"I admit, darling, you bring with you more than your share of excitement." He didn't often kill a man in an afternoon, deserving or not.
Tears suddenly welled in her eyes, the shock of the recent events flashing into her mind. "Oh, dear," she whispered, beginning to shake, "is the young soldier truly dead?"
"No, he's alive," Beau said, quickly moving to her side. Lifting her into his arms, he held her close and gently kissed her quivering mouth. "We can go to the hospital tomorrow and see him if you wish."
Serena expelled a great sigh of relief and her arms, wrapped tightly around his neck, eased. "How wonderful," she whispered, although she was trembling still.
"I'm putting you to bed, no arguments," he sternly said, striding toward the bed.
"Yes, sir." Her meek reply was muffled against his shoulder.
"You're not required to be perpetually brave," Beau noted, and tossing the bedcovers back, he placed her on the bed. "I'll take care of you now." He pulled the covers up, tucking the quilt under her chin.
"You're much too kind for a rake," she whispered, offering up a tentative smile.
"And what would you know about rakes?" he teased, sitting down beside her, brushing her hair from her temples with the gentlest of touches.
"Rumor has it rakes are notoriously selfish in their motives."
"I may be as well, darling," he softly said. "How do you know?"
"Touché, but right now I'm more than willing to disregard motive and bask in your charm."
"Good, because I want you to rest until the doctor comes. Don't think about anything, don't worry or fret and don't argue with me," he firmly added as he saw her begin to voice protest.
"I don't want a doctor," she insisted.
"Please,
Beau, I'm perfectly fine."
"Let him be the judge of that. Do I have to tie you to the bed?" he asked with mock severity.
She suddenly smiled. "That depends. . . ."
He gazed at her for a moment, his dark eyes assessing, his libido reflected in their depths. "After the doctor leaves, I'll consider it," he said. Bending close, he framed her face between his palms.
"If
you behave now."
"Kiss
,
me," she whispered, wanting to feel his ardent warmth, needing to vanquish the recurring images of death from her mind. Her fingers closed on his coat lapels. "I
need
you to kiss me."
Recognizing the stark urgency fear generated, he obliged. Cradling her face in his hands, he tenderly kissed her, the pressure of his lips gossamer light. "I'm here, kitten," he murmured. "Don't be afraid."
"Make love to me," she breathed, craving him as if primal feeling were antidote to the haunting visions flooding her brain. "Please . . ."
"As soon as the doctor leaves ... if he agrees you're not hurt."
"I'm not hurt," she insisted, wanting him to make her forget, wanting to escape into sensation. "I'm fine." Her voice was rising on an hysterical note. "I don't want to see a doctor."
He kissed her then without benevolence, a hard, heated, ruthless kiss that took her breath away and stopped the cry rising in her throat. He kissed her until her trembling ceased and then his mouth slid down the satiny curve of her throat, glided over her delicate collarbone, traced a lingering pathway down the fullness of her breast mounded above the lacy neckline of her chemise.
Her fingers were laced through his hair, her breathing heated, and she moaned softly as his fingers pushed away the delicate fabric to give him access to her nipple. "Are you feeling better now?" he murmured, his breath warm on the taut, pink crest.
"U
m
mmm ..." she purred, rising slightly to press her nipple against his mouth.
"We should wait. . . ."
Her head moved on the pillow in lazy back-and-forth negation.
"Until after the doctor," he whispered, taking her nipple into his mouth.
Her sound of protest ended on a trembling sigh and he skillfully maintained that fine balance between rapacious desire and mesmerizing pleasure until the manager knocked at the door, announcing the doctor.
"Tell them to go away," Serena softly protested.
"Do you want to be tied to this bed or don't you?" he roguishly queried.
She hesitated the briefest interval and then smiled up at him. "You're going to insist on this doctor, aren't you?"
"How long can it take?" he blandly murmured.
"I'll tell him I'm in blooming health."
His smile was angelic. "Then he won't stay long."
She cast him a small fretful look. "I suppose I owe you some consideration."
"Notice how courteous I was in not mentioning that obligation," he replied, grinning. "We'll have the doctor out of here in record time." And without waiting for her reply, he rose from the bed to open the door.
If his aplomb weren't so well honed by years of casual disregard for the world's opinion, he might have indicated his surprise by other than the merest flicker in his eyes. For the man standing before him was a frequent guest at his uncle's residence.
"Good to see you again, Beau," Dr. McDougal warmly said. "Ramos tells me you're in need of my services." A large, sandy-haired Scotsman who had settled in the English colony after his marriage to a wealthy Lisbon widow a decade ago, he was one of Damien's fellow antiquarians. Both men had discriminating collections of early Greek sculpture.
Apparently the hotel manager had assumed the a
m
bassador's nephew would prefer the ambassador's doctor, Beau belatedly realized, but short of shutting the door in Douglas McDougal's face there was nothing to do but deal with the awkward situation.
"Come in," he said. "A lady traveling with me is in need of your expert opinion. She was involved in a nasty situation this afternoon and fainted. Since she was unconscious for some time, I thought a doctor should be called."
"Absolutely correct, my boy," the elderly man replied. "Let's have a look at the lady." As the men walked toward the bedroom, McDougal asked, "Have you seen your uncle yet?"
"We just arrived," Beau evasively replied. "And after the disaster down at the docks, I've been kept busy." He went on to briefly outline the events that took place.
Serena was seated in bed, the coverlet pulled up to her throat. The booming voice of the doctor, with its easily recognizable Scots brogue, carried through to her room, causing unease. She would have preferred the anonymity of a Portuguese doctor.
But when Beau entered the room, he merely introduced her without comment as Miss Blythe and the doctor soon put her at ease with his kindly manner. He didn't ask anything personal regarding her relationship with Beau, which strangely irritated her more than if he had. Apparently she was perceived as simply another of Beau St. Jules's transient ladies.
The doctor listened to her heart, took her pulse, looked into her eyes, asked whether she had any residual dizziness or shortness of breath and after his short examination pronounced her physically recovered from her ordeal. "But it may take more time for the bad memories to fade, my dear," he gently said. "I'd suggest a mild potion of laudanum and hot milk before bedtime for a week or so. I'll have some sent around. Will you be staying long in Lisbon?" he asked, turning to Beau, who was seated at the foot of the bed.
"It depends on Miss Blythe."
"I'm really quite recovered," she quickly interjected.
"
A day or two then," Beau said, rising to escort the doctor
o
ut.
"I'll tell Damien of your mishap, although he may have heard of this Horton fellow from Captain Soares by now," the doctor said as they walked through the sitting room. "You can fill him in on the details when you see him."
"I'm not sure I'll be seeing Damien," Beau carefully replied.
"Ah . . . of course. Didn't think, my boy," the doctor said, reaching the door. "Well, she's a beautiful young lady and in fine health. I'm glad I could be of service." He put out his hand. "Perhaps we'll see you at dinner another time."
"Yes, surely you will," Beau said, shaking his hand. "Thank you for coming so promptly."
He might as well have sent out calling cards, Beau grudgingly thought, shutting the door behind the doctor. Not that he was necessarily traveling incognito, but he hadn't thought a day in Lisbon would require any social visits either.
"You knew him!" Serena exclaimed as he reentered the bedroom.
"Unfortunately, yes." He grimaced. "I should have specified a Portuguese doctor. My mistake," he apologized.
"Will he tell your uncle?" She nervously plucked at the lace edging on the sheet.
He shrugged. "Perhaps. But it shouldn't matter. If I don't call on Damien he has sense enough to know I wish to be left alone."
"Because of me."
"Yes. My reputation is ruinous for yours. I'm very sorry about McDougal, although he
should
be discreet."
"You needn't be sorry. I think I was more nervous for you. / don't know any of these people," she said with a small smile. "Although ..." she murmured, her smile suddenly taking on an enticing allure, "if I
am
truly ruined, perhaps I should at least take advantage of your dissolute reputation. Would you like me to tie
you
to the bed or would you prefer to do the tying?"
He stood looking down at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "I can't decide how naive you are."
"I understand perfectly, darlin
g
—
m
y reputation is in tatters once I've spent time with you. But consider how little consequence I had once our money and estates were gone and I was obliged to work for governess wages. And the life of an artist I've chosen will scarcely put me in the highest circles other than as a fleeting
curiosity.
3
The very finest artists may be feted for a time by the haut
m
onde, but they're not invited to marry into the family, are they? So why shouldn't I enjoy this very pleasurable time I have with you?"
She was disarmingly astute and courageous in another sense to face so bravely a very different world from that of her birth. "You're sure now?" he said, not even aware he was questioning his own selfish needs, a rare occurrence in his profligate life.
"I'm very sure, my dear Glory. Do I look equivocal?" And she lifted aside the coverlet to reveal her bounteous charms devoid of chemise and petticoats.
"When did you do that?" he asked with a grin.
"I'm extremely eager," she murmured. "You have that effect on me."
He glanced at the clock. "The chef is making you food."
Her eyebrows rose and with wide-eyed innocence she softly said, "Cancel the order."
"You're refusing food?" His brows rose in playful query.
"I ate all the cookies."
"I see," he gently said, beginning to slide his coat from his shoulders. "Do you think you'll like being tied up?"
"You're declining the experience?" Her tone was sportive.
"Maybe later," he said, throwing his coat on a nearby chair.
"Have you ever been tied up?"
"By a lady?" He looked at her, his cravat half undone, his hand
,
stilled.
"By anyone, darling. I'm not prudish."
He laughed and resumed untying his cravat. "On
l
y at Eton and only onc
e
—
a
very long time ago."
She'd watched his eyes as he'd spoken. "And you took your revenge for it, I suspect."
"Oh, yes," he softly said, tossing his neckcloth over the chair back.
"Should I be frightened?" she teased.
He chuckled. "Hardly. I like women."
She knew he did, the whole world knew he did. His entire manner bespoke his intrinsic need for women. "I wish I'd met you in Gloucestershire," she said, wondering how her life would have differed had she met him before her poverty.
"Your father probably would have shot me," he said with a lazy smile.
"He may have liked you enormously."
"As long as you do, lollipop, I'm content," he casually replied, not about to discuss anything smacking of potential fathers-in-law.
"Oh, I do, Rochefort," she said, dulcet sweet, and settling back on the pillows, she held out her arms to him. "Show me how nice you can be."
"I'm going to postpone the food. I prefer not being interrupted by an irate chef."
"Hurry back," she teased, "or I'll go on without you."
He grinned. "That's what comes of too much education."
"I wouldn't tarry," she seductively murmured, stretching luxuriously so her breasts rose in luscious ripe mounds.
He took a deep calming breath, his libido jolting to attention. "Give me two minutes and I warn you, if you don't wait, I'll paddle your bottom."
"U
m
mm," she purred. "How exactly will you do that?"