“Regardless of the reasons for your unfortunate visit, you had better be on your way. I need to dress for breakfast.”
He nodded and then groaned, eyes going closed. “Give me a moment, and I’ll be gone.”
“Is something amiss?”
“It feels like a blacksmith from Hades has been hammering inside my skull,” he murmured.
“That is generally the sort of thing that happens when one over imbibes,” she pointed out, telling herself she didn’t feel bad for him.
“I didn’t just over imbibe. I was swilling poison.”
She frowned at him. “Someone poisoned you?”
“Yes. Me. I poisoned myself by drinking that goddamned elixir King had.”
Rhiannon found herself more confused than ever. “An elixir? Were you ill last night?”
“It was an elixir for distraction, which was precisely what I needed, or so I thought.” His eyes fluttered open, his countenance pained. “Ten minutes. That’s all I need. And perhaps some water to drink.”
Now he expected her to fetch him water?
“This is not the gratitude I anticipated after spending all night listening to you snore,” she groused, flinging back the bedclothes.
To her dismay, she realized her nightgown had ridden up over the course of the evening, leaving the hem tangled high about her upper thighs, nearly all her legs bared. It was a most immodest display, and one she hadn’t intended. Perhaps he wasn’t looking.
Rhiannon slanted a glance in Richford’s direction and discovered that he was indeed looking. Quite intently too. Feeling wicked, she flexed her toes and made a show of stretching, raising her arms above her head and arching her back. The action thrust her breasts out and caused the hem of her nightgown to shift, revealing more skin. She took her time, making a low sound of contentment as she did so.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded curtly.
She gave him an innocent look. “Stretching before I rise for the day.”
“I think you’ve stretched sufficiently.”
Was he affected by the sight of her limbs on display? She certainly hoped he was, the villain. She hoped he was absolutely overwhelmed with lust for her. Mayhap he could drown in it.
“How shouldyouknow if I’ve stretched sufficiently?” she countered. “You’re not me.”
“At least pull down the hem of your bloody nightgown, then,” he ordered gruffly. “You’re quite indecent.”
Rhiannon lingered for another few moments, taking her time.
Then she summoned all her courage as she slid her legs, one by one, from the bed. “I’m not the one who asked to touch my cunny.”
The garbled sound he made behind her was either choking, coughing, or perhaps both at once. She couldn’t be sure. Her heart pounded at her daring as she walked as calmly as she could manage to the pitcher of water across the room and poured some into a cup.
She could scarcely believe she had just said something so coarse to him. Doing so felt freeing, however. Why must she be the sheltered miss whilst he could indulge in all manner of bawdy sins at his wicked house parties?
“Please tell me you’re only trying to shock me,” he muttered behind her.
She turned back to him, pleased with herself for her ability to maintain her composure. “My dear Richford, I daresay it would be impossible for me to shock you, given your black reputation. I am merely reporting the facts of what occurred last night.”
“I didn’t touch you, did I?” he asked, looking even more ill than he had when he had first arisen.
She hoped it wasn’t the thought of touching her that did it.
Rhiannon crossed the room and offered the water to him. “You were too busy snoring.”
“Thank Christ.” He took the cup, their fingers brushing.
