“Didn’t say for you t’ stop.” He opened his eyes and rolled toward her, his elbow bent, head propped on his hand. “Only way t’ get better is practice.”
“That was a very blunt statement.” She traced her finger over the carved design on the lyre’s wood frame. She stopped.
She stared at Ravencroft. “You’re still drunk!”
He squinted and held his thumb and forefinger about half an inch apart, and grinned.
She swiveled in her chair so she fully faced him and propped her elbows on her knees, keeping her voice low. “Maggie expressed surprise that you became inebriated on so little alcohol compared to most, er, men of her acquaintance.”
“She the one who looks like she should still be in a schoolroom?”
Ashley nodded. “She was disappointed you wouldn’t let her shave you.”
He tugged the blanket higher. “Stares at me like I’m a buffet and she hasn’t eaten in a week.”
As she’d probably been guilty of looking at him the same way, Ashley remained silent.
“You found out ‘nother secret. Can’t hold my liquor.” He yawned and rolled onto his back, stretching his arms over his head. It took all of Ashley’s self-control to keep her gaze on his face. Thank heavens for peripheral vision, so she didn’t completely miss this new view. “Get foxed faster than a twelve-year-old schoolboy. Is why I don’t usually drink.” He relaxed and let his arms rest on the pillows above his head. “Just a sip here an’ there t’ not draw ‘tention t’ fact I’m not drinking.”
Ashley frowned. “But you asked for whiskey. I offered you the choice of laudanum, and you chose—”
He shuddered and brought his arms back to his chest, and some of Ashley’s brain could focus elsewhere again. “Friend broke his arm falling off a horse. Used opium for pain. Two years later, he still can’t go without. Needs more all the time.” He shuddered again. “Don’ wanna be like him.”
“Whiskey was an acceptable alternative? Even though it meant getting drunk, or at least a bit castaway?”
“My arm hurts like hell, and I’d rather be half-foxed than whimpering.” His voice climbed at least an octave with the admission, though still quiet. “Have a care for my manly pride, Miss Hamlin.” He rolled toward her again, and his voice dropped to a seductive rumble. “You threatened t’ bite me the night we met.”
Her jaw dropped. She snapped it closed, as she couldn’t deny his accusation because she didn’t remember. It did sound like something she might say, though. If she felt threatened. The idea of biting him made her think about flinging back the blankets, climbing atop him, and tasting him. Just little nips with her teeth, on his warm, bare skin. She’d soothe the marks with kisses. And her tongue. She cleared her throat. “I did?”
He must have heard the squeak in her voice, as that slow grin spread across his face again. “I trust you t’ stop me if I do an’thing ungen’lemanlike.”
Her heart raced, thinking of their kiss. Far from stopping him, she’d encouraged him. All but threw herself into his arms. The factshehad been the one to initiate the kiss did not bear thinking on.
She buried her face in her hands. Having him here, right there in her bed, half naked, handsome and flirting—flirting! withher! —was becoming a temptation, and she feared she was getting weaker the more he regained his strength. He trusted her, but she didn’t trust herself. Not after this afternoon. Not now that she knew how it felt to kiss him, for him to kiss her in return. He had to go. Before she did something beyond foolish and became a cautionary tale.
“Westbrook and I have devised a plan. How you can leave.”
He propped his head on his hand again. “Does it involve sneaking out in the dark of night?”
She shook her head. “You’re going to walk out the front door in the middle of the afternoon.”
His eyebrows rose.
“Tomorrow, you and Mr. Westbrook are going to pay a call on me, to deliver a gift from Lady Mansfield. This lyre.” She tapped the instrument. “But inside the package will be Gilroy’s coat and hat. Maggie and Sally will help you two switch in the back hallway, and Gilroy will exit through the mews.”
David’s brow furrowed as he thought through her plan. “How fortuitous I had the foresight to hire a manservant of a similar build as me.” He glanced down at his bare chest. “But what will I be wearing besides a coat and hat?”
He was baiting her, and she grinned. “Sally has been meeting Gilroy every day and collecting articles of your clothing from him. They’re hidden in my wardrobe.”
David glanced over his shoulder, at her dressing room. “Why, Miss Hamlin, how brazen of you, mingling our clothing.”
His wicked smile and slow emphasis on the last three words sent tingles down her spine.
* * *
Only when Maggie and Sally returned did Ashley trust herself to change the poultice on David’s arm. He didn’t sit up in bed, but held up his arm without tucking it against her.
If all went according to plan, she would only do this for him one more time. By tomorrow afternoon, his manservant would be the one tending David’s wound.
