“I’m not sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult.” Determined to one day show her how very like a buccaneer he could be in bed, he donned his gray waistcoat and did up the silver buttons. He held his cravat in his hands and glanced around. “No mirror.”
“I’ll help you once I’m dressed.”
He wanted her hands on him and attempted a smile of appeal. “Can’t you tie it for me now? A gentleman isn’t seen without his cravat.”
She frowned. “Very well, come here.”
He knelt on the bed beside her. The coverlet fell, and he gained an enticing view of rounded breasts, the nipples a dusky pink beneath the thin fabric of her shift. His breath caught, and his fingers itched.
“Raise your chin,” she said sternly. “You do need to shave.”
He lifted his head and saw she had colored up. Her fingers worked at his cravat. Gentle and sure. He drew in her womanly scent, warm from the bed. Her soft hair tickled his chin. A swift overwhelming tenderness took him by surprise. His heart thudded.
“There.” She moved away. “Now will you go and allow me to dress?”
“Thank you, my lady.”
Montsimon grabbed his coat and left the room. He stood outside in the corridor, wanting to go back and make some sort of declaration.I want to make love to you. I wish to keep you safe from harm.But Althea knew this already. He would not confess to loving her. He hated men who lied to women just to get them into bed. For what was love? A brief possession, which failed to stand the test of time. He shrugged and descended the stairs as the delicious aroma of frying bacon wafted up. He doubted anything he might say to Althea now would be accepted with pleasure.
