When a Rogue Meets His Match - Elizabeth Hoyt Page 0,99
if he denied it?
And was there any point in asking him?
Well, she certainly wouldn’t know until she tried it.
Messalina straightened determinedly and tapped on the bedroom door before opening it.
Instead of resting in the big bed like any sane man who’d been recently assaulted, her husband was swearing foully as he attempted to don a shirt. He had the thing over his neck and one arm, but of course his right arm was still strapped to his side.
“Whatever are you doing?” Messalina demanded.
She set the book she was carrying down on his bedside table and crossed the room.
He looked up, his face reddened with his efforts. “I’m dressing.”
“Why?”
“I’ve work to do.” His words ended on a gasp.
His face twisted in pain and she wanted to—to shake him.
Instead she pulled the shirt off over his head.
He actually growled at that, but she was too distracted by the sight of his torso. His ribs had been securely wrapped, but blue-black bruises peeped both above and below the tape, making her wonder with horror how bad he looked beneath the bandages.
She glanced up into his scowling face. He’d not shaved, and the black bristles on his chin made him look like a brigand. A battered brigand.
A man without a moral code, who thought he could accomplish anything as long as he willed it.
Her husband.
“Are you insane?” she demanded. “You’ve broken ribs, a wrenched shoulder, and ugly stitches in your scalp. Whatever work you have can wait one day. One day, Gideon.” Sudden salt tears flooded her eyes, blinding her. “Please get back in bed.”
She blinked and saw him staring at her with something close to horror. “Messalina?”
“Gideon.”
His mouth flattened, his slanted eyebrows drawn down, making him look even more like a reckless pirate. “Fine. I’ll get in the bed.”
He hesitated a moment before scowling ferociously. “Don’t weep.”
He turned to the bed as if he couldn’t bear the sight of her tears.
Was he one of those men who disdained a woman’s emotions?
“Here.” She swiped at her eyes, regaining control. “You can’t rest properly in those breeches.”
She stepped closer to unbutton the placket of his breeches, and she was so concerned for him that it was a moment before she realized what she was doing. Her fingers froze. Her hands hovered right over the swell of his manhood. She daren’t look up, but he seemed to have ceased breathing.
She had to leave him. Now more than ever after Julian’s revelations.
Determinedly she concentrated on his buttons and only his buttons. She eased the opened breeches off his hips, ignoring the sight of his smallclothes and what lay beneath. She nudged him to sit on the bed before pulling the breeches off.
She took a deep breath and glanced up at him. Despite his stubborn wish to rise, Gideon’s face was lined with exhaustion.
Which didn’t stop the tenting of his smallclothes.
She cleared her throat and looked away, fluffing up his pillows and helping him to sit back against the headboard.
Then she pulled the coverlet primly to his waist.
“There,” she said far too loudly.
His wide mouth twisted wryly. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, drawing a chair up to the side of the bed and sitting. “I came to ask you if you intend to hurt my brother Julian.”
He looked at her a moment, his expression blank.
Then he raised a sardonic eyebrow. “No, I’m not going to hurt your brother. Either of them.”
The relief was overwhelming. Julian was wrong, but then he saw plots in every corner.
“Thank you.” Messalina smiled.
She reached for the small book she’d set down when she’d first come in the room.
He eyed the book with distaste. “What are you doing?”
She didn’t let his sour tone dissuade her. “I’m going to read to you.”
For the first time that morning his lips curved up. “Don’t I get a say in the title?”
“No.” She opened the book and found the first page and cleared her throat before reading. “The Life, Adventures, and Piracies of the Famous Captain Singleton, chapter one.”
As she began to read one of Daniel Defoe’s lesser-known works, she was very aware of Gideon’s eyes on her. Aurelia used to read like this to her whenever Messalina had been sick as a child, which had given her the idea for Gideon. But of course being read to by one’s sister was very different than reading to one’s…well, lover.
She tripped on a word and had to begin the sentence again.
Gideon was her lover. Had been her lover. Despite his betrayal and machinations, he had been, for a brief