She flushed and bent her head, instinctively turning her scarred cheek away from him. Her fingers locked nervously in her borrowed skirt. For once in her life she yearned to wear the silks and satins suitable to her rank. It was one thing to opt for comfort and practicality when she was working in her garden—but to present herself to the most handsome man she’d ever met in the over-large, dowdy clothes of the Duke’s housekeeper was excruciating. The maid had laced the bodice as tightly as possible, but it was still far too large.
Jakob looked like a prince. She—as he had so aptly pointed out when they were still in the boat—looked like a badly dressed washerwoman. An ugly one to boot.
She heard the soft rustle of expensive fabric as he came to stand in front of her. She stared down at his row of silver buttons and those shiny oval buckles on his shoes, incidentally giving herself another good look at her ugly brown woollen skirt. She hated brown. Brown was so dingy. She wished the housekeeper had a taste for blue—or even red. Anything but this sad colour.
‘Look at me,’ said Jakob.
She started at his soft command. He was very close to her. Her embarrassment mingled with strange nervousness. She couldn’t swallow. Her throat was too dry and tight.
‘Desire, look at me,’ he repeated compellingly.
She flinched at the sound of her name—and the echo of cruel words spoken years earlier. She still didn’t raise her head.
‘What is it?’
‘Don’t…’ she whispered, swallowed and tried again. ‘Don’t call me that.’ She finally lifted her chin, but only to stare at the lace of his cravat. She had not yet found the courage to meet his eyes.
‘Desire? Does my impertinent use of your name offend you?’ He sounded mildly amused. ‘After all we’ve shared, your ladyship, such formality seems a little redundant.’
‘No—’ Desire broke off, unable to explain why it disturbed her when he used her given name.
‘Or perhaps you’re offended that a lowly soldier should gaze with desirous eyes upon a lady of quality,’ he murmured provocatively.
Desire jerked away from him, but he seized her shoulders in his hands and turned her back to face him.
‘You may curse me and kick me and try to browbeat me into obeying your orders—but don’t turn your face from me in shame,’ he said.
‘I am not ashamed!’ Desire cried, finally lifting her head to meet his eyes.
It was a shock to look into his face at such close proximity. He had shaved and washed away all the grime of the fire. Now he reminded her of the impossibly handsome man who’d first appeared on her roof.
‘Then don’t hide from me,’ he growled. ‘Damn me to hell for inconveniencing you—but don’t hide!’
‘Inconveniencing me?’ Desire gasped. ‘You abducted me!’
‘I rescued you. A little gratitude would not go amiss.’
‘Gratitude? You expect me to thank you for tying me up, manhandling me—’
Jakob kissed her.
His firm mouth stifled the rest of her indignant outburst. This time Desire hadn’t seen it coming. She was startled into complete immobility. Before she’d had time to react he lifted his lips from hers.
‘Half the household is probably listening at the keyhole,’ he murmured, briefly resting his forehead against hers. ‘I’m sure you don’t want everyone to know I dragged your skirts up to your—’
Desire made a high-pitched, closed-mouth hum of protest in the back of her throat.
Jakob grinned and lifted his forehead away from hers.
She glared at him, and turned her head to give a pointed glance at one of his hands, still gripping her shoulder. Then she frowned. He grasped her firmly between his long, strong fingers and his thumb, but he held his palm clear of contact with the fabric of her bodice.
‘Why are your hands not bandaged?’ she demanded. ‘Have you applied the salve?’
‘Not yet. I thought you would prefer to tend to me yourself,’ he replied. ‘So that you could assure yourself it had been done properly,’ he added blandly.
Desire grabbed one of his arms and turned his palm up towards her. He’d cleaned away the soot and dried blood, but it still looked raw. She was sure he was in considerable discomfort.
‘You are a fool. Where is the salve?’ she demanded, channelling the nervous excitement aroused by his unexpected kiss into her exasperation with his foolish behaviour.
‘There.’ He nodded in the direction of a small table. Desire saw the small pot of salve she had prepared as well as several strips of clean linen. She was slightly mollified by the sight. And a little flattered that he had waited for her to care for his hurts.
She pushed that sweetly insidious thought aside and dragged Jakob over to the table by her hold on his sleeve. When he was safely seated in a high-backed chair she fetched a stool and planted it on the floor in front of him.
‘By rights, lady, you should have the chair and I the stool,’ he observed.
‘It’s a little late to worry about protocol, don’t you think?’ she retorted. ‘Give me your right hand.’
He held it out to her and she gently folded the lace ruffles out of the way.
‘You should not have worn such fine lace,’ she scolded him. ‘I’m going to tie it back with a couple of bandages—otherwise the butter may spoil it.’
‘You are thoughtfulness personified,’ he said lightly. ‘But it’s not my lace—so I’m not much bothered by its fate.’
‘Whose?’ Desire looked up from tying a strip of linen round his forearm. ‘The Duke’s!’ she gasped, realisation coming to her. ‘You’re wearing the Duke’s clothes? Take them off at once! If he comes back and finds you in them—!’
Jakob laughed. ‘Are you afraid he’ll have me hanged for a thieving rogue?’ he teased her.
Desire’s initial panic subsided. She stared at Jakob through narrow, assessing eyes, once more reminded of how little real knowledge she had of her abductor and his dealings with the Duke of Kilverdale.
‘What is your connection to the Duke?’ she asked.
Jakob smiled, a little crookedly. ‘Not one that will recommend me to you, I fear,’ he said ruefully.
‘What?’
‘He’s my cousin,’ said Jakob.
‘Cousin?’ Desire stared at him blankly. ‘How can that be? I never heard his Grace had such a cousin as you. How…?’
‘His mother was sister to my father,’ Jakob explained, watching Desire’s face for her reaction.
‘His mother…’ Desire frowned, mentally recreating the Duke’s family tree. There had been a time when she had been quite familiar with it. ‘She was the daughter of Viscount Balston…Balston?’ She stared at Jakob as she made the connection. ‘The Viscount was created Earl of Swiftbourne for his part in King Charles’s restoration to the throne,’ she said slowly. ‘But, as I recall, Swiftbourne’s oldest son and his son both died during the wars, leaving the new Earl without heirs. Who are you, sir?’
‘Your knowledge of my family is extensive.’ Jakob sounded surprised. ‘Not complete but…how come you to know so much about it?’
‘I don’t,’ Desire denied quickly. ‘It was Kilverdale’s family I was interested in, not…well, never mind.’ She bent her head over her task, carefully tying back the lace from Jakob’s hands.
She