am so sorry to trouble you.” She turned the key and left it in the lock.
Adrian kept his arm around her as they started for the house. When she put the slightest weight on her ankle, he felt her tense with pain.
“This will not do.” Adrian scooped her up into his arms.
“No, put me down,” she begged. “You must not carry me.”
“Nonsense. Of course I must.” Her face was even closer now and her scent, like spring lilacs, filled his nostrils. She draped her arms around his neck, and he inhaled deeply.
“See? I am too heavy,” she protested.
Too heavy? She felt as if she belonged in his arms.
He smiled at her. “Do not insult my strength, Lady Wexin. You will wound my male vanity.” He made the mistake of staring into her deep blue eyes, now glittering with unspent tears, and his heart wrenched for her. “You must be in great pain,” he murmured.
She held his gaze. “It hurts not at all now.”
He could not look away.
Somewhere on the street a door slammed and Lady Wexin blinked.
Adrian regained his senses and carried her the short distance to the rear door of the townhouse. Voices sounded nearby, riding on the evening breeze.
“The door will be unlocked,” she murmured, her hair brushing his cheek.
He opened the door and brought her inside. To the left he glimpsed the kitchen, though there were no sounds of a cook at work there. He carried her down the passageway and brought her above stairs to the main hall of the house.
It was elegantly appointed with a gilded hall table upon which sat a pair of Chinese vases, devoid of flowers. Matching gilded chairs were upholstered in bright turquoise. The floor was a chequerboard of black-and-white marble, but no footman stood in attendance. In fact, the house was very quiet and a bit chilly.
“Shall I summon one of your servants?” he asked.
“They—they are all out at the moment, but you may put me down. I shall manage from here.”
He looked at her in surprise. “All out?” It was odd for a house to be completely empty of servants.
She averted her gaze. “They have the day off.” She squirmed in his arms. “You may put me down.”
He shook his head. “Your ankle needs tending.” He started up the marble staircase, smiling at her again to ease her discomfort. “By the way, I ought to present myself. I am—”
She interrupted him. “I know who you are.”
Adrian’s smile deepened, flattered that she’d noticed him.
He reached the second floor where he guessed the bedchambers would be. “Direct me to your room.”
“The second door,” she replied. “But, really, you mustn’t—”
It was his turn to interrupt. “Someone must.”
Her bedchamber was adorned with hand-painted wallpaper, bright exotic birds frolicking amidst colourful flowers. A dressing table with a large mirror held sparkling glass bottles, porcelain pots and a brush and comb with polished silver handles. Her bed was neatly made, its white coverlet gleaming and its many pillows plumped with what he guessed was the finest down. The room was chilly, though, as if someone had allowed the fire in the fireplace to go out.
He set her down on the bed, very aware of her hands slipping away from his neck. “I’ll tend the fire.”
“Really, sir. You need not trouble yourself.” Her voice reached a high, nervous pitch.
“It is no trouble.”
He removed his hat, gloves and topcoat and crossed the room to the small fireplace, its mantel of carved marble holding another empty vase. To his surprise, the fire had not died out at all. It was all set to be lit. He found the tinderbox and soon had a flame licking across the lumps of coal.
He returned to her. She had removed her cloak and clutched it in front of her. Adrian took it from her hands and draped it over a nearby chair. It contained something in its pocket. Adrian felt a purse, heavy with coin.
He turned back to her and their eyes met, hers still shimmering with tears.
He touched her arm. “Are you certain you are not in pain? You look near to weeping.”
She averted her gaze. “I’m not in pain.”
He knelt in front of her. “Then let me have a look at that ankle. If it is broken, we will need to summon a surgeon.”
She drew up her leg. “A surgeon!”
“A surgeon would merely set the bone,” he said, puzzled at her alarm.
Her hand fluttered. “I was thinking of the cost.”
“The cost?” Concern over the cost was even more puzzling. Adrian gave her a reassuring smile. “Let us not fret over what is not yet a problem. Let me examine it first.”
She extended her leg again and Adrian untied her half-boot. He slipped off the shoe, made of buttery soft white kid, and held her foot in his hand, enjoying too much its graceful shape.
She flinched.
He glanced up at her. “Am I hurting you?”
“No,” she rasped. “Not hurting.”
He grinned. “Tickling, then. I’ll be more careful.” He forced himself to his task, feeling her ankle, now swollen. His hand slipped up to her calf, but he quickly moved it down to her ankle again, gently moving her foot in all directions.
She gasped.
“Does that hurt?” he asked her.
“A little,” she whispered. “I—I should not be allowing you to do this.”
Indeed. He was enjoying it far too much, and desiring far more.
He cleared his throat. “I believe your ankle is sprained, not broken. I predict you will do nicely in a day or two.” He did not release it. “I should wrap it, though, to give you some support. Do you have bandages, or a strip of cloth?”
Her eyes were half-closed. She blinked and pointed to a chest of drawers. “Look in the bottom drawer.”
Adrian reluctantly let go of her leg and walked over to the chest. The bottom drawer contained neatly folded underclothing made of soft muslin and satiny silk as soft and smooth as her skin.
His thoughts, as if having a will of their own, turned carnal, and he imagined crossing the room and taking her in his arms, tasting her lips, peeling off her clothing, sliding his hands over her skin.
He gave himself an inwards shake. He would not take advantage of this lady. Her
