“Nonsense, it’s bitterly cold and you’re still ill.”
“I’m well.”
“Do you wish for society to have proof that I’m a monster?” He walked into the room, shutting the door behind him. “You were practically unconscious for three days. You’re not fine. You’re still regaining your strength.”
Blast, but he was right, as much as I hated to admit it. “How long do I have to remain?”
He knelt by the fire and stoked the flames, his shirt stretching across his broad shoulders. So very tantalizing. I wanted to run my hands down that muscled back. To study him as an artist studied sculpture. “You have somewhere to go?”
“I suppose not, thanks to you.” Feeling vulnerable, I crossed my arms over my chest. How I hated that my pulse skipped a beat, as if jumping in joy when he appeared. “So, I suppose I’ll merely sit here and grow mold.”
He glanced back at me, amusement in his eyes. “Are you claiming to be bored?”
“Oh no, not at all.” Why did my body heat when I remembered the way he touched me? Kissed me? “It’s fascinating sitting in one room all day, having no one to speak to.”
His lips quirked, as if he was fighting a grin. “Very well. Shall we play a game?”
I hesitated. He was going to stay here? In my room? I had assumed he would leave the moment I started to complain. Instead, he offered to remain and entertain me. I was bored and interested enough to take the bait. Damnation, truth was I liked being in his company. He was witty, smart, and arrogant enough to be amusing…most of the time. “What kind?”
He went to a small table and lifted the top, taking out a deck of cards. “Something simple.”
I’d played cards with Aunt Helen, but couldn’t quite remember the rules. In the slums we didn’t have much time for games. “You’ll have to teach me.”
“Oh, I plan to teach you many, many things.” He pulled the blanket from the bed and spread it upon the floor. An intimate seating area before the fireplace. “Come. Sit.”
“Come on, it’s a fort.” A little boy with big blue eyes grinned at me from underneath a blanket. “We’ll be safe here. He can’t hurt us.”
Disconcerted, I shook aside the memory. Gabe wasn’t a child, and this game was dangerous, not something innocent. I hesitated. But truth was I didn’t want to be alone. I missed the constant excitement of the slums. Missed always having someone to talk to. Slowly, I moved across the room and settled on the blanket. Mostly, I could admit to myself, I wanted to know more about Gabe. He placed the cards upon the blanket, face down.
“I don’t remember how to play cards.”
The firelight hit the harsh planes of his face. “We aren’t playing cards.”
“Then what?” I demanded, suspicious.
“A simple game of question and answer. We each take turns asking the other person a question. Whoever draws the higher card gets to ask.”
I didn’t trust him in the least. He was a man of trickery. A man used to getting whatever he wanted. “That hardly seems like a game.”
He rested with one knee drawn up, the lazy lord, relaxing near the fire. “If the person does not want to answer the question, they must take off a piece of clothing in forfeit.”
I jumped to my knees. “No fair! You’re wearing more than I am. Besides, it’s a ridiculous game.”
He flipped a card in front of him. A king. When he flipped the card in front of me, it was merely a two of hearts. “Who raised you as a child?”
I hesitated. His question was innocent enough, I supposed. “My aunt took care of me. Well, she wasn’t exactly my aunt, but that’s what I called her. She taught me German.”
“Did she?” He stretched out his muscled legs, then flipped two more cards. “Your turn.”
“What? No.” I shook my head. “I told you I’m not playing.”
“Are you afraid you’ll lose? Do you have so many secrets, Ginny?”
I settled back on the blanket. “Of course not. I’m an open book. Fine. Do you have any siblings?”
“One brother.” He flipped two more cards. “Who taught you French?”
I could play his game, because unlike him, I wasn’t a sneak. A liar. “Violet. Her father is a scholar. She taught me when we lived together. Apparently, according to her, I’m quick at learning languages.”