Dunford quickly shed his clothing and pulled out his dressing gown. For one brief moment he was entirely and quite splendidly naked, and a shiver of thrill ran through him at the sight of the big lump in the bed. He took a ragged breath and pulled on hisdressing gown. Not now, he told himself sternly. Not now and not with this girl. She deserves better. She deserves to make her own choices.
He tied the sash of his robe tightly around his waist. He probably should have left on his undergarments, but damn it, the chair was going to be uncomfortable enough. He'd just have to make certain his robe did not open during the night. The poor girl would probably faint at the sight of a naked man as it was. Lord knows what would happen if she saw one who was quite aroused, as he undoubtedly would be, all through the night.
"I'm all done, minx," he said. "You can come out now."
Henry poked her head out from under the covers. Dunford had dimmed the candles, but the moonlight was filtering in through the gauzy curtains, and she could see his very large, very male form standing by the chair. She sucked in her breath. She'd be all right as long as he didn't smile at her. If he did that, she would be lost. Dimly it occurred to her she probably couldn't see him smile in the dark, but those grins of his were so devastatingly effective, she was convinced she could probably feel the force of one through a brick wall.
She settled against the pillows and closed her eyes, trying very hard not to think about him.
"Goodnight, Hen."
"Goodnight, Dun."
She heard him chuckle at her shortening of his name. Just don't smile, she prayed. She didn't think he did; she was certain she would have heard it in his laugh if his lips had stretched out to their full, rakish grin. Just to be sure, however, she opened one eye and peered over at him.
Of course she couldn't see his expression, but it was a marvelous excuse to look at him. He was settling into that wing chair—well, trying to settle into it at least. She hadn't noticed how...how very vertical it was. He moved, and then moved again, and then again. He must have shifted positions two dozen times before he finally stilled. Henry bit her lip. "Are you comfortable?" she called out.
"Oh, quite."
It was that very particular tone of voice which held no trace of sarcasm but rather suggested that the speaker was trying quite hard to convince someone of something that was obviously not true.
"Oh," Henry said. What was she supposed to do? Accuse him of lying? She stared at the ceiling for thirty seconds and then decided—why not?
"You're lying," she said.
He sighed. "Yes."
She sat up. "Maybe we could...Well, that is to say... There must be something we can do."
"Do you have any suggestions?" His tone was quite dry.
"Well," she stalled, "I don't need all of these blankets."
"Warmth is not my problem."
"But perhaps you could lay one on the floor and make a makeshift mattress out of it."
"Don't worry about it, Henry. I'll be fine."
Another patently false statement.
"I can't just lie here and watch you be uncomfortable," she said worriedly.
"Close your eyes and go to sleep, then. You won't see a thing."
Henry lay back down and managed to stay in that position for a full minute. "I can't do it," she burst out, bolting upright again. "I just can't do it."
"Can't do what, Henry?" He sighed—a very long-suffering sort of sigh.
"I can't lie here when you're so uncomfortable."
"The only place I'm going to be more comfortable is in the bed."
There was a very long pause. Finally—"I can do it if you can do it."
Dunford decided that they had vastly different interpretations of the word "it."
"I'll scoot very, very far over to the side." She started to scoot. "Very far."
Against all better judgment, he actually considered the idea. He lifted his head to watch her. She was so far to the edge of the bed that one of her legs was falling over the side.
"You can sleep on the other side," she was saying. "Just stay at the edge."
"Henry..."
"If-you're-going-to-do-it-do-it-now," she said, the entire sentence coming out as one long word. "For in a moment I will surely regain my senses and rescind the offer."
Dunford looked at the empty spot on the bed and then down at his body, which was sporting an enormous erection. Then he looked at Henry. No, don't do that! His gaze quickly shifted back to the empty spot on the bed. It looked very, very comfortable—so comfortable, in fact, that it might just be possible for him to relax enough for his body to calm down.
He looked back at Henry. He hadn't meant to do it, hadn't wanted to do it, but his eyes were inclined to follow the dictates of a body part other than his mind. She was sitting up and staring at him. Her thick, straight, brown hair had been pulled back into a plait which was surprisingly erotic. Her eyes—well, by all rights it should have been too dark to see them, but he could swear he could see them glow silver in the moonlight.
"No," he said hoarsely, "the chair will do just fine, thank you."
"If I know you are uncomfortable, I shan't be able to sleep." She sounded remarkably like a damsel in distress.
Dunford shuddered. He had never been able to resist playing hero. Slowly he got to his feet and walked to the empty side of the bed.
How bad could it be?
Chapter 11
Very, very bad. Very, very, very bad.
An hour later Dunford was still wide awake, his entire body stiff as a board for fear that he might accidentally brush up against her. Furthermore, he couldn't risk lying in any position other than on his back because when he'd first crawled in and lay on his side, he could smell her on the pillow.