Reckless - By Anne Stuart Page 0,59

polite answer. Then again, Monty had never been insistent on good manners.

"He's a dog."

Monty laughed. "No, darling, tell me what you really feel about him."

"'You weren't thinking of matchmaking, were you, Monty? Because if you were, then I think your illness has reached your brain and there's no hope for you."

"I do adore you, Lina, but even I know that you're hardly Ihe kind of woman who'd make a decent parson's wife. Besides, I'm very fond of Simon— I wouldn't think of saddling him with a shrew like you. Why do you ask?"

She decided to ignore her own suspicions. "The vicar thought you might be."

-Really? Wishful thinking on his part. I expect."

He took a sip of his own watered-down wine. 'Faugh, this tastes like piss. Give me a full glass, there's a dear."

"'And how often have you tasted piss?" "You don't really want the answer to that, do you?"

"'You're revolting, do you know that?" "I do. I'm certain that when Simon decides to marry he'll find someone plain and virtuous, whose knees are so tightly clamped together he'll need a bar to pull them apart. For now I believe he's reveling in the world's longest stretch of celibacy, and the only reason i can think of him breaking it would be if I insisted that the vicar should have a wife.

Otherwise he'll continue to mortify his flesh and suffer for his sins.”

"Mortify his flesh?" Lina said, startled. "He flagellates?"

'That sounds so deliciously sinful when you say it, darling," Monty said wickedly. He drained his glass of wine, accepting the fact that Lina wasn't about to pour him an undiluted glass. "No whips or hair shirts, just sexual abstinence. He's simply atoning for his sins, darling. He loves them and his guilt far more than he could ever love a woman."

"May they live happily ever after," she said firmly.

"What did you two fight about?" Monty asked with a hint of childish curiosity in his voice.

"Your treatment, my morals, the color of the sky.... You name it, we fought over it. How long has he been celibate?" The last came out almost as an afterthought—she had no idea what made her think of it.

“Why do you ask?"

"You said it was the world's longest stretch of celibacy, and I find that difficult to believe," she said airily.

"I am prone to exaggeration, I do confess it. However, I do believe that poor Simon, former scourge of the bawdy houses of London, whoremaster, libertine, rake extraordinaire, hasn't dipped his wick in close to a dozen years. I expect if he ever marries he'd insist on an unconsummated one. Such a waste, if you ask me. While he never shared my proclivities, it seems a shame that no one gets to enjoy his years of experience. Not to mention the fact that he's a fine-looking man, if a little weather-beaten."

"Then we'll have to hope his plain, virtuous wife with the locked knees will manage to overcome his scruples."

"What scruples?"

She'd been too involved in her conversation with Monty to realize her nemesis had returned, and she shot to her feet, catching the racy French novel before it tumbled to the floor. She plastered a bright, vivid smile on her deliberately painted lips. "You're back,"

she said, stating the obvious. "I'll leave the two of you alone to talk, then, while I—"

"Don't leave me,'1 Monty said plaintively, his eyes laughing. "I want the two people I love most in the world by my side when I leave this mortal world."

"As far as I can see, you're looking a great deal healthier than you were earlier," Simon said in a subdued voice.

"All thanks to Lina's gentle ministrations. She really is quite the loveliest nurse I’ve ever had.

Wouldn't you agree, Simon?"

Lina did a quarter turn, just enough to shield Monty from Pagett's gaze, and smacked him with the discarded novel. Monty immediately began a theatrical cough, strong enough that the vicar, who'd been about to leave the sickroom, immediately paused.

Monty raised his head, smiling angelically. "Stay," he said, sounding wistful. "Both of you."

Lina had been about to leave, but Monty had a grip on her full skirt, and besides, God knows what he'd say to Pagett if she weren't around to keep him in line. She sat back down, with relatively little grace, and glowered, refusing to look at Simon Pagett as he took up a position at the fool of Monty's lavish bed. She could get through this. Indeed, she couldn't imagine why she even cared.

She'd been snubbed and insulted