A Night Like This Read Online Free PDF Page B

told herself to move, she realy did. Every last corner of her brain was screaming at her to come to her senses and get out of there before someone came along, but all she could think was—he’d been defending his sister .
    How could she abandon a man who did that?
    “Let me help you,” she said, against all better judgment.
    He smiled weakly. “If you wouldn’t mind.”
    She crouched down to get a better look at his injuries. She’d treated her share of cuts and scrapes, but never anything like this. “Where are you hurt?” she asked.
    She cleared her throat. “Other than the obvious spots.”
    “Obvious?”
    “Well. . .” She pointed gingerly toward his eye. “You’ve a bit of a bruise there. And there . . .” she added, motioning to the left side of his jaw before moving on to his shoulder, which was visible through his ripped and bloodied shirt. “ . . . and over there.”
    “Marcus looks worse,” Lord Winstead said.
    “Yes,” Anne replied, biting back a smile. “You’d mentioned.”
    “It’s an important detail.” He gave her a loopy grin, then winced and brought his hand to his cheek.
    “Your teeth?” she asked worriedly.
    “They all seem to be in place,” he mumbled. He opened his mouth, as if testing the hinge mechanism, then closed it with a groan. “I think.”
    “Is there someone I can get for you?” she asked.
    His brows rose. “You wish for someone to know you’ve been here alone with me?”
    “Oh. Of course not. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
    He smiled again, that dry half grin that made her feel rather squirmy on the inside. “I have that effect on women.” Any number of retorts sprang to mind, but Anne bit them all back. “I could help you to your feet,” she suggested.
    He cocked his head to the side. “Or you could sit and talk to me.”
    She stared at him.
    Again, that half smile. “It was just an idea,” he said.
    An il-advised idea, she thought immediately. She had just kissed him, for heaven’s sake. She should not be anywhere near him, certainly not beside him on the floor, where it would be so easy to turn to him, and tip her face toward his . . .
    “Perhaps I could find some water,” she blurted out, her words spewing forth so quickly she almost had to cough. “Have you a handkerchief? You will want to clean your face, I should think.”
    He reached in his pocket and puled out a wrinkled square of cloth. “The finest Italian linen,” he quipped in a tired voice. He frowned. “Or at least it once was.”
    “I’m sure it will be perfect,” she said, taking it from him and folding it to her liking. She reached out and dabbed it against his cheek. “Does this hurt?” He shook his head.
    “I wish I had some water. The blood has already dried.” She frowned. “Have you any brandy? In a flask, perhaps?” Gentlemen often carried flasks. Her father had. He had rarely left home without it.
    But Lord Winstead said, “I don’t drink spirits.”
    Something about his tone startled her, and she looked up. His eyes were on hers, and she caught her breath. She hadn’t realized how close she’d leaned in.
    Her lips parted. And she wanted . . .
    Too much. She had always wanted too much.
    She puled back, unsettled by how easily she’d swayed toward him. He was a man who smiled easily, and often. It didn’t take more than a few minutes in his company to know this. Which was why the sharp and serious edge to his voice had transfixed her.
    “But you can probably find some down the hal,” he said suddenly, and the strange, captivating spell was broken. “The third door on the right. It used to be my father’s study.”
    “At the back of the house?” It seemed an unlikely place.
    “There are two entrances. The other side opens onto the main hal. There shouldn’t be anyone there, but you’ll want to be careful when you go in.” Anne rose to her feet and folowed his directions to the study. Moonlight filtered through the window, and she easily found a