He was naked. A naked man was in her cottage, and she was sitting in the loft doing nothing. Olivia didn’t know if she was terrified or excited. Probably a little of both.

Fortunately, she had Richard to distract her. She helped him prepare for bed. It was a little early for his bedtime, but she didn’t know how long they would be up here. By the time Lord Jasper finished his ablutions, it might be past Richard’s bedtime. She resisted peeking down to see if he’d made it to the chair and helped Richard don his nightshirt.

“Read me a story, Mama?” Richard asked.

“Very well. You find the book, and I’ll light the lamp.” She took the tinder box from the shelf and lit the lamp she kept on the other side of the shelf. She did not look down, though she would have had a perfect view of Lord Jasper, a view from above that would have made the curtain useless.

“This one, Mama.” Richard pointed to the page in the book that began the story he wanted, and Olivia smiled. It was a story of a mother bear who loses her cub and searches all night to find him. She can’t locate the baby bear and returns despondent to her cave, whereupon she finds the cub fast asleep in his usual spot. Richard loved it, no doubt, because he saw himself as the bear cub—bravely exploring the world and then returning safely to a mother who worried for nothing. Olivia liked it because it showed the love and dedication a mother, a mother of any species, has for her child. Like the mother bear, Olivia knew she would have searched all night for her baby. Unlike the mother bear, she would have gone to the ends of the earth before she’d given up. If her little cub returned home, she would probably never find him because she’d still be out searching.

Richard climbed under his covers, and Olivia snuggled beside him, using her finger to follow the words in hopes that Richard might be able to read some of them one day soon. She didn’t need to look at the words herself. She knew this story very, very well.

When that story was done, and Lord Jasper still had not called for her, she started another. About halfway through, Richard went limp, and she closed the book, tucked him in and blew out the lamp. The loft was darker now, but the lamp and the fire below still burned and she had plenty of light. She sat beside the bed and watched her son sleep, tracing the line of his brow, the slope of his cheek, and the roundness of his lips with her eyes.

Finally, he rolled over and settled into a deeper sleep, and she pulled her knees to her chest and rested her head on them. She had a thousand things to do before the day dawned tomorrow, and none of them could be done in the loft. She hoped the rain finally passed because she would like to air out the cottage and sweep the floors. Not to mention, her garden was more of a pond at the moment, and poor Clover was restless in the stable. Olivia had gone to feed and groom her, of course, but, like Richard and her, the horse wanted to stretch her legs.

Lord Jasper had wanted to stretch his tonight too. She had known that when he began to feel better he would be more of a threat. She had just thought his recovery would take longer. He still had a fever, and he was obviously still weak. She did not think if she had been in his position she would have been able to stand. But Lord Jasper was obviously a remarkably strong man. When he’d stood beside her bed, she couldn’t help but note he was also a large man. She felt like a child standing in his shadow. He could have grabbed her and hurt her or Richard with very little effort indeed.

But he hadn’t.

He’d made no move toward her or Richard and again insisted that he meant them no harm. She would believe that when he was gone. Men lied, and as far as she could see, he was no different than other men.

Except for the mask.

But the mask wasn’t what had drawn her attention tonight. When she’d sent Richard upstairs to safety and Lord Jasper was once again seated, she couldn’t help but steal peeks at his chest. Again. Olivia didn’t know why it should fascinate her so. It was just a part of his body. His very male body. When she looked at it, she had the urge to touch it the muscled ridges and the smattering of golden brown hair. She had touched his chest because she’d cleaned it and bathed it, but she wanted to touch him far less platonically.

How could it be that she both wanted to run from him and wanted to touch him? She didn’t understand herself in moments like this. She knew why she wanted to run. Withernsea had made certain she would never see men as interesting or diverting. For years now, she had shuddered with disgust when she even thought about a man touching her. She avoided all contact when she went into Penbury, keeping her face partially obscured with a veil she wore because she claimed to be a widow.

And Olivia wasn’t certain that Lord Jasper touching her wouldn’t make her shudder with revulsion. But for the first time she actually wanted to touch a man. She had the urge to run a finger over his strong jaw and his pale pink lips. She might thread her fingers through the straight ends of the dark blond hair that hung below his mask. She could imagine his hazel eyes fixed on her, and her chest tightened at the thought. Yes, she definitely wanted to touch him.

The very thought made her head pop up and off her knees. Olivia couldn’t remember the last time she’d been attracted to a man. She supposed it had been when she’d been one of those silly girls during the London Season. So many of the young men then had been handsome and charming and graceful dancers. She’d found any number of them attractive and interesting.

Never Withernsea. Even then he’d been older than she and had a look about him that made her cringe. But she’d enjoyed dancing with the younger men. She’d liked placing her hand on their arms and feeling the warmth of their breath as they whispered to her. She’d liked the light brush of an arm across her back or the quick clasp of a hand on her waist.

Olivia felt her face grow hot. Perhaps Withernsea had seen how much she’d liked all of that and given her just what she’d deserved. That was what he’d said at any rate. She was a slut, and he was just treating her like the little strumpet she was.

But she hadn’t been a strumpet. She hadn’t done anything inappropriate. And even if she had been a slut, it didn’t give him the right to...to...

She bit her lip to stave off tears and heard the chair scrape on the floor. She should call down and see if Lord Jasper needed assistance. Or she could just take a quick peek. That was far quieter, and she didn’t want to wake Richard or make Lord Jasper feel as though he should hurry.

She rose to her knees and leaned to the side so she might see around the wall of the loft. She only wanted to be certain Lord Jasper wasn’t lying on the floor, injured, but when she caught sight of the curtain, she could not look away.

Dear God in Heaven.

The curtain had parted slightly, or perhaps he’d never fully closed it, and she could see directly inside. She’d thought she would only be able to spot his head from this height, but with the curtain askew she could see far more than that. And what she noted was the man wore nothing at all. He stood facing the chair, his back to the room and her, and the firelight flickered gold over long legs, taut buttocks, and a wide, muscled back.

Her mouth went dry and her face burst into flame. And yet it wasn’t embarrassment she felt. If she had, she might have looked away. It was desire. She hadn’t felt it in a long, long time—she hadn’t thought herself capable of feeling it ever again—but here it was. The longing was palpable, pulsing through her like the blood in her veins. The hair on her arms tingled, her chest tightened, and her belly felt warm and soft.

With reluctance, she pulled back and out of sight. But not before she caught a glimpse of the side of Lord Jasper’s face. It must have been the side that was uninjured—either that or he’d lied about the injury—because it was absolutely perfect. He was a handsome man with a strong nose and a square jaw. He was also vaguely familiar. She had most certainly seen him at the theater or a ball all those years ago during the Season. And that meant he wasn’t lying about who he was.

Her chest rose and fell as she tried to calm her breathing and push the ache of attraction away.

A moment later Lord Jasper called quietly, “Miss Carlisle, I’m finished.”

“I’ll be down in a moment,” she called back. She was grateful that they were speaking in hushed tones because she wasn’t certain her voice would have functioned. She still hadn’t composed herself and she still felt a flush heating her face. She shouldn’t have spied on him. He deserved privacy, and he wasn’t some object put here for her to lust after.

She should have felt ashamed of herself, but that wasn’t the sensation overwhelming her at all.

***

OLIVIA CLIMBED DOWN the ladder a few minutes later, studiously avoiding looking in Lord Jasper’s direction. She kept her head down, her eyes on the floor.

“I’m under the sheets,” he said. “I may not be decent, but at least I’m not indecent.”

She nodded, afraid if she spoke her voice would betray the tumult of emotions she felt. And if she looked him in the eye, would he know she had seen his body bare and uncovered? She went to the chair and lifted his trousers from the back, where he had hung them neatly. How strange to touch something that had so intimately touched him. She would wash them in the soapy water she’d saved from the dishes and then hang them to dry. Happy to have something to occupy her, she knelt beside the tub and began scrubbing.

“Where is your son?” Lord Jasper asked.

Olivia caught her breath. She couldn’t nod in answer to that question. She’d have to give a response. She cleared her throat. “Sleeping,” she said. “It’s his bedtime.”

She rinsed the trousers in the clean water in the second tub, rung them out, then moved to hang them on the drying rack near the hearth. What she saw there made her pause. Lord Jasper must have washed his own small clothes and hung them to dry. She didn’t know when he’d done it, but there they were. Pretending she didn’t see them, she laid the trousers on the rope beneath them.

“I hope you don’t mind that I did some of my own washing,” he said. She shook her head, not trusting herself to look at him. “I would have washed the trousers, but I didn’t want to fall over. I thought you’d rather not have to lift me into bed again.”

The image of her lifting his naked body into bed made her flush even warmer. She should move away from the fire. She was becoming overheated.

“I don’t mind.” She squeaked the words more than spoke them.

“Miss Carlisle.” His voice had an edge to it that might have frightened her if she wasn’t so completely mortified already.

She began to gather the plates from the table. She would wash them and be thankful for another activity. Never had she been happy to wash dishes before.

“Miss Carlisle.” This time it was more an order than a query. She looked up and met his gaze. Her breath hitched at the way his gaze seemed to caress her face. Quickly, she looked down again.

“Do you need something?”

“I trusted you to give me privacy.”

She glanced at him again, looking back down just as quickly because she could well imagine her face was the picture of guilt. “I-I did.”

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

“I-I suppose seeing such personal items...” She gestured vaguely to the rack by the fire.

“We both know that’s not it.”

Olivia squeezed her eyes shut and clasped her hands together. Would he call her names? Accuse her of behaving wantonly? She didn’t think he would attempt to punish her with his fists. He didn’t have the strength.

“You couldn’t stand not seeing what was underneath, could you?”

She twisted her hands. How had he known? Had he been able to read her thoughts, to know she wondered what he looked like without his clothing?

“And now that you’ve seen you can’t even look me in the eye.”

She raised her gaze to his then. She might as well accept responsibility for what she’d done. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to look. It just...happened.”

His hazel eyes, so pretty ordinarily, flashed fire. “And now you can’t stand to look at me, is that it?”

She touched her hands to her flaming cheeks. “I...I...”

“You’re disgusted by what you saw.”

With her hands pressed to her cheeks, she felt her jaw drop. “Why would I be disgusted?”

“You can’t have thought it attractive. I’ve sent men and children screaming at the sight of it.”

She stared at him. When had he shown other men and children his bare backside? Unless... “Are you speaking of your face?” she asked.

His eyes, hooded by the mask, narrowed. “What do you think I am speaking of?”

Best not to answer that question. “I did not see your face, my lord. I...” I was looking much lower. “You were turned away.”

He did not move and since she felt practically frozen in place, the entire room was still for three long heartbeats. Then very slowly his mouth quirked up in something of a smile. Or perhaps it was more aptly termed a smirk.

“Then what was it you saw?” He gestured to her. “What has your face so pink?”

“It was a very quick peek. As I said, it was more of an accident.”

“If you weren’t looking at my face, what were you looking at?”

“Nothing! Not intentionally, at any rate.”

“So you caught an accidental glimpse and then looked away immediately.”

She nodded. “Exactly.”

“Your gaze didn’t linger?”

“No!”

“You didn’t stare?”

“No!”

“Miss Carlisle...”

“Oh, very well!” The truth seemed ready to explode out of her. She could turn purple and expire from embarrassment or she could just admit her sin. “I looked. I saw your bare backside. I didn’t intend to, but I did.”

“I see.” He seemed amused, but it was difficult to tell with the mask.

“And, no, I didn’t look away immediately. I should have, but I suppose I was interested. I’ve never seen—” She made a vague gesture toward him.

“You’ve never seen...?” he asked, and she knew from the tone of his voice he was enjoying this exchange.

“That is all I am saying. I apologize.”

“You’ve never seen a naked man?” he asked, pressing the issue where she did not want it to go.

“Correct. I assure you I will not violate your privacy again.”

“I believe you, but indulge me for a moment, Miss Carlisle.”

“No.” She shook her head. “No indulging.”

He went on, ignoring her. “What did you think of what you saw? Did you like it?”

She wasn’t certain how to answer. She felt embarrassed, guilty, and decidedly too warm. She needed a few moments alone. “Excuse me. I should tend to Clover.”

Immediately, his smirk faded. “You don’t plan to go out into the dark alone. It’s still raining.”

She listened, cocking her head. “It’s slackened enough that if I throw my shawl over my head I shan’t be soaked to the skin.” And she lifted her shawl, tossed it over her head, and then made the mistake of looking back at him.

Olivia balked.

Her patient had swung his legs over the side of the bed and was sitting with only a scrap of cloth covering his...lower regions.

“What are you doing?” Did he plan to deliberately expose himself to her?

“I’ll go out with you.” He said, his voice sounding rough. She immediately understood why as he gritted his teeth as he spoke the next words. “It’s not safe for you to go alone.”

“You will do no such thing! The last thing I need is you lying in the mud bleeding.” Naked and bleeding, she thought, but she would probably implode before she had the courage to say those words.

“You could slip and—” He’d tried to rise but grimaced when the pain was too much for him. She thanked God when he sat back down, remaining covered.

“And you think to assist me?” Anger slowly replaced her mortification. “I don’t need your help, my lord. I’ve been tending my own horse and my own house by myself and in every kind of weather for years now. All you will do is hurt yourself, and then I will have to worry not only about the horse but about an injured fool as well.”

His back went rigid and he turned a gaze hot with anger on her. “Did you just call me a fool?”

“If you think you have the strength to walk to the stable and back with me, then yes. You are a fool.”

He made a low noise in his throat that sounded very much like a growl. “Madam, no one has ever called me a fool. No one has ever dared.”

“Well, they should have.” She knew she should be frightened, but she was too annoyed to care. Later she would probably shake with delayed nerves. How dare he assume she couldn’t take care of herself and her horse? How did he think she’d managed all these years? And she hadn’t just had herself to see to. She’d had a baby and then a toddler to care for as well. The man couldn’t even stand and he thought he would save her. In her mind, that was the exact definition of a fool.

She marched over to the bed, hands on her hips, eyes trained above his shoulders. The black half mask he wore did nothing to hide his anger. She could see it in the tenseness of his stubbled jaw and the tightness in his shoulders.

“Unless you want to open those stitches I sewed or drag yourself back up from the floor, I suggest you lie back down and rest. You can prove what a strong man you are another day.”

His eyes narrowed, looking like little more than slits with the mask over them. “You will rue the day you gave me that challenge.”

“I’m sure.”

But he lay down and tugged at the covers. When even those eluded him, she pulled them up to his shoulders for him. Clearly, he was exhausted because he was fighting to keep his eyes open. “If you were a man, I would pummel you bloody. Since you are a female, we will have it out in words. Later.”

“Why not just punch me?” She didn’t know why she’d said it. Perhaps because she could only exist in a state of fear for so long before she broke and teased the angry tiger into action. “You’ll feel better and I won’t have to wait for what I know is coming.”

His eyes, which had been drooping, opened. Surprisingly clear now, they focused on her face. “I don’t hit women.” And then his eyes closed and he did not move again.

Olivia waited until she was certain he was asleep before she felt his cheek. It was warm but not overly so. The fever was waning. She wished he would allow her to remove that mask. It couldn’t be comfortable, and if he wasn’t wearing it, she could bathe his brow with a cool cloth. She’d settle for preparing more herbal tea when she returned. If he stirred in the night, she’d force some down his throat.

Her hand lingered on his cheek and then slid to his slightly parted lips. She licked her own lips in response to the softness of his. Hers tingled, and she swallowed hard trying to ignore the feeling. She had no time for infatuation. She had chores to see to. And now that her anger was fading, she realized how reckless she’d been to call him a fool and challenge him. She’d surely pay for such imprudence on her part.

I don’t hit women.

She had heard that before. She was neither young enough nor naïve enough to believe it anymore.