Bloody hell. She sounded closer than he’d imagined her. Too close. “Go to sleep.” He closed his eyes again, concentrating on the task.
“But what if—”
“Lucia.” He stared into the darkness. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Now go to sleep.” There.
“I know,” she said a moment later, her voice drifting across the room to caress him. He opened his eyes, scowling in the dark.
“But, well, there was a minute tonight when I had my doubts. I mean, in the warehouse your hands were tied and then—they were suddenly free. How did you manage that so quickly?”
He frowned. He hadn’t wanted to tell her, but she was obviously not going to go to sleep until he answered her questions. “I had a knife in my sleeve, and I cut the ropes.”
“A knife? Where did you find that?”
He closed his eyes, knowing what was coming. “I had it in my boot on the ship, and when we docked I slipped it up my sleeve.”
“Wait a minute.” He heard her sit, and immediately images of the sheets sliding over her breasts rose in his mind. They’d slip down slowly, and with the torn chemise—
He threw an arm over his eyes.
“Wait just a moment,” she repeated, voice filled with annoyance. “You had the knife with you the whole time?”
He groaned inwardly. “Yes,” he answered, arm muffling his voice.
“But if you had the knife, then why did we have to bloody our fingers loosening the rope? Why didn’t we just cut the bindings?”
“Because if De´charne´’s men had found the rope cut on the ship, they would have known I had the knife. I thought it was safer to keep it hidden until we had an opportunity to escape.”
“Oh you did, did you?” she yelled. He winced.
“Well, I hope you are happy. My hands are ruined. When I get home, my mother—”
He grit his teeth. Chit could be damned irritating at times. “Go to sleep, Lucia,” he commanded.
“I’m not—”
He shot up. “Lucia.”
“Fine.” She huffed, and he heard her flop down, mumbling.
Finally she was silent, and not a moment too soon. Another word from her, and he would’ve strangled her. Not that the silky skin of her neck under his fingers would be unpleasant. He particularly loved the hollow at the base of her throat . . .
Bloody—
Alex rolled over and struggled to keep from falling off the couch. His legs dangled over the edge at the knee, and he could feel a definite cramp starting in his back. A few feet away he heard Lucia shuffle and turn over. It was going to be a long night.
Chapter Twenty-two
Lucia rolled onto her back, stretching her legs languorously. Vaguely she registered that the linens were scratchy, but it felt so good to be in a bed, she didn’t care. And she had it all to herself. Jerking awake, she bolted up and scanned the room for Alex. He was gone.
She frowned. But his clothes weren’t. They were in a heap on the chaise, and she wondered if he was strolling about the house naked. Beside the pile of Alex’s things, she saw a red gown draped over the arm of the chaise. Obviously, at some time during the night or early this morning, Sophie had sent a change of clothes. Lucia hadn’t even stirred from sleep.
Indeed, she was still tired, and she lay back, tempted to close her eyes again, but then her stomach growled, and she heard the murmur of voices downstairs and smelled something delicious cooking. She wondered if it was safe to leave the room and was still debating it when she heard a light knock on the door, startling her. She sat up, pulling the rough sheet to her chin. She scooted back against the headboard, then relaxed as Sophie opened the door and peeked inside.
“Bonjour, ma petite,” she said sunnily. “Are you awake?”
“Yes. Come in.” Lucia released her death grip on the sheets.
Sophie closed the door and immediately went to the window Lucia hadn’t even noticed and pulled wide the scarlet curtains. Lucia blinked.
