his stuttering. What he’d meant was the dogs, who were peering anxiously from the boy, to his mother, and back to him, were unsettled by the boy’s headlong rush into the bedchamber. They’d been trained to guard the child’s life, and they were still a bit uncertain as to Richard’s place, if any, in the family hierarchy. At least Max was. Fleur’s slavish devotion and attempts to crawl onto the bed with him had become embarrassing.
“Nicholas. Look at me. Please.” Richard waited a few seconds and then reached beneath the boy’s chin to tip his face back up. “You have no reason to feel shame because of your stuttering.” He winced at the sound of a sharp intake of breath from Lady Blandford, but kept going.
Nicholas jutted his chin out, defiant. “My uncle says it means I’m d-daft and should be locked in an asylum.”
Richard’s hands tightened into fists. He shifted his gaze from Lady Blandford to her son and back. “Is that true? Did he actually threaten Nicholas?” He couldn’t keep his voice from rising in anger.
