Your Wicked Heart (18 page)

He left.
It was final, this time. She’d thrown him out on his ear, for the very moment Nello had discovered her financial troubles, he’d decided to propose marriage to that—that child, that timorous miss who could not even pronounce her own name without stammering—

“Yes, Elizabeth, an
innocent.
What other kind of woman should I marry?”

How casually he’d said it, while examining his nails. By that point—shredded by his coldness, by his utter indifference to her tears—she had known better than to speak the reply that came to mind.

She took a deep, ragged breath now.
You were meant to marry
me.

“Are you in pain?”

The quiet voice was edged with concern. As she opened her eyes, she realized why. A tear was slipping down her cheek.

Good God, what drama! How mortifying. Wiping it away—feeling, to her regret, the warmth of a blush forming on her skin—she shook her head. “No,” she said, and then cleared her throat.
Be cheerful, Liza. Nobody likes a bore.

She lifted her chin and smiled. In reply, the man frowned. It was not the first time she’d had cause to reflect that the onus of being charming generally was borne by women alone.

I grow bored with this,
Nello had said. As though her distress were performed for his amusement! As though he had not been
begging
to marry her six months ago!

The man was waiting for her reply. She took a deep breath. “Forgive me, sir.” Her smile did not want to balance properly; it kept slipping off her lips. “It’s terribly awkward, seeing as we’re neighbors, but I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

His eyes were striking, a smoky bluish gray, the pupils ringed by starbursts of gold. Their steadiness seemed increasingly judgmental. “I’m the new doctor,” he said.

“The new . . .” She hadn’t known there was a doctor in the area apart from Mr. Morris.

He saw her confusion. “Michael Grey, at your service.”

“Oh.” She wiped again at her eyes, still appalled by that brief moment of tears. Nello did not deserve them. What a fraud! He had not meant one word of his promises. And all the dreams she’d spun for their future . . . they were fraudulent, too. She should not mourn for them. It was clear now they had always been as hollow as spun glass. “Well, Mr. Grey.” She cleared her throat. “How do you do, then?”

“At the moment, I’m concerned,” he said evenly. “Does something hurt you in particular?”

“What?” She could not imagine how she hadn’t noticed his eyes instantly. Such unlikely beauty. His nose, she supposed, had overshadowed them. “No, I’m quite well indeed.” Nello’s nose was straight and narrow, but his eyes were a very plain brown. The color of
pig
muck.

The doctor’s dark brows arched, a message of skepticism. “Did you injure yourself in some way I cannot see? There’s no call for modesty.”

Evidently her reputation did
not
precede her, or he wouldn’t imagine she had any modesty. “No,” she said, “I’m quite fine.” But of course he did not look convinced, having seen her weep. “It’s only that the light is so bright in here.” As he cast a doubtful glance toward the window, she rushed onward. “And I do hope you won’t think too
terribly
of me, but I confess, I don’t recall
precisely
how I came to be”—
in your bed
sounded a bit indelicate—“here.”

His gaze returned to her. He really did put her in mind of a wolf, or some other predatory creature. It wasn’t owed so much to the sharpness of his bone structure or the darkness of his coloring—for he was quite tanned—as it was to his absolute and obvious ease with her discomfort. “I can’t say how you arrived here, ma’am. But I found you in my rosebushes.”

His . . .
rosebushes
? She sucked in a long breath, wrestling for composure. Good heavens, had she slept outside in the dew? This was . . . humbling, even by her own recent standards.

He was still watching her, the steadiness of his observation somehow clinical. She forced herself to meet his gaze. She could not control her color, but she certainly wouldn’t duck her head like a meek little girl. “The rosebushes,” she said brightly. “But how novel!”

He laughed, a low, slow, husky sound. “Indeed,” he said. “Novel was precisely the word that came to my mind.”

That
laugh
. And the smile that lingered on his mouth now! Slow to spread, it assumed a mocking edge that—to her amazement—made her breath catch. She reared back a little, and his head tipped as though to see her better, and that smile . . . continued to spread.

Goodness. For some reason she suddenly felt certain that he knew
precisely
what effect his smile worked on her. Moreover, he was
enjoying
it.

She swallowed. How unexpected. “The new doctor, you say?”

“Here to tend to your scratches,” he confirmed with a bow so slight as to be insulting. His low, smooth voice made the task sound distinctly . . . unchaste.

Her bewilderment increased. Such a raw, animal presence did not generally belong to
doctors
. Now she was awake to it, she could feel its effect, thrumming through the air between them like curling tendrils of electricity, reaching for her.

This one . . . this one would say very nasty things in bed, and laugh at her when she protested, and make her like it anyway.

She pushed out a breath. Obviously her night in the bushes had scrambled her wits. “I hope the roses did not suffer overmuch for hosting me.” Pray
God
this doctor did not incline to gossip.

“I believe they will survive,” he said. When he reached out to take her hand, the contact of his bare skin on hers made her fingers twitch as though she’d been shocked.

His light eyes met hers. Perhaps this attraction was only in her imagination, for his expression remained bland. “If you would follow me downstairs, I’ll see to your scratches.”

She let him pull her to her feet. He was taller than Nello, his shoulders broader. And those long, long legs . . .

She eyed them as she followed him out, putting her hand once to the wall to catch her balance. His trousers might have been tighter, but as he walked, she could glimpse sufficient hints to form an ardent appreciation for his musculature. Nello looked very well with his clothes on, but this man would fare the better for losing them.

She bit her lip, amazed by herself. But . . . why hesitate? To the devil with Nello! What she required was a distraction from heartbreak, and this mysterious neighbor might keep her
well
entertained.

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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2012 by Meredith Duran

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First Pocket Star Books ebook edition December 2012

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ISBN 978-1-4516-8649-4