Too Dangerous For a Lady Read Free Page B

teens. Better he not remember. She knelt to tie his ankles together.
    â€œI’d take the boots off first,” he said. “They might be loose enough for me to take my feet out of them.”
    She was annoyed not to have thought of that. She needed to be clear witted, not enmeshed in girlish memories. “Thank you. Raise one.”
    She grasped the boot and it came off easily. It was thesort a man could get into and out of without a servant, and there were other signs of poverty. The boot was well-worn, down-at-heel and scuffed, and when she had it off, his worsted stockings were darned in the heel. Lieutenant Thayne had been from a noble family headed by a Viscount Faringay. How sad to see him in poverty, but he wouldn’t be the only one.
    The pay of army officers was barely enough to keep up the style of living thought suitable to their rank, and the half pay they got when they weren’t fighting only just kept body and soul together. Many had extra income from their families, but some, like Roger, hadn’t. His letters had often mentioned privations, though he’d made them part of the adventure.
    His rare letters had presented army life as an enjoyable adventure, and she hoped that had been true. Though he’d been a man in her young eyes, he’d been only twenty when he died. She pushed such thoughts aside for fear of crying, but realized that the dashing officer of her dreams had been even younger six years ago. What had happened to bring him to this state?
    â€œThe other.” It came out more brusquely than she’d intended. “I’m tired and I want to get this done,” she added, dragging off the second boot.
    â€œNow tie my ankles to the chair legs,” he said.
    She dropped the boot to thump on the floor. “I don’t know why you don’t do it for yourself.”
    â€œUntie my hands and I will.”
    She glowered and returned to her task, but saw a problem. She needed to tie each ankle to a front leg of the chair and had only one stocking. She grasped the woolen stocking on his right leg and pulled it down.
    A naked lower leg.
    She’d seen such a thing before. Some workingmen did without stockings in the summer. Some poor ones did without shoes. All the same, in the intimacy of a firelit bedroomhis bare calf made her quiver with embarrassment, and perhaps with something else.
    â€œNo need to risk more of my stockings,” she said, pulling it all the way off.
    â€œNone at all,” he agreed.
    Did she hear humor? She wasn’t about to look up and reveal her blushes. She took off his other stocking, and then paused. The long, jagged scar down his calf swept away irritation. Whatever Thayne was now, he’d fought for their country and been wounded, perhaps even at Waterloo.
    She tied his right ankle to one chair leg, finding his bulky woolen stockings more awkward, but unable to ignore his feet. She’d never thought about men’s feet, but his were excellent specimens with straight toes and no bumps or bunions. She felt sure Cousin Porteous had bumps and bunions.
    The thought of tying Porteous to a chair pushed her perilously close to giggles and she bit her lip as she tied the other ankle. Thayne would think her ready for Bedlam. Eventually she stood and backed away to assess her work, nodding with satisfaction. He wouldn’t get out of that—which made her softhearted. “I hope you won’t be too uncomfortable.”
    â€œI’m sure I will be, but needs must.”
    â€œYes, they must,” she said firmly, which was difficult with the atmosphere in the room—the atmosphere created by naked limbs, proximity, and memories. She couldn’t help it. She had to know more. She sat on the upholstered chair facing his. “Have you always been a thief?”
    He gave an irritating impression of ease. “I assume not in the cradle.”
    â€œHave you had any other means of survival?”
    â€œYes.