“I probably shouldn’t have,” he said coolly. “Huge risk of infection, for one thing. But I’m a tough bastard.” He looked up, at last, and grinned at her.

Linnet couldn’t smile back. She was too shaken by the terrible pain implied by that huge scar. Without thinking, she reached out and ran her fingers down the rippled skin. “Does the scar itself hurt, or only the muscles inside your leg?”

“I think you’re the first woman who’s touched me there,” he said slowly. His face was unreadable. “An odd thought.”

Of course no woman had touched him, given his incapability. Her fingers looked pale, creamy against his darker skin. Still, she suddenly realized that she had her hand on a man’s inner thigh.

She jerked her hand away.

“I liked it,” Piers said. His voice came from deep in his chest.

Linnet felt so embarrassed that her cheeks were probably peony red. She risked a glance at his face. She knew that look by now. Desire. She took a deep breath. “I just wanted to . . .” She foundered to a halt.

He seemed to be having trouble controlling his laughter, the wretch. “I don’t see what’s so funny,” she fired at him. “I’m trying to be sympathetic to your plight.”

Piers leaned back against the headboard and crossed his arms behind his head. Which did something to the tablecloth, she couldn’t help but notice. It didn’t seem to contain him very well.

“I haven’t allowed any women to stroke that part of my leg,” he said.

Linnet nodded. “Of course. I completely understand.” Her own hands were clenched in her lap, but her fingertips still tingled from the feel of his skin.

“I quite liked it, though. Perhaps I should get myself a ladybird. What do you think? We could house her in the west wing with Gavan and the patients who are dying but not infectious.”

The wind was howling around the little house, making it feel as if they were the only two people in the whole world. “Why?” she asked, with genuine curiosity. “Just so the lady could rub your scar now and then?”

“She wouldn’t be a lady,” Piers objected. “That’s the whole point.” His eyes were full of laughter. Laughter and . . . something else.

Just desire, Linnet told herself. Garden-variety desire. She pulled her legs up and tucked them to the side. His eyes followed her movements. “What would a ladybird do for you that a lady couldn’t?”

“Ladies come with too many strings,” he said, shifting so that his outstretched leg brushed her feet. It felt like an electric shock.

“Strings as in marriage?” she managed, priding herself on not showing any reaction to his touch.

“As in,” he agreed. “As in living with the same woman for far too many years. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about the drawbacks of that.”

She had. No one could flirt with a prince for two months and not contemplate what it would be like to see his face over the breakfast table for the rest of her days. And if the prince was Augustus, it was hard to avoid the sinking feeling that accompanied that particular vision.

“You have!” he said, laughing. “You’re as much a lone wolf as I am.”

Linnet shook her head. “I’m not. I do want to marry. I also want to fall in love, though I realize the two are not necessarily compatible.”

He snorted. “You’re a romantic, even if you do seem to be contemplating adultery without turning a hair.”

“I read too many novels not to be.”

“Novels have nothing to do with real life.”

“They are better than real life,” Linnet stated. “There’s a great deal of pleasure in seeing bad people receive their just desserts.”

“Why don’t you come sit beside me? That bedpost looks very uncomfortable, whereas the headboard makes a decent chairback.”

It was uncomfortable, actually. But . . . she eyed him.

“The storm isn’t letting up,” he pointed out. “We’re stuck here for at least a couple more hours. Besides, there are some interesting gaps in your knowledge of real life that we could discuss. I’ve always wanted to chat with an adulterous woman. By the time they get to me, they’re generally riddled with syphilis and don’t feel like gossiping about their trollopy pasts.”

“I’m not adulterous, given that I’m not even married. Though I might as well point out that in real life, I would be compromised by this storm, and we would have to marry,” Linnet said, scrambling to the head of the bed and sitting down next to him.

“Don’t give up hope,” he said amiably. “A dukedom is still within your reach. Just not my dukedom, since there’s no one in Wales who gives a damn what we get up to. My father is probably back in the castle praying for a miracle. Yours is back in London, thinking you’re a countess, well on your way to duchess.”

“What sort of miracle does your father want?” Linnet inquired.

“Oh, that the past never happened. That my mother would forgive him. That my injury will disappear.”

She nodded. “He’s desperately sad.”

“No grandchild,” Piers said. “Very disappointing.”

Linnet elbowed him. “Don’t be so tiresome. You know as well as I do that your father is no monster. It’s stupid of you to keep pretending he is.”

“Aren’t you going to say childish?”

“You don’t mind being childish,” she observed. “But I would guess that you dislike being told that you’re not using your brains. You’re too observant not to see his pain.”

“Well, if you put it like that . . .”

“I do put it like that. He’s in pain because he loves you and your mother.”

“Now you’re beating the dead horse,” Piers said, mildly enough. “I’ll give the old bastard a kiss, will that do?”

She turned to smile at him.

“No!” he said, shuddering and throwing his arm over his face. “Don’t try to poison my will with that grimace of yours. Aristotle believed in free will and so do I!”

Linnet broke out laughing and pulled down his arm. “Here.” She let the smile spread over her entire face. “Are you mine to command, now?”

“Oh dear,” he said mockingly, “it didn’t work that time. Maybe you’re losing your touch.” With one swift movement he swung over her.

Linnet’s mouth fell open. Suddenly she was flat on her back, her hands caught in his above her head.

“Give me another smile; let’s see if the magic is slow to take, or whether I’m impervious,” he said. His words were mocking, but there was a caress in them, a rough, insolent caress.

She gave him a smile. But it wasn’t the family smile. It came from a different place altogether: a hungry place, a longing, fierce, desiring place.

He said nothing.

She could feel every inch of his muscled body on hers. “Mine to command?”

“Not quite,” he said, staring down at her. “But damn . . . you’re good.”

Linnet opened her mouth and ran her tongue delicately over her bottom lip. “I like to kiss you.”

She could feel his deep, shuddering breath.