Scandalous Summer Nights (12 page)

Olivia and he turned toward the doorway, where Hildy stood, her hands pressed to her cheeks in dismay.

“It’s all right,” Olivia said soothingly. “Mr. Averill mistakenly thought I was in distress—”

“Yes, how silly of me.” James couldn’t help rolling his eyes.

“—and attempted to come to my aid.”

“The… the door,” Hildy stammered.

James’s face heated. “I’ll speak to the innkeeper about getting you a new room. In fact, I think I’ll see to that right now.” He took two steps toward the door.

“Just a moment, sir.” Hildy blocked his path and her steely gaze dropped to his fist, which was full of frothy, pink silk.

“Ah, my apologies,” James said, handing the robe to the maid.

“You may guard the doorway,” she said icily, “while I help Lady Olivia into this.”

James dutifully took his post and tried not to think about Olivia being utterly naked behind him.

“There,” Hildy announced a few moments later. “You may turn around, Mr. Averill.”

Olivia now wore her robe and one slipper. The maid had also removed the coverlet from the bed and placed it over her mistress—for an extra layer of protection.

All things considered, it wasn’t a bad idea.

“I do apologize for the mess and the damage,” James said. “I’ll take care of it at once.”

“Wait, please.” The weary maid sat on the edge of the bed.

“What is it, Hildy?” Olivia’s voice was laced with concern. “You don’t look well.”

“I’m fine, my lady. But I spoke with Terrence when I was out and he shared a bit of news that affects us all.”

The hairs on the back of James’s neck stood on end. “What’s happened?” He half expected the maid to say that Huntford had discovered their location and was leading a regiment of the British Army to retrieve them.

“It’s the coach,” the maid said with despair. “The axle can’t be repaired—it will have to be replaced. It’s going to take a couple of days, at least.”

W
e’re going to be stuck here for a couple of
days
?” cried Olivia.

Across the room, James paled, apparently no more enthused than she at the prospect of spending two, possibly three, nights at this inn. But his expression was thoughtful as he righted the tub and plopped the soaked sheet inside it.

“I agree that the situation is not ideal,” he said. “But at least you’ll be able to rest your ankle. First thing in the morning, I’m going to fetch a doctor so that he can examine your foot and hip.”

“Your hip?” exclaimed Hildy. “What’s happened to your hip?”

Olivia shot James a
thank-you-very-much
look, turned to the maid, and said, “Nothing. However, I confess that if I do not eat something soon, I may keel over onto the floor.”

The change in subject was sufficient to distract Hildy. “I asked for a tray to be sent up.”

“Why don’t you take my room for now,” offered James. “I could move you and all of your things there.”

Olivia wasn’t sure she liked being lumped together with her portmanteau as something that required moving. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

James shrugged and cast a glance at the splintered door frame behind him. “It’s the least I can do.”

Olivia couldn’t help staring at the broad shoulders that had broken down her door and the tantalizing V of skin exposed by his loosened shirt collar. It was a pity that he hadn’t been shirtless when he’d burst into her room.

After the day she’d endured, producing a bare-chested James seemed like the least Fate could have done.

Olivia awoke the next morning in James’s bed. Never mind that he wasn’t in it. Or that he’d never had the opportunity to actually sleep in the bed. It still tickled her to think of it as
his
.

Hildy drew back the curtains in the small room, letting in far too much light for the early hour.

“I’m glad you’re stirring,” the maid said, as if Olivia had a choice. “The doctor’s on his way up.”

James certainly hadn’t wasted any time, but she supposed it was best to get the examination over with.

A half hour later, her entire foot was bandaged. She couldn’t wiggle a toe if she tried, which was probably a
good thing. Sadly, however, there wasn’t a slipper in the world that would fit over her bound foot. At least she could endeavor to hide it beneath her gown. Her hip was bruised, but there was nothing to be done for that. The doctor predicted it would be a lovely shade of green by the end of the week.

He had instructed her to stay abed for two days. When Olivia had protested, he agreed that she should be permitted to sit in a chair with her foot propped up. After two days—as long as she did not overexert herself—she could walk using crutches. Of course, she hadn’t thought to pack crutches for this little excursion, so the doctor gave her the name and address of a carpenter who could make some for her.

After the doctor left, Hildy helped Olivia dress in a pretty but simple yellow frock, then weaved a white bow through her dark brown curls. She had to admit, the effect was rather charming, and a vast improvement over the torn, muddy dress she’d been wearing the night before.

Hildy helped Olivia sit in a chair and placed a pillow on a stool before carefully propping Olivia’s sore foot on top of it. “Would you like to read your book while I see about breakfast?”

Olivia looked wistfully at the crisp, golden morning that beckoned from beyond her window. “No breakfast for me, Hildy. But after you eat something yourself, would you please ask Terrence to order my crutches? Though I’ve only been confined to my room for half an hour, I feel like a dove trapped in a cage.”

“Of course,” the maid said sympathetically. She tucked a note containing the carpenter’s address in a pocket. “I’ll go with him. I can serve as your stand-in for measurement purposes.”

Olivia smiled. “Thank you. Just knowing they’ve been ordered will be a comfort while I’m cooped up here. I wouldn’t mind nearly as much if I were someplace I was actually supposed to be—like Aunt Eustace’s. Or home.”

“Why, Lady Olivia, you almost sound a little homesick,” her maid teased. “Just think of this latest trial as another part of your grand adventure.” She winked and handed Olivia the book. “The important thing is that we get you well and to your aunt’s house as quickly as possible. In the meantime, there’s little harm that can come to you here in your room.” Hildy threw a cloak around her shoulders as she headed for the door. “I’ll return before luncheon. Try to rest till then.”

“I shall try,” Olivia said resolutely. But truly, she had little choice in the matter.

She’d been staring at her book for three minutes when a knock sounded at the door. She instinctively dropped her injured foot to the floor as if to stand, but caught herself. “Who is it?” she called.

“James.” The low timbre of his voice made Olivia’s heart trip in her chest. “I am curious to know what the doctor said.”

She grabbed the fringed shawl draped on the back of her chair and tossed it over her bandaged foot. Blasted vanity. “Shall I relate the whole of it through the door, or would you like to come in?”

James turned the knob—Olivia hadn’t even been certain it was unlocked—and strode into the room, carrying a parcel behind his back. “Am I interrupting anything?”

Olivia sighed. “Not a thing. Hildy’s running an errand. I’m trying to figure out how I shall survive being trapped in this room for the next two days.”

“Doctor’s orders?”

She nodded, and James proffered the flat package wrapped in brown paper.

“Maybe this will help,” he said.

As she unwrapped it, he sat on the edge of her bed, looking hopeful—and more handsome than any man had a right to.

The brown paper fell away, revealing several sheets of creamy white vellum and a small bundle of charcoal sticks. Warmth blossomed in her belly. “How thoughtful,” she exclaimed. It was the first gift James had ever given her.

He waved a hand at the supplies in her lap. “Might help to pass the time.”

“Where did you get these?”

“At a shop in the village. I needed something to occupy me while the doctor examined you, so I went for a walk.” An adorable frown crossed his face, and if Olivia didn’t know better, she’d think that he’d been worried. About her.

“Thank you.” Though the paper and charcoal were simple gifts, she liked them better than jewels. Well, almost.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Your ankle—is it broken?”

“Sprained. I suppose it serves me right.”

She’d only meant to make light of the matter, but James scooped up one of her hands and clasped it firmly in his. “Don’t say that. I’m to blame, too, and I’m going to make it up to you.”

Goodness. This was sounding more interesting by the minute. “How do you propose to do that?” His slightly rough palm skimmed the back of her hand, sending the
most pleasant thrumming sensation shooting through her body.

“I could keep you company—until you grow tired of me.”

Olivia tried to imagine growing tired of James… and couldn’t. Her confinement suddenly felt less like a punishment and more like a fantasy. James’s undivided attention for two days? She couldn’t think of anything more appealing.

“Very well.” She flashed him a saucy grin. “You may begin entertaining me at once.”

James’s mind flew to several activities that would be highly entertaining for both of them. He swallowed hard. “What would you like to do?”

She arched a brow suggestively, and that alone was enough to make him hard. Damn.

Standing, he rifled a hand through his hair. “Would you like to test out the charcoal? I could gather a few items for you to sketch. Maybe a pitcher or some fruit—”

“Fruit?”

James shrugged. “Isn’t that what people normally sketch?”

“Perhaps, but I don’t find apples or oranges particularly… inspiring. As an artist, that is.”

“You’d prefer a landscape, then?” He strode to the window, swept aside the threadbare curtain, and took in the inn’s mostly barren courtyard. A few scraggly trees bordered the space, but the courtyard’s main feature was, unfortunately, mud. “I’m afraid there’s not much of a view.”

“Says who?” Olivia asked mischievously. He turned
to find her grinning and looking at him like he was a sculpture she was debating whether to purchase. Her gaze roved over his chest, hips, and legs, all the way down to the toes of his boots. She even leaned left in her chair as though she were trying to inspect his ass.

Good God.

He placed his hands on his hips and waited till her eyes found their way back to his. They took the long route. “If you don’t want to sketch fruit, I’m sure I could find a flower arrangement. And maybe some interesting fabric to drape behind it?”

“No need,” she said, smiling. “I have everything I want right here. Why don’t you pull up that chair?”

“You don’t mean to…”

“I do. Don’t tell me you’ve never posed for a sketch before.” She waved a hand at the chair in the corner. “Let’s have you sit in that lovely shaft of light.”

He began to balk, but a promise was a promise. Besides, he had no work to do, no place to go. So, he dragged the chair across the wooden floorboards and sank onto the seat. “I don’t think I’ll make a very good model.” The thought of sitting there, watching Olivia watch him, with nothing to distract him but her sultry eyes, inviting mouth, and the tantalizing swells of her breasts sounded like torture. The best kind, perhaps, but still torture.

“Nonsense.” She tilted her head to one side and pursed her lips. “Try draping your right arm across the back of the chair.”

He opened his mouth to object, but when he saw the big mound of her foot that she’d tried to hide beneath her shawl, he sighed and did as he was bid.

“Now, prop your right ankle on your left knee.”

“Like this?”

“That’s good… but I think we can do better.”

“We can?”

“Pretend you’re at your club. How would you sit if you were relaxing there one evening?”

“I don’t know. Like this, I suppose.” He stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles.

Her gaze raked over him once more, slowly. “That will do,” she said a little breathlessly. “Yes, I think I can work with this.”

She bent her left leg, leaned the stack of paper against it, and lifted a piece of charcoal. “I hope you’re comfortable,” she said with a grin, “because I expect this will take a while.” She sat no more than two yards away, studying him as though she needed to etch everything about him into her memory. If it were anyone but Olivia doing the studying, it would have been an awkward affair, but with her it seemed… natural.

For several minutes neither of them spoke. A warm breeze ruffled his hair and fluttered the edges of Olivia’s papers. In the courtyard outside the window, the inn’s staff scurried to and fro, calling out greetings, loading wagons, and hitching horses. The bustle one story below provided a stark contrast to the quiet intimacy in the room.

At last, she began to move her hand across the paper in sweeping arcs. The tip of her tongue played at the corner of her mouth as she worked. He itched to tease her about it, but if he did, she might stop. And he didn’t want her to change, not even in that little way. Not for him or anyone.

While her attention was focused on her paper, he seized the opportunity to study her. Normally she was like a butterfly, always moving and darting about. But not
today. Now she was still enough for James to appreciate her silken skin, her thick lashes, and her tempting curves.

“Let us play a game,” she began.

“Are we done with the drawing, then?” Hopeful, he leaned forward.

Waving him back into his pose, she said, “No, we’re just getting started. We can play this game from our respective positions.”

“Very well. What are the rules?”

Her hand paused in midair and she rolled her eyes. “Must every game have rules?”

He grunted. “Yes. Things would be very random without them.”

“Fine. The rules are quite simple. We shall take turns asking one another questions. And we must answer truthfully.”

“And if we refuse to answer, shall there be a penalty?”

“But of course.” She thoughtfully pressed a finger to her lips. “Anyone who violates the rules shall be required to do one thing of the other person’s bidding.”

James snorted. Wasn’t he already doing Olivia’s bidding? “Like what?”

She laughed huskily, stirring something warm and deep inside him. “Use your imagination.”

He already was, damn it. “Ladies first.” He kept his tone light, but his heart beat faster. If she asked about his childhood or family…

Setting her charcoal on the table at her side, she said, “Have you ever been in love?”

James released a breath. This question he could handle. “Once. Miss Mary Newton. She had beautiful blue eyes that crinkled at the corners whenever she laughed, and she laughed at all my jokes—”

“You don’t tell jokes,” Olivia interrupted, scowling.

“Maybe not, but Mary thought me quite witty. She found my fascination with antiquities charming. I was nineteen, and so was she. Everyone thought we’d be perfect together.”

“But you weren’t?”

James recalled the day Mary first met his brother. He’d tried to gently prepare her for Ralph’s spastic movements and slurred speech, but upon seeing him, she couldn’t mask her revulsion. She’d burst into tears and run out of the house as though Ralph were a beast, hideous and inhuman.

And that was when James knew Mary was not for him.

Olivia leaned forward, awaiting his response.

“No. We were not meant to be.”

“Why not? Did she break things off, or did you?”

James shook his head. “You’ve already had your question. Now it’s my turn.”

She blew out a breath in frustration, but then held out her arms as if to say,
Do your worst
. “I’m ready.”