She was surprised to discover their omelet was gone, although he’d eaten the lion’s share. She heard a distant bump and a thump.
“My servants are getting up,” he said.
They both stood. He walked around the table, took her cloak from the chair, moved behind her, and draped it over her shoulders. His hands seemed to linger, and she almost imagined that she felt him placing a kiss against the nape of her neck. A delicious little shiver cascaded through her.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, his breath wafting over the sensitive skin below her ear.
“For caring.”
“I need you in good health to carry out your portion of the bargain,” she said succinctly, before moving away and turning to face him. “I daresay you’re giving my actions too much credence.”
Could he tell that she was having difficulty breathing, that his nearness caused inexplicable pleasures throughout her body?
Chuckling low, he strode past her and opened the door. She was only halfway through the doorway when he said, “So you don’t want me to kiss you again?”
He was slightly behind her, so he couldn’t see her face. Still she slid her eyes closed and shook her head. She felt his ungloved hand—his fingers strong and warm—cradle her chin and turn her head back. She opened her eyes to find his gaze on her mouth.
“Pity,” he said quietly.
“The first time you kissed me to intimidate me. The second to distract me. What would be your excuse this time?”
“Damned if I know.”
She took immense satisfaction in his answer, but she had no desire to reveal her thoughts. “A gentleman doesn’t use profanity in the presence of a lady.”
“But then, you and I both know I’m not a gentleman.”
She licked her lips, wondering what harm there would be in having one more small taste of him.
Groaning, he released the featherlike hold he had on her and ushered her through the doorway. She could hear the city coming to life, deliveries being made. She waited while he had the coach readied.
He didn’t say anything when the coach arrived or as he helped her climb inside. He held his silence as they traveled through the streets. It wasn’t until they were at her gate that he finally spoke.
“You intrigue me, Catherine Mabry.”
“I’m not certain that’s a good thing.”
“I’m sorry I’m not the man you wish I were.”
“Actually, I give you a good deal more credit for your honesty than you probably deserve.”
“Probably.” He touched the tip of her nose. “I’ll see you tonight.”
She nodded. “Indeed.”
Only when she’d closed the gate behind her did she hear him walking back to his coach.
He was a contradiction. Was he a scoundrel? Or was he not?
She no longer knew. More disturbing than that was the fact that she no longer cared.
Chapter 12
Exhaustion claimed her the moment she walked into her bedchamber. Her bed called to her like a siren’s song. It was all she could do to remain patient while Jenny helped her out of her clothing. She wanted to simply rip it off and fall into bed. Dealing with Claybourne was always tiring—and exhilarating. Which only served to make it more tiring.
She had to keep her wits about her at all times, although this morning they’d seemed to settle into a kind of companionship. Perhaps they would become friends and when he married Frannie and they moved more frequently within Catherine’s circle of
acquaintances, the blasted earl would at last accept her invitations. Or at least his wife would.
