“Before you say anything, Vanessa, let me explain,” Hugh said.
Vanessa blinked and stopped short. “You knew I was in the armoire?”
“I wasn’t exactly asleep,” he drawled, his smile broadening as he watched the play of color upon Vanessa’s face when she absorbed the implications of his words. She started to drawback, but his hand shot out to captive her arm in a viselike grip. She tugged and twisted to get free. He laughed shortly. “No, you’re not going to run away from me again,” he warned. “Not ever, if I have anything to say about it.”
His words halted her struggles. She stared at him, stunned.
He chuckled, and tossing the covers aside, sat up and swung his legs to the floor. He gathered her closer to him. She made a little mewling sound of protest and pushed halfheartedly on his chest, but it was all for pride. Passion soon swept pride aside, and propriety never had a chance as she melted into him while he rained kisses across her brow and down her neck, nibbling on her ear as he passed.
“I love you, you proud, stubborn wench,” he growled huskily.
She moaned again softly, and his mouth captured her parted full lips in a teasing kiss that sent quivers to the core of her being, heating her from within until she radiated a melting passion. She answered his kiss with the pressure of her lips, and when his tongue teased the corners of her mouth, she parted her teeth to bid him enter.
He leaned back against the bed, pulling her with him until they fell among the pillows and linens. Hugh’s hand roved over her back, and she arched to meet his body with her own.
“Vanessa,” Hugh murmured as his lips left hers for a moment to trail kisses across her face. He raised a hand to her face, gently tracing the outline with his fingertips. He lifted his head to look at her, a thoroughly masculine, raffish smile on his lips. “You do realize, don’t you, that we are in a highly compromising position?”
A delicate blush suffused her face, but she met his gaze squarely. “Yes,” she returned simply, then nuzzled his neck and whispered in his ear, "It is a position I desire to investigate further.” She lifted her head to look at him. “But not now,” she said, sliding out from his arms and rolling off the bed.
He lay back against the pillows, his eyes mere slits as he watched her straighten her clothes and run a trembling hand over her hair, ineffectually patting wayward strands into place. “When?” he finally asked, after the silence had lengthened, and it seemed she no longer could meet his eye.
Her brow shot up at the hint of a challenge, and she turned to look at him coolly, her hand sinking to her side. “When I know your love is not the toy you mentioned at the ball,” she said archly, then grinned, spoiling the effect. “But now I must leave, for you have effectively demonstrated that you no longer need a nurse, or anyone, to check up on you. You are a madman for whom there is no cure.”
“Oh, yes?” he asked silkily, springing upright to grab her again. This time she sensed him coming and danced lightly out of reach. She backed up to the door.
“They say, Mr. Talverton, that patience is a virtue. It is a virtue it would be wise for you to cultivate if you truly desire me.”
She opened the door and was out in the hall before the pillow he threw hit the door.
Hugh slumped back against the pillows of his bed, an appreciative smile on his face for his beloved’s humor. She was correct. It was time he wooed her properly, time he treated his damsel in distress like the feisty princess she was. With Wilmot defanged, he would tend to his wooing with tender ardor before he risked all and formally request her hand in marriage. He looked forward to the day he would be taking her back to England with him.
* * *
“Paulette!” Vanessa called out gaily as her friend swept into the front hall the next morning in a flurry of lemon yellow froth. Charles crossed the hall more soberly in her wake, though a faint smile traced his lips.
“Vanessa! We must be off shopping immediately! There is so much to do and so little time! I must have a new gown, and you, my friend, must help me to choose it, or I shall be lost.”
Vanessa laughed. “Quick, tell me all, I am agog,” she enthused, hooking her arm with Paulette’s.”
Hugh followed her into the hall and laughed at the meeting, exchanging a wry glance with Charles.
“Say, what is this?” Charles demanded, eyeing Hugh’s bandage.
Hugh touched the white material briefly. “A minor misunderstanding,” he said lightly. “More an inconvenience than a problem.”
“Is Richard about?”
“He’s in the library with Russell Wilmot at the moment.”
“Ah—”
“Do you know the situation?” Hugh asked as they turned toward the parlor.
“Not entirely, though I have my suspicions,” Charles admitted.
“Later, I will be pleased to tell you the whole sordid details. But what of you, Paulette? How did you fare?”
Paulette giggled and squeezed Vanessa’s arm before answering. “The count, he is a trifle young, for he is only four-and-twenty—”
