To All the Rakes I've Loved Before (A Honeycote Novella) Read Online Free PDF Page A

dropping the ‘lord’ once a woman has caressed my bare chest.”
    Miss Wimple blushed and coughed awkwardly. He supposed it was poorly done of him to tease her, but he didn’t know any other way to talk to women. Her simple day dress was the color of posies and had a neckline much too modest for his taste. Her coffee-colored hair was pulled back from her oval face in a sensible style that made her look fresh and innocent. Far from his usual type, and yet—
    “I think I should change the bandage on your head.” Her forehead furrowed in concern as she brushed some of his hair away from the strips of linen.
    His body thrummed in response, proving that it would take a hell of a lot more than a head wound and a couple of broken ribs to squash his desire for a pretty woman.
    “Will you be all right if I leave you alone for a few moments? I need to retrieve some more bandages.”
    “Of course. Thank you.”
    She left the door cracked and pattered down the hallway.
    Stephen flipped off the blankets, glad to see someone had put a nightshirt on him. Gingerly, he slid his legs over the edge of the mattress, ignored the stinging around his lungs, and took small, even breaths.
    The laudanum on the bedside table tempted him, but he’d been in a strange haze long enough. More water—that was what he needed. The pitcher on the table was within reach, but his right arm hurt like the devil. He recalled the sickening crack when the doctor had jammed his shoulder back into its socket. Swallowing a wave of nausea, he applied himself to the simple task of pouring a bloody glass of water.
    He stood slowly and deliberately, filled the glass, and drained it. His pounding head screamed for him to lie back down, but a small mirror on top of the bureau proved irresistible. He hobbled to the chest-high dresser and propped himself up with his good elbow.
    Since he felt every cut and bruise all too keenly, the sight of his face shouldn’t have alarmed him, but it did. His left eye looked like it was bulging from its socket and the swollen skin surrounding it glowed a bright reddish purple. A small gash along his right cheekbone puckered beneath tight stitches. It wouldn’t leave much of a scar.
    Stephen lightly pressed a fingertip to the purple, egg-sized lump along his jaw and winced. But it could have been worse. He had all his teeth, and somehow his nose had escaped unscathed too.
    “Lord Brookes?” Amelia briskly entered the room and gave a start when she realized he was out of bed.
    “Just Stephen, remember?”
    “What are you—” she began, then spied the mirror in front of him. “Heavens,” she exclaimed. Like she’d discovered her frail old grandpapa dancing a jig. She set the bandages she was holding on the nightstand, then walked over and gently but firmly wrapped an arm about his waist. “Come back to bed,” she urged.
    “Under different circumstances,” he quipped, shuffling alongside her, “those words would be quite welcome.”
    She stopped walking and looked up into his face. Her skin was smooth and clear, her eyes intelligent. “You don’t have to be so droll with me.”
    He felt a stab of remorse. “I’ve offended you.”
    “No, you haven’t.” Her forehead wrinkled. “But how do you have the energy to be glib right now?”
    He didn’t. He was having a hard time just standing, even with her half-holding him up. But what they said about old habits was true.
    “Never mind. Let me help you get settled.” She fluffed some pillows before easing him back onto the feather mattress. A bed had never felt so heavenly. She wrung out a cloth above the washbasin and tenderly dabbed at the exposed skin on his face, cooling and soothing him. Though he enjoyed her ministrations—what warm-blooded man wouldn’t?—it was distinctly uncomfortable to have a beautiful woman tending to him like he was an invalid. Which he supposed he was.
    As though she could read his thoughts, she said, “Listen. You were kind to me