Her hair, a deep honey blonde, fell in wild, tangled locks around her head and shoulders. He retrieved the loose pins, allowing that as his excuse to comb his hand through the damp, silky skeins. He felt her head, looking for bumps or cuts and found none. She was luckier than many. He scowled anew at her foolhardiness and dropped the pins on a nearby table.

Justin lifted her and with one hand, drew down the covers. Divested of her heavy clothing, she was no heavier than thistledown. He frowned at the image and placed her on the linen sheets and jerked the blankets up to her chin.

The woman didn’t move. She lay oblivious in the wide bed, her slender body no more than a bump under the covers. About to brush back a curl at her temple, Justin paused. He clenched his fist, then relaxed his grip and tucked the covers tightly around her. She was still cold, too cold.

Where the devil was Ordway? Justin yanked the bell pull and kept at it until he heard running footsteps in the hall. Ordway arrived, followed by two footmen and Justin’s valet. "Yes, my lord?" Ordway panted.

Four sets of eyes widened as they studied the woman ensconced in Justin’s nightshirt. "Oh, no," the valet wailed. "A female."

Ordway approached the bed. "Has she expired?"

"No, but she will damn quick if we don’t help her. Make up the fire," Justin ordered one of the footmen. "I want it blazing in here." Justin watched the footman tend the fire. "Good. Once you’re done here, send the stable lads to search for the lady’s conveyance. See if there are any others stumbling about in the storm. We shall have the care of them as well."

"Very good, my lord." The footman cast an inquiring glance at the woman in the bed, and then catching Justin’s scowl, retreated. Justin turned his attention to his valet. "Pruitt. Do something with those wet things."

Pruitt retreated a pace. He put up his hands, palm out. "My lord, I am a gentleman’s gentleman-—"

"Oh for God’s sake, Pruitt. She’ll need dry clothing when she wakes. Tend to it."

Pruitt eyed the clothing distastefully but picked up the dripping mass. "May I remind you, sir, that you said we were to be a bachelor establishment? That we would do nothing but rusticate and perfect your technique with the épée?"

Justin spared a glance for his valet. "Circumstances have changed."

Pruitt sniffed. "Very well, my lord. Cook will want to know if he should prepare a meal for the lady. Something for an invalid?"

"Tell him to do as he thinks best. Oh, and Pruitt," Justin added as the man stepped through the door. "Have a tray brought to me here. Let me know how the child does."

Alone, with the woman seen to, Justin noted his own damp clothing. He pulled off his jacket and loosened his shirt at the waistband. Heat from the fire enveloped him and licked at his exposed skin. With the fire this hot, he’d dry out soon enough. He sank back into an armchair and studied the mystery woman.

He scowled. No doubt she had her reasons for going to this length to wring a marriage proposal out of him, but why would she bring a babe along?

It was all for naught. He’d never cared much for damsels in distress, and didn’t intend to be caught by one now. No doubt she’d envisioned a different ending to her scheme. How insidious a plan-—just like a female, to devise something so sly. No doubt she had accomplices at the ready, prepared to burst in and find them in a compromising act. By rights, he should leave her alone to stew in the knowledge that she’d failed miserably. Someone else could look after her. When she woke, refreshed and rested, he would see that she put on her dry clothing, took the child and left. He’d lend her his own carriage, if necessary. It’d take more than a clever ploy to capture him.

Why, then, did his cock ache? Why could he think of nothing but keeping her, warm and wanton, in his bed? --© 1996 © 1997

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