Kiss From A Rogue

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

They were soaked to the skin by the time they cleared their work materials from the roof, now slick with rain, and hurried down to gather the debris being flung about on the lawn. He wasn’t going to let his efforts go to waste. What good was keeping the weather out from the roof, only to let it come in through broken windows?

Sylvia and Galen must have had the same thoughts, as they had the task nearly completed by the time the three men reached the lawn. Within minutes the property was as secure as they could make it. Everyone collected in the entry hall, breathing hard, dripping wet. Tony leaned against the closed door, listening to the wind and rain buffet the house. Jimmy shook his head like a dog, spraying water on them all.

“Jimmy!” Sylvia admonished.

“What?” He tried for an innocent expression, but a grin broke out.

Tony met her gaze, her dismay giving way to good humor. Her curls were in a riot from the wind, her cheeks flushed from wind and exertion. Her lips were set in a gentle smile, glistening and rosy. If he kissed her, would she taste of the sea breeze, fresh and clean with a hint of salt?

“Off with ye, then,” Galen said, gesturing for them all to move. “You’re all filthy and dripping on my floors. Get yourselves dry, and I’ll scare up something to warm yer bones.”

“Yes, ma’am.” With a last grin shared with Sylvia, Tony and the others all trooped upstairs to their respective rooms to change.

He stripped off his sodden clothes and dropped them in the basket at the bottom of the wardrobe. Sylvia was in her room, just a connecting dressing room away, doing the same thing. She had been almost as wet as he. Did she now stand n***d in her room, too? With no lady’s maid, did she need assistance unbuttoning her gown? He almost knocked on the door to offer his assistance, then realized he should probably put some clothes on before offering to help Sylvia remove hers. Shriveled with cold did not reveal him at his best.

He toweled off and dressed as quickly as his shivering allowed, in his only clean clothes. He’d have to ask Galen about washing his other set. He debated between knocking on the adjoining door, or out in the hall. The sound of the hall door opening made the decision for him, and he darted out.

Damn. She was already dressed. In yet another drab gray gown.

“May I escort you down?” He held out his arm.

“Actually, I was going to check on the gold salon first.”

“To see how my repairs are holding up?”

“To see if the rain is staying outside.” She turned, without taking his arm.

He followed her down the hall and up the stairs, admiring the view the whole way. Not the wallpaper, which was dreadfully faded and peeling in places, but Sylvia’s derriere. The gentle sway of her hips was mesmerizing in the half-light of the darkened hall, her gown swishing from side to side with each step, revealing the tempting hint of a curve. His hand itched to trace it, to explore the curve.

Come to think of it, his hand really did itch. Sting. Burn, even.

Damn blisters. He concentrated on watching Sylvia’s backside. Much better.

The fire had been kept going in the salon to help dry things out, as he’d requested, though it had burned low and cast a soft glow across the room. Sylvia stepped over the debris, moving along the wall, toward the window.

Tony reluctantly stopped staring at her and examined the walls and ceiling around the window. So far, all the moisture appeared to be staying outside.

“Your workmanship appears to be holding up, sir.” Sylvia glanced at him before taking a seat on the scaffolding before the window, facing the oncoming storm. Windblown rain slapped at the glass, smearing the view entirely before dripping down, leaving a distorted view of the rolling pasture before the next gust blew more water onto the panes.

He sat beside her, close enough to feel her warmth, to hear her breathing, to inhale her delicate lavender scent. “We’ll see how it is by morning, if this onslaught keeps up.” He couldn’t resist resting his right hand on her shoulder. Tried to give it a reassuring squeeze, but pain shot through his hand.

Lightning flashed and thunder shook the house, rumbling almost directly overhead. Sylvia jumped. Tony wrapped his arm around her. She stiffened, but then relaxed her posture after a moment, and didn’t shrug off his contact.

“I used to love thunderstorms, as long as I was someplace safe and dry.”

Tony was more than happy to keep her safe in his embrace. He tightened his arm around her. “Used to?”

“Before I understood how powerful they are. How destructive they can be. At home in Manchester, storms were just a spectacle, something exhilarating to watch. But here on the coast, they can destroy people’s homes. I’ve seen it happen all too often lately.”

“But you’re safe here. And dry.”

Sylvia murmured agreement, a sound that sent sparks shooting through him. She nestled closer, tucking herself in the hollow of his shoulder. Tony hardly dared breathe.

They remained in place for several minutes, Sylvia mesmerized by the storm, a look of awe and wonder on her face, Tony not wanting to do anything that would make her move away from his embrace.

Perhaps her men would all stay away tonight, safe and snug in their own homes while the storm howled outside. No guard dogs sleeping outside Sylvia’s door, no one to prevent him from crossing into her bedchamber. His heart beat a little faster.

After the hard day everyone had had, surely they’d all seek their beds soon? He wound one of her curls around his left forefinger. Later tonight, he could put that same look of awe and wonder in her eyes, regardless of the storm outside.

A sudden harsh gust rattled the window and startled Sylvia. She wrapped her arms around his waist. He steadied her with his blister-free hand and gave her a reassuring smile. Her answering smile froze before it fully formed. Good thing he wasn’t playing cards. His expression must be conveying his intent. She looked torn between acquiescence and reluctance.

Given half a chance, a little more time alone with her, he could erase any indecision, any hesitancy, to the point she would be the one to initiate their intimacy. He doubted anyone had made her feel desirable since before her husband’s death. Perhaps even longer.

He could fix that, too, even better than he had the roof.

The dinner bell rang, startling them both.

Sylvia slowly sat up. “We, ah, should go. Downstairs, that is.” She ran her fingers through her hair, fluffing the curls that had flattened where she’d leaned against him.

Tony ran a curl between his fingers. “Wouldn’t want Galen to come searching for us. She wields that big wooden spoon like a weapon.”

Sylvia smiled at his jest, her equilibrium restored, at least for the moment. She took his arm, and they went down to dinner.

Galen had prepared a thick hot stew and warm bread with butter. Tony discovered he was famished and ate two helpings, still not keeping up with Jimmy’s three. He was also hampered by his stiff right hand, which forced him to eat left-handed. Sylvia offered the nightly glass of brandy, but he declined it. He wanted nothing to fog his mind later on. He wanted to be able to remember every detail with crystal clarity.

The three of them moved to the rose salon while Galen and Gerald cleaned up. Tony had offered Sylvia his arm as escort, and she tugged him down beside her on the sofa nearest the fireplace.

“Jimmy, please fetch my bag.”

Tony would have moved to a more decorous distance. Having Sylvia know about his plans was quite sufficient; no need to let anyone else in on it. But she held him in place.

Jimmy simply shrugged and left without comment.

“I thought ladies always kept their needlework or whatever in a basket by their chair, not in a bag.”

“I do.” She pointed to a wicker basket next to the armchair, overflowing with stockings and other items waiting to be mended.

“Then…?”

“Give me your hand, please.”

He held his left hand out.

“No, I want the hand that’s too sore to hold a spoon.”

Oh. He thought she wouldn’t have noticed. He did give her his right hand, by first wrapping his arm around her shoulder and dangling his hand inches from her delicate chin. It was risky. They were alone for the moment but wouldn’t be for long. But it was worth it. Sylvia fit perfectly against him, just as before. Strong, but soft in all the right places.

“Very amusing, sir.” Sylvia grabbed his wrist and pulled his arm over her head and held it, palm up. The hand seemed permanently curved, as though still holding the hammer or tile cutter.

He inhaled a hiss as she spread his fingers open a little.

“Hurt?”

“Not so you’d notice.” He gave her his best cocky grin, the effect of which was ruined when she flattened his fingers and he gasped at the sudden shock of pain.

Jimmy returned and dropped a small, ancient portmanteau at Sylvia’s side. He leaned over them, staring at Tony’s red palm and oozing blisters. “She’s going to make you cry.”

“Oh, I doubt that.”

Sylvia didn’t comment, but pulled several jars and cloths from her bag, while still holding Tony’s wrist. Jimmy settled in the armchair by the fire and watched the proceedings through heavy-lidded eyes. The storm continued to howl and rumble outside, occasionally rattling the windows.

Sylvia paid no heed, absorbed in her work, and Tony was absorbed in watching her. From a small flask, she pulled the cork out with her teeth. Before an erotic image regarding her mouth could fully form, she poured alcohol on his palm.

“Holy sh—!” Tony squeezed his eyes against the searing pain.

“Told you.” Jimmy slouched farther in his chair, long legs stretched out in front of him.

Much to Tony’s chagrin, there was indeed moisture at the corners of his eyes. He glanced at Sylvia, but her brow was furrowed as she worked, paying no attention to him whatsoever, other than keeping his fingers open, palm flat.

He hurriedly wiped his eyes with his cuff. “Why don’t you have blisters? You worked just as hard and almost as long as I did.”

Jimmy wiggled his fingers. “Ripping off old tiles doesn’t require the same finesse as setting new ones in place. I switched back and forth, used both hands.”

Tony would have harrumphed, but Sylvia tugged his hand closer, her fingers wrapped around his wrist. His arm brushed her waist with her every breath, and nearly touched the underside of her breast. He could prevent the improper contact if he edged forward on the sofa and straightened his arm. He didn’t. He could increase the contact if he scooted back or raised his shoulder. With Jimmy only a few feet away, he didn’t do that, either.

Once Sylvia was satisfied his palm was clean, she slathered it with a thick, sweet-smelling ointment, and wrapped a bandage around his hand. Quiet snores came from Jimmy by the time she finished.

“That should help speed the healing process.” She rested his hand on his thigh. “Try to keep it clean and dry, and use it, but gently, or it will stiffen up.”

While Sylvia put her things away, Tony inspected the neat bandage and flexed his hand. Too late — it was already painfully stiff. Though it had been stiff and sore since yesterday, so he probably couldn’t blame that on Sylvia’s handiwork. “Two nights ago, you treated a cut on the back of my head. Tonight, my hand. Is this a habit we’ve formed, my lady? Every other night, you minister to my wounds?”

“Perhaps you should try to not get wounded.” Her green eyes sparkled with humor.

Galen entered with a tea tray and poured each of them a cup.

“New leaves this time?” he asked.

“They was new just this morning.” She winked and headed for the door.

“You’re not staying?” Sylvia picked up her cup.

“Beg pardon, my lady, but Gerald is nearly passed out back in the kitchen. I’m going to put him to bed and join him.”

“Good night, then.”

One chaperone gone, though they still had Jimmy, snoring in his armchair.

The storm pounded against the house. Fire crackled in the grate. All but two candles were snuffed out. Perfect night for a seduction.

He sipped his tea, to moisten his suddenly dry throat. After he set the cup down, he leaned back, his arm casually draped along the back edge of the sofa, mere inches from Sylvia’s bare skin above the top of her gown. Should he stroke his thumb down her soft, smooth neck first? Or kiss her hand, work his way up her arm and shoulder, her strong jaw, delicate cheek, and finally to her delectable mouth? Whisper his desire in her ear?

She leaned back, within reach of his hand. Slowly, he brought his arm around her.

“You must be exhausted,” she said softly. “You were up there working before dawn.” She stroked the back of his hand where it draped over her shoulder.

Tony watched her touch him, enjoying the feel of her hand on him almost as much as what it represented. Other than for medicinal purposes, this was the first time she’d taken the initiative in touching him. Excellent progress.

“I still have some energy left.” He’d be more than happy to expend said energy with her. All night long.

He felt her breathing quicken, saw her bosom rise and fall.

Could she hear his heart pounding? He wrapped his other arm around her, too, his thumb caressing the small expanse of smooth, bare skin above the neckline of her gown. Her soft lavender scent wafted up to him. He wanted to comb his fingers through her curls, caress her cheek. He wanted to kiss her. Everywhere.

Jimmy snored.

He wanted to move this upstairs.

“You’ve had a rather long day as well, I imagine.” Rubbing his hand down her back wasn’t quite as satisfying as it could have been, what with the bandage blocking much of his sensation. He ran the backs of his fingers down her soft-as-down cheek, intending to tilt her face up for his kiss, whisper his invitation to go upstairs.

He jerked his head at a sudden noise. The storm still wailed outside, but not as strongly as it blew itself out heading inland.

The noise came again. Blast. Someone was pounding on the front door.

Sylvia sat up and edged away from him, taking a moment longer to recognize the source of the noise. Jimmy snorted and shifted but didn’t waken.

“You have visitors.” Tony couldn’t believe his luck. Whoever was out there better have a damn good reason for interrupting.

The door knocker sounded again, three loud raps, and Sylvia hurried to answer, Tony at her heels with a candle.

“So sorry to intrude, my lady,” Hayden said, shivering on the doorstep. At least a dozen adults and children were huddled behind him in the rain. “Lightning struck the old oak on High Street, and it smashed two cottages. Wind ripped the roofs clean off three others. The Happy Jack and the church are already packed to the rafters. We’ve nowhere else to go.”