a manner than would only make her think of England and not the fiery passion that should arise between a man and a woman.
But he was not the sort of man who was interested in taking a woman to bed who was incapacitated. Too many men of his acquaintance bore no such scruples and they disgusted him.
Still, it had been a hellishly delicious night with her pressed up against him. He’d conjugated at least five hundred words in Latin before he’d been able to find some semblance of comfort and ability to sleep, but he’d not had the heart to kick her out of his bed.
Which was deuced odd, because, in general, women did not sleep in his bed. They were there for a single activity. Slumber was not it.
What the Devil was happening? A slow smile curved his lips. Whatever it was, it was damned enjoyable. He looked down on her face. In slumber, no one could ever have made the mistake that she was a boy. No, there was too much femininity in the curve of her slightly defiant chin, her pert nose, and ever so slightly burnished skin.
Working out of doors had left her with a decidedly unladylike color to go along with her shock of red hair.
Perhaps he was mad to allow this. A young woman, pretending to be a man? It was a recipe for disaster but didn’t he love unpredictability? He did. Yes.
It didn’t matter that he’d been longing for the security he’d felt as a very little boy for years. He’d even almost proposed marriage to a young lady before realizing she was absolutely the wrong choice. He had no wish to have a ton marriage. He was not going to be content with polite platitudes over breakfast, dinner, and necessary nighttime congress.
Oh no.
If he longed for anything, it was the love his parents had shared. True, some claimed he could have few memories of his parents, but he’d never forget the way they looked at each other. He wanted to look at a woman the way his father had his mother.
He blinked, stunned by the train his thoughts had taken.
Alfred should be at the center of his thoughts, not his past or his possible future.
She was meant to be a good entertainment in a long, dry spell of life.
So, he should get to it.
He gave her a good shoulder prodding. She’d need it given the amount of wine she’d consumed if she was ever to face the day. “Shake a leg, Alfred. Time to start your duties.”
She groaned and buried her face into his pillow.
He didn’t even bother to hide his grin. Alfred was clearly suffering the worst head. Well, that happened when one consumed a bottle of good red wine on one’s own. Oh, but what a treasure she’d been.
He hoped she had no regrets.
“Alfred,” he coaxed. “No layabouts here. Servants don’t sleep in.”
She grumbled again then went stiff. She rolled over, opened her eyes and stared at him. “Y-your Grace.”
By God, her eyes were astonishing.
Blue really didn’t cover it. They were aquamarine. The color of the coves of Devon in high summer. The kind of sea a man longed to dive into and swim in until he felt completely renewed.
Which was an utterly stupid thought. Alfred’s eyes were not Devon seas. They were, indeed, blue.
She blinked then said, “I seem to be in your bed.”
“Marvelous observation, Alfred. You should consider science as your profession.”
She arched a brow at him. At him!
He laughed. She was so easy to rile.
All that starch suddenly went out of her and her cheeks flamed a gorgeous pink.
She pushed back an errant bit of hair. “Why am I in your bed?”
“Couldn’t keep you out of it, my dear.” Which was only partially true. She had been eager to jump in it, but it had been he ultimately who had encouraged her to recline on the soft mattress. For the life of him, he couldn’t imagine why he’d thought that a good idea now.
He’d never thought he was a masochist.
“I did?”
“Oh yes.”
“And did, did. . . You see I don’t recall and I should like to remember if—“
He lifted a hand and gently touched her
But he was not the sort of man who was interested in taking a woman to bed who was incapacitated. Too many men of his acquaintance bore no such scruples and they disgusted him.
Still, it had been a hellishly delicious night with her pressed up against him. He’d conjugated at least five hundred words in Latin before he’d been able to find some semblance of comfort and ability to sleep, but he’d not had the heart to kick her out of his bed.
Which was deuced odd, because, in general, women did not sleep in his bed. They were there for a single activity. Slumber was not it.
What the Devil was happening? A slow smile curved his lips. Whatever it was, it was damned enjoyable. He looked down on her face. In slumber, no one could ever have made the mistake that she was a boy. No, there was too much femininity in the curve of her slightly defiant chin, her pert nose, and ever so slightly burnished skin.
Working out of doors had left her with a decidedly unladylike color to go along with her shock of red hair.
Perhaps he was mad to allow this. A young woman, pretending to be a man? It was a recipe for disaster but didn’t he love unpredictability? He did. Yes.
It didn’t matter that he’d been longing for the security he’d felt as a very little boy for years. He’d even almost proposed marriage to a young lady before realizing she was absolutely the wrong choice. He had no wish to have a ton marriage. He was not going to be content with polite platitudes over breakfast, dinner, and necessary nighttime congress.
Oh no.
If he longed for anything, it was the love his parents had shared. True, some claimed he could have few memories of his parents, but he’d never forget the way they looked at each other. He wanted to look at a woman the way his father had his mother.
He blinked, stunned by the train his thoughts had taken.
Alfred should be at the center of his thoughts, not his past or his possible future.
She was meant to be a good entertainment in a long, dry spell of life.
So, he should get to it.
He gave her a good shoulder prodding. She’d need it given the amount of wine she’d consumed if she was ever to face the day. “Shake a leg, Alfred. Time to start your duties.”
She groaned and buried her face into his pillow.
He didn’t even bother to hide his grin. Alfred was clearly suffering the worst head. Well, that happened when one consumed a bottle of good red wine on one’s own. Oh, but what a treasure she’d been.
He hoped she had no regrets.
“Alfred,” he coaxed. “No layabouts here. Servants don’t sleep in.”
She grumbled again then went stiff. She rolled over, opened her eyes and stared at him. “Y-your Grace.”
By God, her eyes were astonishing.
Blue really didn’t cover it. They were aquamarine. The color of the coves of Devon in high summer. The kind of sea a man longed to dive into and swim in until he felt completely renewed.
Which was an utterly stupid thought. Alfred’s eyes were not Devon seas. They were, indeed, blue.
She blinked then said, “I seem to be in your bed.”
“Marvelous observation, Alfred. You should consider science as your profession.”
She arched a brow at him. At him!
He laughed. She was so easy to rile.
All that starch suddenly went out of her and her cheeks flamed a gorgeous pink.
She pushed back an errant bit of hair. “Why am I in your bed?”
“Couldn’t keep you out of it, my dear.” Which was only partially true. She had been eager to jump in it, but it had been he ultimately who had encouraged her to recline on the soft mattress. For the life of him, he couldn’t imagine why he’d thought that a good idea now.
He’d never thought he was a masochist.
“I did?”
“Oh yes.”
“And did, did. . . You see I don’t recall and I should like to remember if—“
He lifted a hand and gently touched her
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