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Authors: Maya Rodale

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BOOK: The Rogue and the Rival
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“Why are you asking me to leave again?”
“
Almost
civilized, Angela,” he said with the slightest smile and lift of his brow.
“Oh,” she said, her eyes widening in understanding. She left quickly then. But for the first time in days, he was not bored. He was too occupied with planning his seduction.
That proved more difficult than he had expected.
As long as he was bedridden, his only option was to pull her into the bed with him and take the risk that she would not fall onto the more sensitive parts of his anatomy, which, thanks to his injuries, were numerous. And she was not a small woman, so if she did not take kindly to it, she could easily beat him senseless. That was the more likely scenario, since she hated him.
Clearly, he needed to get well. He also needed to soften her feelings for him. The former would be taken care of by time. As for the latter, Phillip was at a complete loss. A man like him had ruined her once. Angela would not surrender so easily again, and certainly not to a man like him. Phillip cursed the young buck who had ruined her, for that cad might have just ruined Phillip’s own chances with her. And then it occurred to Phillip that somewhere there might be a man, or a few men, cursing him for the very same reason. For it was true: Phillip had indeed ruined four women, just like the gossip rags had reported.
 
“Where have you been?” Helena whispered when Angela arrived late to supper. She sat in her usual place between Helena and Penelope at one end of the table. Meals were to be taken in silence, but sometimes one could manage a whispered conversation, hidden by the sound of the cutlery on the dishes.
“With Lord Invalid,” Angela answered quietly, as she placed her napkin on her lap.
“I thought you brought him his supper after we dined,” Penelope said, joining the conversation, pushing a strand of her red hair out of her face.
“I do. And I will later, but just now I was with him while he was shaving,” Angela explained. And then she took a bite of her mutton stew, and then another, before she realized that both of her friends were staring at her silently.
“What?” Angela asked, looking at them. She noticed Sister Bethany and Sister Agnes, seated across the table, staring at her curiously as well.
“You have been spending a lot of time with him,” Penelope said. “It’s very compassionate of you. He is probably not used to the solitude here, as we are.”
“I simply stay with him while he takes his meals, because it’s easier than making numerous trips,” Angela said. “And it is pleasant to have company during a meal, most of the time,” she added pointedly to her friends.
“Aye, and you keep him company while he shaves. And what’s next? Washing his back during a bath? That’s a lot of time to spend with someone you don’t like. Unless, of course, you are starting to develop feelings for the scoundrel,” Helena said accusingly, as if it were wrong to feel anything for a man other than disdain.
“I’ll confess that he is not as awful as he was at first, but I certainly don’t
like
him,” Angela replied. She didn’t. But she had caught herself enjoying his company far too much, now that she thought about it. But she wouldn’t tell her friends that.
“Well, I hope you are only talking to the man and not allowing him liberties.”
“He’s bedridden. What can he do?” Angela retorted.
“He’s a scoundrel, and everyone knows it. It’s a question of what he won’t do.”
“He doesn’t like that people assume all the gossip about him is true,” Angela whispered back in an effort to change the direction of the conversation away from herself. But her friends’ eyebrows arched up in shock and curiosity.
“Well, is it?” Penelope dared to ask. Even Sister Bethany seemed interested in hearing the answer.
“I actually haven’t really asked,” Angela replied truthfully, mostly because she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know. And Helena, she was sure, would hate him even if it were all a lie.
“So maybe it’s not,” Helena answered with a shrug. “But
has
he taken any liberties with you?”
“He hasn’t.” Angela took a big bite of food so that she wouldn’t be able to say anything else like, oh, that she wished he would kiss her.
It wasn’t him in particular; she was sure of that, or she tried to be sure of that. It was just that having a man around reminded her of all the happiness she had shared with Lucas before it all went so horribly wrong. She had enjoyed a man’s kiss and his touch before. And lately those memories and the longing to enjoy them again had become more palpable and more memorable than the horrible aftermath.

 

Chapter 4
“You
are an excellent nurse, Angela. He is healing nicely,” Dr. Hastings said after checking on Phillip’s injuries. It had been a week since the doctor had visited during Phillip’s first few days when he was unconscious and suffering from a fever. Phillip recalled nothing of the first three days he had spent in the abbey.
“At this point, I see no reason why he can’t get out of bed,” the doctor continued, “although he might require the assistance of a cane to walk at first.”
“Perhaps it would be best if he stayed abed for a few days longer,” Angela suggested, to Phillip’s surprise.
“I thought you were praying for my quick departure,” he said, noting that now the doctor and abbess seemed intrigued.
“I am. But if you walk before you are ready, you risk doing further injury to yourself, requiring a longer stay.” The abbess placed her arm on Angela’s, as if to quiet her.
“She does have a point,” Dr. Hastings said thoughtfully.
“What about a bath then?” Phillip asked. He had been bedridden for nearly a week now, and he was becoming damned uncomfortable with it.
“That should be fine, too,” the doctor answered. “Just be careful.”
“Angela,” the abbess said, “please have Penelope help you prepare a bath for Lord Huntley.” Angela nodded and quit the room.
“I must advise against any strenuous activity,” Dr. Hastings added. “At least for a few more days.”
“Take all the time you need, Lord Huntley,” the abbess offered generously.
“If there are no more questions, I’ll be off then,” the doctor said, while packing his equipment. He departed shortly thereafter. The abbess, however, remained.
“Lord Huntley, if I may have a word with you,” the abbess said in a tone that did not allow him to refuse.
“Of course, madame.”
“Call me Lady Katherine. When I said you may stay as long as you feel is necessary, I do mean that.” She had strolled across the room to stand by the window.
“That’s very generous of you.”
“Of course, you would be staying for reasons relating to your health. I can’t imagine any other reason why you might wish to stay. Can you?” She turned to look at him sharply, and even he couldn’t miss what she was hinting at.
Yes.
“Well, I—”
“Angela is very dear to us. I should hate for her to be hurt.”
Translation: keep your hands to yourself.
“Again,” Phillip added.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You would hate for her to be hurt again,” Phillip added. And then to answer the unspoken question, “Yes, she told me about the incident.”
“She did?” the abbess asked, obviously shocked for a moment before recovering herself. “She was here for a year before she confided in me. I suppose she is closer to making peace with that catastrophic situation.”
“Catastrophic?”
“I see she hasn’t told you everything.”
“Apparently not,” Phillip said dryly. There was more, and he didn’t know what it was. And he had nothing to do all day but wonder about what that something else must be.
“Nevertheless, my point is that she had been grievously injured by a man like you. It is my wish that you should remember that. Be gentle with her, Lord Huntley. It is not easy for her to be around you.”
A man like you
.
“So tell me, Lady Katherine. Would you give this lecture to any man, or just me?”
“I would give the lecture to any man who looks at Angela the way you do.” And with that, the abbess gave him a curt nod and quit the room before he could even try to get the last word in.
 
Angela cast furtive glances up and down the hall, and was relieved to see that no one was around. She felt her cheeks become hot merely at the thought of what she was about to do. But once the idea of catching a glimpse of Phillip in the bath occurred to her, she found herself at a loss to think of anything else. She may have been ruined, but she had never seen a naked man. She felt guilty for what she was about to do, but Angela also felt this was owed to her. Just a peek.
She shouldn’t do it. She was going to do it.
She twisted the knob slowly, and quietly opened the door just a bit. Just enough for her to see into the room. Just enough to see Phillip in the bath.
His back was toward her, and she was relieved. If he caught her attempting to sneak into his room, she would lie and say she thought he might be sleeping and didn’t want to wake him, because he was such a bother when he was awake.
Angela watched as he poured water over his head to rinse his hair. The water slid over his shoulders—really broad, muscled shoulders. The water glided down his back, which was smooth and strong. Some water even spilled onto the floor, and Angela did not even dwell for a second on thoughts of cleaning it up.
He lifted his arm to run his fingers through his hair, and she was riveted at the sight of the muscles on his smooth, bare back rippling as he moved.
She couldn’t restrain a sigh.
Phillip looked over his shoulder at her. His hair was pushed back, showing off his strong profile: the sharp, slanting cheekbones, the broken nose, the wet eyelashes almost hiding his dark brown eyes, the full yet firm mouth curving into a half smile.
Then she made the grave mistake of looking into his eyes. For a moment, he didn’t move, and neither did she. They just looked into each other’s eyes.
She wished he would stay in that pose, so she might draw him. Instead she memorized the scene before her to record it later, and have this image to gaze upon forever.
She didn’t move. Couldn’t move, really. Angela felt like she was melting. She felt like she was nothing more than a puddle on the floor, not unlike the ones that surrounded the tub. She was melting, melting into nothing more than a mess to be mopped up. But she wasn’t a puddle. She was a fallen woman, preparing for a lifetime of chastity by spying on a handsome, dangerous, naked man.
Phillip turned around, once again presenting her with his back.
Still, she did not move.
“Come in, Angela, before someone sees you skulking in the hall,” he commanded. She did, if only so as not to be caught spying on him. She did have the presence of mind to leave the door open, for she had long ago learned that closed doors lead to one’s downfall.
“I, um, brought you some things. A towel, fresh clothes, and some clean sheets for the bed.” At the mention of the bed, her cheeks reddened, and she was glad that he was still not looking at her.
“Thank you.”
“I’ll just, um . . .” she took a deep breath. “You stay there until I am done changing the sheets.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She was just finishing up when the sound of water pouring over the edge of the bathtub caused her to look up suddenly and instinctively.
Oh, Jesus,
she prayed,
help me
.
He stood tall, mercifully with his back to her. But that was torment and temptation enough. She prayed for divine intervention, but with an equal fervor she wanted to be a drop of water on his skin, slowly traveling from his neck, caressing his back, sliding down lower over his firm backside, down his sculpted legs, and lower still until she was nothing but one drop of water among the pool at his feet.
“The towel, please,” he reminded her, glancing over his shoulder. She saw his mouth curl into that devilish grin. “Unless you want me to turn around.”
BOOK: The Rogue and the Rival
11Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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