“Do you like it?” Cousin Alex lifted his leg for her inspection. “Dr. Smithson and I finally deemed my leg healed enough to use the brace.”
He grinned at her, the stern lines of his face morphing into an endearing sort of boyishness.
Lottie had seen Cousin Alex serious, angry, confused, stern, thoughtful, and contemplative.
But until this very moment, she had not seen him . . . happy.
Happy was a transcendent look on him. He should wear it more often.
“It’s marvelous,” she said, momentarily forgetting that she was supposed to be mortifyingly embarrassed in his presence.
“It is, isn’t it? I can even walk with the crutches.”
He demonstrated by swinging through the room, his crutches moving in an arc as he easily hopped back and forth on his whole leg, keeping his injured leg bent at the knee.
“See?!” He grinned again, the expression so infectious, Lottie couldn’t stifle her laugh.
He took another lap around the room.
Lottie knew she needed to leave. Even with the door open, she should not be in his bedchamber.
When he had been bedridden, her sense of decorum had been muted. After all, the man was injured and helpless.
ButthisCousin Alex was anything but helpless. He crackled with a fiery energy.
More to the point, he was in breeches and shirtsleeves. No waistcoat. Certainly, no tailcoat. Heavens, the man was not even wearing stockings!
Instead, he swung around the room on his crutches, his bare toes digging into the thick carpet pile.
Lottie dragged her eyes away from the doctor’s feet. She truly had to doubt her sanity when the arch of a man’s foot set her heart to thumping.
Running her eyes up his body did nothing to distract her thoughts. His shirt was of the finest cotton lawn which rendered it rather see-through. She could see the flex of muscle in his upper arms, the ripple of solid-looking planes across his stomach.
Of course, Cousin Alex cared for his body well. She knew this. He viewed it as a machine of sorts. No sugar. No alcohol.
It was such aCousin Alexway of living. To allow nothing unhealthy or mood-altering to pass his lips—
Oh, no.
Lips.
Her eyes darted to his mouth.
I kissed those lips yesterday.
The thought charged through her brain before she had a chance to chase it out.
A blush scalded her from slippered toes to the roots of her curled hair.
I forced my lips on his, was how that thought should have gone.
The strength of her mortification must have affected the very molecules in the air, as Cousin Alex paused mid-swing to look at her.
His steel eyes were far tooseeing. She could only hold his gaze for three seconds before looking away.
“Ah,” he said.
It was a rather tellingah. The non-verbal equivalent of saying, ‘Why, yes, I do remember what happened yesterday, and I do believe you have every reason to be mortified for your behavior.’
