Between his aching knee, his skirmish with Darby, and a would-be murderer on the loose, Alex was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Thinking he’d spare Beth his foul mood, he’d spent the evening at his club and returned home late. Like a schoolboy out past his curfew, he’d tried to sneak into the house undetected.
But she’d caught him—and he wasn’t half as dismayed as he should have been. Indeed, his pulse raced at the sight of her.
Now, after he’d endured a boring and seemingly endless conversation that he’d engaged in just to keep her near—about wallpaper, of all things—she was ready to bolt. The moment that she’d solved her dilemma of scrollwork versus brocade or some such nonsense, she was going to leave—and just when he’d been on the verge of kissing her.
He wasn’t ready to let her go.
“A favor?” Instantly on her guard, Beth crossed her arms. “What is it?”
Alex grinned. “Will you pull off my boot?”
“Your boot,” she repeated, dumbfounded.
“My valet has no doubt retired for the night, and my knee’s too swollen to bend.” An understatement—his leg was about as flexible as the trunk of an oak tree.
“I’ve never removed a man’s boot, but I can’t imagine it’s very difficult.” She pointed at the leather armchair. “Sit.”
He hobbled to the chair, fell into it, and raised his leg onto the footstool.
Standing with hands propped on her hips, she cast an assessing glance at his leg. “Is it going to hurt when I pull?”
“Don’t worry about me,” he said, gripping the arms of his chair. “Do your worst.”
Tentatively, she reached for his boot heel and raised it. “Ready?”
“Fire away.”
She gave a gentle tug, and when it failed to do the trick, leaned back and yanked with all her weight.
His boot shifted, but his leg was like a sausage stuffed in a too-tight casing. The leather squeezed like a vise.
“Am I hurting you?”
He scoffed as though it didn’t feel like a thousand pins were stabbing his leg. “Of course not.”
Her cheeks turned pink from the effort of pulling, and when the boot didn’t budge, she let go of the breath she’d been holding and carefully set his leg on the footstool. “We might need to cut it off.”
“I hope you’re talking about my boot and not my leg,” he quipped, wiping the perspiration from his brow.
“Then you might want to refrain from vexing me in the future.” She leaned over and inspected his knee more closely, feeling the area around the top of his boot. “I can’t even slide a finger between your leg and the boot.”
“Try one more time?” he asked.
She shot him a skeptical look. “Fine. But it this doesn’t work, I’m fetching my shears.” Lifting his leg again, she said, “On the count of three. One, two, three.”
Bracing himself with his good leg, he pulled himself backward while she tugged on the heel of his boot. Slowly, the leather inched downward, squeezing the flesh around it. “Almost there,” he said through clenched teeth. “Don’t give up.”
She didn’t. Indeed, she tugged so hard that he almost shot out of his chair.
And just when he thought the situation hopeless, the boot popped free like a champagne cork.
He slammed against the chair, and Beth staggered backward, crashing into a small table and landing sprawled on the carpet.
Dear God. He dove to her side. “Are you hurt?” Brushing a stray curl off her cheek, he turned her face to his.
She blinked, shifted her weight, and pulled a book from beneath her back. Setting it aside, she sat up. “Thank goodness it was nothing fragile.”
His heart still pounded with worry. “You didn’t answer me, Beth. Are you hurt?”
She smiled, as though his concern amused her. “A little embarrassed, but otherwise fine.” With a sigh, she glanced at the toppled table, a candlestick and flint box that had fallen off it, and his boot.
“Thank heaven.”
“We did it,” she said proudly. Then she looked down at his bootless leg. “You should let the doctor examine that again tomorrow.”
“You’re sure you’re all right?” He stood on his good leg and pulled her to her feet. “I should never have asked you to help me. You’re not a valet.”
“I didn’t mind. I rather like being needed, if you must know. Besides, if I hadn’t helped, you would have had to go to bed wearing one boot. Shall I help you with the other one?” she offered. “It’s bound to be easier.”
“No. Thank you though.” He sat on the stool and easily removed it. “Why do you like being needed?”
“Doesn’t everyone want to feel useful and … necessary?” She righted the pie crust table and bent to pick up the items that had fallen.
“Leave them,” he said curtly. “You needn’t go to any more trouble.”
One hand on the book, she froze. “You don’t understand—I can’t leave things strewn about the floor. The disorder would keep me awake.”
“I believe I’ve already mentioned the cure for sleeplessness. Brandy or—”
“I remember,” she said, quickly straightening and dusting off her hands. “Very well. If you don’t need me…”
He did need her. Not for what she could do for him, but for the way she made him feel. With each day that passed, he realized it more.
But he couldn’t tell her that—it wouldn’t be fair to her.
“… I shall retire. Good night, your grace—er, Alex.”
“Good night, Beth.”
Halfway to the door, she hesitated. “Will you be able to manage the staircase?”
Ah, hell no. It might as well have been Mount Olympus. “I’m going to sleep here.” He pointed at the ancient leather chair.
Frowning, she said, “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in your bed?”
He shot her a wicked smile. “Are you propositioning me, Miss Lacey?”
Blushing prettily, she crossed her arms. “Merely offering to help you upstairs.”
He considered this for approximately two seconds. If she helped him, they’d be walking hip-to-hip, with his arm around her shoulders and her arm around his waist—all while in the vicinity of his bedchamber. Decision made.
“I accept your generous offer.”
She approached cautiously. “We’ll take it slowly,” she said, as if she could be referring to any number of things.
“Any way you like,” he agreed. Just as he was about to wrap an arm around her shoulders, she ducked, and dashed behind him.
“One moment,” she said, scooping the book and other fallen items off the floor. “I couldn’t leave them there.” She set them neatly on the table she’d righted, then retrieved his boots and stood them beside the footstool.
He arched a brow. “Feel better?”
“You have no idea.” Taking her place beside him once more, she held him firmly around his waist, the wallpaper samples in her free hand. “Don’t be afraid to lean on me.”
If only it were that easy. The truth was, he didn’t like to lean on anyone, either physically or metaphorically. But he would make an exception tonight—for her.
They walked through the otherwise sleeping house in silence, muffling their laughs when he almost tripped on the skirt of her gown. His progress up the stairs was slow but less awkward and painful than he’d anticipated.
He suspected Beth had everything to do with that.
Even though she thought him unscrupulous, cold-hearted, and morally corrupt, she’d seen his pain and wanted to help. She liked to fix things. And it just so happened he needed a lot of fixing.
Having his arm around her shoulders felt natural and right. Her long, lithe legs occasionally bumped against his, and her shapely hip pressed against his upper thigh. They seemed to fit together perfectly. But Alex knew better.
Even if he could convince her that his reputation as a philandering rake was undeserved, he couldn’t reveal who he really was or what he’d done.
Besides, she would eventually learn that he’d coined the name that had caused her, her sisters, and her Uncle untold pain. And when the truth came out—as it was bound to—she would be hurt all over again.
And yet, he craved her company. Without even trying, she chased away the shadows of his past and brightened his house. He wanted whatever part of her she was willing to give, and if that made him a greedy monster … well, he’d been called worse.
They reached the landing at the top of the staircase and made their way down the corridor to his bedchamber. He could have easily limped the rest of the way to his room by leaning against the wall instead of her, but he’d have to be the world’s greatest idiot to send her away.
When they reached his door, she sighed in satisfaction. “Here we are. And you shall rest much more comfortably in your room.”
His arm still around her slender shoulders, he leaned close to her ear. “Maybe we should ask my grandmother to install a bed in my study.”
“Why? I do hope you’re not planning on making these types of injuries a habit.”
“No. But you never know when a bed might come in handy.” Damn it, spouting innuendo came so naturally that he couldn’t turn it off, even when he wanted to.
Though the darkness made her face impossible to read, he imagined she rolled her eyes. “If you wish to plop a bed in the middle of your study, it matters not to me. However, that is a conversation you will have to have with your grandmother yourself. Now, if you don’t require anything else…”
He couldn’t help himself. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to help me remove my trousers?”
“Good night.” She released his waist and nimbly ducked out of his embrace.
“Wait,” he said. “May I ask you something?”
“What is it?” She tossed her head—a subtle act of defiance that only made him want to crush her mouth with his.
“I wondered if you enjoyed yourself at the ball last night.”
“I did,” she answered warily, “and I believe your grandmother did as well.”
“I’m sorry I missed it,” he said.
She glared at him for a long moment, as though she doubted his sincerity. At last, she said, “Never fear, I predict you shall receive more than your share of ball invitations in the future.” Her chilly tone didn’t deter him—he knew from experience that beneath her hard shell she was warm and passionate. He only had to crack through her exterior, and if it took a bit of effort … she was worth it.
“True,” he said earnestly. “But I would have liked to attend last night’s ball … with you.”
She sniffed. “That is exceedingly easy for you to say when your injury made it impossible.”
“I would not have said it if I didn’t mean it.”
She stepped closer, her eyes flashing in the darkness. “And I suppose you would have asked me for the first dance, paraded me around the ballroom, and introduced me to all your important friends—if only your injury didn’t prohibit it.”
Chuckling, he reached for her hand and smoothed his thumb across the back. “Is that so difficult to believe?”
She pulled away. “I’m not as naïve as I appear, your grace.”
“It’s Alex. And what does that mean?” he said, all too aware that the conversation was a minefield.
“I am not under the illusion that you were suffering alone all evening. I trust you found a pleasant distraction.”
He blinked. “You think I spent last evening with a woman?”
“Maybe. Last evening, this evening, tomorrow evening—it is none of my concern.” But her voice cracked, as though she did care.
“Beth,” he said softly, “I was here last night. Alone. And I was at my club tonight, With Darby.”
“My,” she sniffled. “Two whole nights without female companionship. That must be a personal record.”
“I wasn’t without female companionship,” he countered. “I was with you yesterday, before the ball. And I’m here with you now.”
“I’m your grandmother’s companion—not yours.”
Smiling at that, he placed a hand on her hip and drew her closer. “Even you have to admit that there is something between us.”
“I don’t pretend to understand it,” she said breathlessly.
“Nor do I. But I will tell you this.” He circled an arm around her waist. “I don’t like that you danced with someone else last night.”