Page 30 of Why Do Rogues Fall in Love?

“I am quite steady.”

“Of course you are.”

He knelt before her.

Cordelia blinked. “You cannot remain here another moment. Wait…” She reached out and pinched his cheek. “Are you really here? In my bedchamber? Whatever are you doing?”

“Removing your boots,” he said, freeing his cheek from her grasp. “Provided you have finished examining me for signs of being a hallucination.”

“I can manage to remove them myself,” she insisted, still uncertain whether he was merely a figment of her inebriated imagination.

“Undoubtedly when the floor has ceased its unfortunate habit of moving beneath you.”

“This is far too scandalous!”

He made a low sound of amusement, and she nearly kicked him.

“Are you not afraid of being caught? And being forced to…to marry me?”

“There is no force on earth that could compel me to marry before I am ready.”

Before she could protest further, he lifted one foot and carefully worked the boot free. His fingers brushed her ankle through her stocking, and Cordelia drew a startled breath. Then, with an ease that suggested he thought nothing of the intimacy, he slipped his fingers beneath the edge of her short stocking and slowly drew it down. His fingertips grazed the bare skin of her shin, sending an unexpected shiver through her, and when his hand curved beneath her foot to ease the stocking over her heel, his thumb brushed the sensitive arch.

Cordelia's breath caught, and a strange, delicious ache unfurled low in her belly. It was such an ordinary touch, entirely practical, yet she had never imagined a gentleman's hands could awaken such sensations. She could scarcely look away from his dark head bent over her foot, painfully aware of every place his fingers had touched, and wishing, with a mortifying lack of propriety, that he might linger just a moment longer.

She made another soft, involuntary sound, and he glanced up. “Why are you looking at me as though I have committed some dreadful offense?”

She sniffed. “Because you are taking liberties.”

His eyes gleamed. “Would you like me to remove your trousers as well?”

The sound that escaped her was remarkably like a squeak. “If you so much as touch them, I shall visit your home tomorrow with my rapier and demand marriage!”

“Now I find myself exceedingly curious about what treasures lie beneath those trousers to provoke such a formidable threat.”

Another indignant squeak escaped her, and she surged upright, only to moan as the room spun and she pitched forward.

George caught her gently against his chest. “Come along. Into bed you go.”

“Alone,” she muttered. “You wretched rogue.”

He laughed, and despite herself, an answering smile curved her lips. There was something deliciously wicked about having him in her bedchamber, yet what astonished her most was that she felt entirely safe with him. His smile deepened as he settled her back against the pillows and removed her other boot and stockings. Cordelia pressed her lips together, determined not to encourage any further outrageous remarks. He placed her boots neatly beside the bed and rose. For a moment, he simply regarded her, his gaze warm with amusement.

“There,” he said softly. “You are safely home, your reputation remains intact, and I have behaved with admirable restraint.”

She laughed despite herself. He drew the coverlet over her legs, and the unexpected tenderness of the gesture made her smile fade. She watched him in the dim light, suddenly reluctant for him to leave. To her surprise, he crossed to the hearth, stirred the dying embers, and added a few logs. Then he paused to stroke Sir Charles’s head before turning toward the door.

“Good night, Mr. George,” she said softly, still marveling at the extraordinary evening. “Are we friends?”

She could not have said what prompted the question. Her thoughts were pleasantly muddled, yet she wanted desperately to understand what was developing between them. Was it merely friendship? Was she foolish to feel so intensely aware of him, or more foolish still to seek a name for an attachment formed over so few encounters?

He turned toward her. “I would be honored to be your friend.”

Cordelia swallowed, surprised by the faint pang of disappointment that settled in her chest. “I would be honored too,” she replied softly.

She could not discern his expression in the dim light, but when he approached the bed again, her pulse quickened. “Did you forget something?”

“There is one small matter I have neglected.”