Love With the Perfect Scoundrel Read Online Free PDF Page A

her clutched hands and the heat of a blush overtook her.
    “There’s no need to be bashful.” He drew a needle and a length of thread from his kit.
    “That’s easy for you to suggest when you’re sitting there fully dressed, Mr….?” She focused on the needle and a long shiver worked its way through her body. For some perverse reason, she was chilled to the bone now that she was out of the elements.
    “Ranier. Michael Ranier. I’d offer to let you see me in the altogether, but then”—he winked—“I’m doubting that would make you feel less awkward, would it, Blue Eyes?” He deftly knotted the thread and leaned in closer. “Now then.”
    “Now then, what? How do you know I need stitches? I could just bind it. I really think we should wait. Have you ever done this before? Surely there’s a surgeon, or even an apothecary we could send for…” An ancient, learned man who looks like a grandfather instead of a colossal, powerful archangel with enough distilled charm to steal the feathers off a chicken with nary a squawk. Her gibberish of questions slowed with each passing word when she realized he wasn’t going to argue. “Look, you already know I’m hen-hearted, so any attempt to goad me to your way of thinking won’t work, Mr. Ranier.”
    “Perhaps you should call me Michael.”
    “Absolutely not! In cases such as these, it’s vitally important to preserve every last measure of civility, sir.”
    “Am I at least permitted to know your name?”
    “Of course.” She sighed. “Grace Sheffey.” She tried to offer her hand but quickly lowered it when she saw how it fluttered.
    “Such a lovely name, Duchess.”
    “I most certainly am not a duchess.”
    “Baroness?”
    She shook her head, exasperated. “You may call me Mrs. Sheffey.”
    He disregarded her. “Viscountess?”
    “Does it matter?”
    “I have it,” he uttered with a knowing grin. “ Countess …” He placed his hand on top of her clenched one still shaking with cold.
    When she didn’t reply, he smiled again. “No denial? Well, then. And your husband is the Earl of…?”
    “Sheffield,” she replied, lifting her chin. She was not hiding anything from him. She had no reason to feel defensive and could not understand why she did. It was just that this man’s immense presence completely shredded her nerves.
    “And where is the good earl?”
    “Why do you ask?”
    “You know, if you keep evading simple questions, I’ll start thinking there’s something you’re trying to hide, Countess.” He gathered another shawl and pressed it against the wound more firmly. “I’m asking because I’d like to know if a herd of lordly relatives led by an over-wrought husband will come crashing in here at any given moment.”
    She swallowed. “I’m a widow.”
    He raised one slashing brow a fraction of an inch.
    “I think I told you about my traveling companion, Mr. Brown. He’ll be very worried, and will come for me if he hasn’t met with disaster himself.” She stopped short, caught in misery at the thought of elderly Mr. Brown in peril. She watched the great chest of the man in front of her rise and fall steadily for a few moments and was abruptly worried about the appearance of impropriety. “My maid was not well and remained behind at the last village.”
    He didn’t appear to believe everything she said. “Countess, I suggest you drink as much of this brandy as you can manage, and then I’ll be as quick as I can.”
    “This is entirely improper. I can’t possibly allow you to—”
    “Sweetheart, there was nothing proper about you traveling alone with this Mr. Brown fellow, or the way I rode to this house with you, or the way I hauled you up the stairs. And there was certainly nothing proper about the way I undressed you, or the fact that I will have to stitch you—no, I see that look. But I will be doing it. Look at it this way—all of it is insignificant to how you will feel if you waver longer and I’m forced to