Except, he didn’t want to believe that about her. That made her even more dangerous.
With the bandage around her head and her toes peeking out from beneath her hem, she appeared young and defenseless. He’d liked the weight of her body in his arms. He now knew the silkiness of her hair and the scent of her, a blend of the herbs she distilled.
So, so aware of her, even to the beating of her heart against the very sensitive skin where her jaw met her neck. He could almost count the beats, and his fingers longed to touch that delicate place.
There was a slight flush to her cheeks, probably from the brandy. She seemed to study some point on the brick floor.
What if he pressed his palm against the smooth skin of her cheek? What if he turned her attention toward him?
And then she moved. Her head tilted up to him, her eyes clear now. “Did you think I was away this evening?” She set her flask on the table. “Did you have a hand in putting him up to stealing my papers?”
Had he almost let down his guard? That was a damn idiotic thing to do. Bloody women were all alike.
“What?” Ned came to his feet, so offended he didn’t know where to start. Here he’d been thinking—well, it didn’t matter what he was thinking because he’d certainly misread all the signs.
“It is convenient that you were so close,” she observed.
“You think I was waiting to see if the deed was done? Is that what you are imagining? Oh, and of course, I rushed in to make it appear as I was not involved.” He used his most sarcastic tone, mocking her.
She didn’t blush. Instead, her gaze was steady, expectant.
“Good God.” He had to take a step away. How could he have been so deceived by her? One second she was weak and malleable and now she appeared ready to spit fire.
Perhaps he was more like his gullible father than he had imagined. “I am not devious. I’ve told you exactly what I’m going to do from the very beginning.”
“Which is to see me thrown out of the village.”
“I don’t know if I like your manner. You are very direct.”
“And you’re not?”
“Of course I am. I’m male.”
“Ah, I was wondering what the difference was between the two of us. Men say what they think and women waffle on, right?”
Ned narrowed his eyes. “I’m not pleased with you.”
“Pity,” she responded.
His temper, which he rarely lost, rose like a thundercloud. He had to take another step away from her. “I’m not treacherous. From the beginning, I have told you what will happen. Once Marsden returns, this will be straightened out—in my favor.”
She came to her bare feet, and he was no longer entranced by her toes. “I’m not giving up The Garland.”
“You will not have a choice. There is no will, is there?”
Her chin lifted. She didn’t answer.
She didn’t need to. She’d already told him what she had and that was a letter. He crossed to the table, avoiding her as if she was a leper, and started to pack up his medical bag. Through clenched teeth he issued his doctor’s orders. “You might have a headache on the morrow. I have a powder for that, which is good mixed with mulled wine. Do you have any wine?”
“What is in the powder?”
She questioned him? Of course.
“Crushed lavender from my garden,” he said, his jaw tight.
“Lavender for headaches?”
“No, the mulled wine will take the edge off your headache. The lavender is to add scent and make you believe that you are drinking something special.”
“Actually, lavender does soothe the senses.”
He knew that. “Do you have wine?”
“No.”
“I will have a bottle of wine brought over to you.”
“It is not necessary.”
Suddenly, he remembered he didn’t have anything to drink at his house. The lads had sucked it all up and nothing would be replaced until Royce returned. “I’ll leave the flask.” It was the best he could do.
He moved toward the door, careful to stay as far away from her as possible. She could be standing there stark naked and he would not touch her.
“I’m not attempting to be difficult,” she said, following him as he moved through the taproom. “The Society is still free to meet here. Of course, there will be rules.”
Ned stopped at the main room entrance, offended that she was offering him a bone. “Sorry, we don’t enjoy tea and treacle.”
“Well then, let me assure you, the Society’s goings-on that I have heard happened here will not take place under my ownership.”
“Mrs. Estep, I don’t condone recent events.” That was true. “That doesn’t mean that the Logical Men’s Society doesn’t have a right to exist and to meet. It is an old and revered tradition in this village.”
“How old? Mrs. Warbler said it has only been around for fifty years. A teardrop in English history.”
“Fifty years is old enough.” He walked into the main room, wanting to be done with this conversation. How could he have ever thought her attractive? She was a shrew through and through. He kept his manner brisk and professional. “I will check on you in the morning to see how you are doing—”
“Is it just me that you have a problem with, Mr. Thurlowe? Or are you this way with all women?”
Her tone alone was enough to set his teeth on edge. He whirled around, not realizing that she was so close, he practically stepped on her toes—and again, caught the heat of her body beneath that nightdress.
In a blink his mouth went dry. His hands wanted to reach for her. He tensed, holding himself back. And then, calmly, enunciating clearly, he said, “It is just you. I like every other woman I’ve ever met.”
It was a deliberately hurtful thing to say. If she would back away, perhaps then some semblance of his sanity would return. She didn’t.
Instead, her chin rose in defiance, and he had a strong desire to kiss her. It would not take much effort. If he tipped his head down, she was right there.
He was startled at how easily their bodies would mesh together. She was just the right height. And while she accused him of not liking her, parts of his body liked her very much. In fact, he’d never experienced liking this hard—
“I believe you are a very poor sport.”
That was it.
A mountain of snow could not have cooled his ardor faster.
“Good night, Mrs. Estep.” He turned and walked out of the tavern.
She followed him. Of course she would. “Good night to you, sir.” She sounded almost pleasant.
And then she slammed the door behind him and threw the bar.
For a beat Ned stared at the door as if he could burn it up with his eyes. What was the matter with that woman?
He should fall on his knees now and thank the good Lord that he hadn’t surrendered to base impulses and attempted to kiss her, because he’d been close.
Close to opening himself to her. Close to letting down his guard. Close to making a fool of himself. A barred door was the only way to deal with her.
Of course, he was now standing alone out in the road. Hippocrates had ambled home.
Swearing under his breath, Ned began the short march to his doorstep.