She allowed him to draw her from the bed. His efficient motions made it clear this was no seduction. Her shift went over her head, and he smoothed it over her sides and hips before attending to her stays and petticoat. Her gown was last.
“Turn.”
She did as he asked, and he tied her tapes, then worked his magic on her hair, sifting his fingers through the tangled locks. Surely he did not intend to dress her unruly red curls as well, did he?
Before she could ask or even protest, he was winding it into a coil. Hair pins gently raked her scalp as he slid them into place.
“There we are.” His breath was hot on her nape as his hands settled on her shoulders.
She shivered, wondering if he would set his lips there, fearing she could not control herself if he did. But then, Rafe spun her about so that she faced him once more.
His expression was as tender as his touch had been. “I ain’t going to be hired as a lady’s maid any time soon, but you’ll do.”
Her fingers flew to her hair, tentatively inspecting his work. It seemed he was indeed adept at dressing a lady’s hair as well. Once again, the thought of the ladies on whom he had previously practiced made a possessive bolt of envy dash through her.
“Thank you,” she said shakily. “Have you seen my cap?”
“It’s a sin to cover your hair with that abomination.”
“Where is it?” she asked, undeterred.
“I tossed it into the fire last night.” His grin was unrepentant.
And slightly triumphant.
“Rafe! You cannot burn my caps. I only have three.”
“Two.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “We’d best ‘urry, lovely. Time ain’t exactly our bosom friend this morning.”
“Yes,” she agreed, knowing they had to part and yet somehow dreading it as well.
Because this was all they were to have.
“Come,” he said offering her his hand.
“You are dressed in shirtsleeves and trousers and stockinged feet,” she pointed out. “Surely Mr. Sutton will take note.”
“No time for me.” He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips for a kiss. “I’ll ’andle Jasper. Come now. We’ve a room to secret you back to.”
CHAPTER 10
“You look like you spent the night rolling about the floor of The Garden of Flora, with half a dozen wenches,” Jasper observed when Rafe folded his frame into the carriage bench opposite his. “Were you carousing until dawn?”
Rafe tamped down a rise of inconvenient self-loathing and gave his brother his best devil-may-give-a-scrope smile. “And what do you care what I was about? You’re an old married man these days, firmly caught in the leg-shackle.”
“Happily so,” his brother agreed, his countenance stern. “Mayhap I want the same for my rakehell brother.”
“I ain’t a rakehell.” He adjusted the fit of his hat on his head, frowning as he thought of what he had done.
He’d taken what Persephone offered.
Given her pleasure.
She was still a bleeding virgin.
Yes, but she was an innocent, you fucking clod pate. You could have exercised some restraint. At the very least, you should have seen her back to her room last night instead of embarking on a furtive dash through the halls this morning.
Aye, it was true. They had narrowly avoided detection. It was not an exercise in stupidity he wished to repeat.