Love With the Perfect Scoundrel by Sophia Nash Page B

out.
    “I meant to straighten everything, but there wasn’t time,” she said, defeated.
    “Never seen the point of it, really,” he lied, yet again. “It only becomes undone.” He flashed a grin toward her.
    With a few quick movements, Michael expertly arranged the linens and placed her in the middle of the large bed, completely ignoring her pleas to stop carrying her about.
    He met her annoyed gaze and glanced pointedly toward her bodice. She looked down and inhaled sharply.
    “So,” he said and stopped.
    “So,” she replied. “You will leave me and I will bind my…the area with greater care. The bandage has evidently slipped.”
    “Evidently.”
    “Yes.”
    “Look, sweetheart, if you think for a moment that I’m not going to take a look—right now—then you’re a greater fool than I would take you for.” He put up a hand when he saw her open her mouth to disagree. “No, it’s no use. Now you can either voluntarily submit, or we can do it the other way.”
    “And what way is that, Mr. Ranier?” she asked sourly. “Are you threatening me with a twitch?”
    “Something like that.”
    “Really?”
    “Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of tying you up like a calf before we snip off its, ah—well, you get the idea.” He stopped and chuckled, unable to continue after spying the look of horror in her eyes.
    “You wouldn’t dare,” she breathed.
    Silence was his answer.
    “Well!” She narrowed her eyes.
    “Look, angel, it’s not like I haven’t seen you naked as a jaybird already.”
    She sputtered and tried to rise but his hand on her shoulder stopped her.
    “All right, all right. My apologies.” He wasn’t sure what it was about her, but he couldn’t stop himself from uttering completely outrageous things around her. It might have been because he enjoyed seeing a spark of fire to her otherwise cool expression. When annoyance filled her, her eyes became as vibrant as the bluebells in Virginia on a clear spring morning.
    “So…” He drawled the word expectantly.
    “So…what?” She asked with a measure of exasperation.
    “We’re back to waiting for you to unbutton your gown,” he replied. “Would you like me to help?”
    Her eyes flared with panic. “Absolutely not! Oh, for goodness sakes, allow me some degree of privacy.”
    “Of course, Mrs. Sheffey.” He set about stacking wood in the grate and restarting the fire while he heard the unmistakable rustling of a woman undressing behind him.
    It was ironic, he thought with a grin. In the colonies, he’d taken great care not to overly entangle himself where it concerned women. For some godforsaken reason he couldn’t figure, almost all of them, wide-eyed virgins to lazy-eyed harlots, were attracted to him like moths to a flame. The more experienced, daring ones had fluttered toward his blacksmithing furnace in the heat of the night, and he’d sometimes given pleasure and taken it in return. Never with a promise of anything more. But in the end, he’d learned it wasn’t worth the corporal relief. For invariably, they wished for a future with him and became overwrought when dreams were denied. And so he’d learned to employ every evasive trick imaginable to sidestep advances.
    It was probably for that reason that Michael took such pleasure in wearing down the countess’s defenses with humor. It warmed his soul to watch this tiny, soft package of femininity wrestle with him over the notion of decorum.
    He poured water into a basin on the washstand, and then turned to find her under a hill of blankets, her face turned away from him.
    The floorboards creaked under his measured strides and she inched the covers higher.
    He stared down at her even, refined profile resting against the pillow. A pulse fluttered frantically along the delicate column of her neck. He uncovered her as gently as possible and found her arms rigid at her sides.
    “Two of the stitches have come loose.” He grasped a wet cloth and squeezed the