He cupped a hand to his ear, pretending as if he had heard something down the hall. “I do believe your papa is calling for you.”
Motley began tugging on the counterpane and growling. Cursed mongrel. To think Rafe had often shared his supper with the traitor.
The girls turned away as if about to skip off at last.
“Wait,” he bit out, jerking his counterpane free of Motley’s persistent jaws. “Don’t forget the hound.” He pointed a finger at Motley and summoned his most commanding tone. “Off you go, beast.”
Motley tilted his head and offered another deep bark.
Did no one in this bloody household listen to him?
He gritted his teeth, about to issue another command, when Elizabeth snapped her fingers at the dog.
“Come along, Arsehole,” she said sternly.
“I thought I told you not to repeat Uncle Rafe,” he reminded weakly.
“You need to brush your hair, Uncle,” Anne offered helpfully.
Now he was being insulted by a mere stripling of six years of age. And this after a hound had nearly stolen the sole textile keeping him from being naked as a babe. After he had arisen in the bed of a governess with absolutely no memory of what had happened the night before.
This was not going to be the best damned day of Rafe Sutton’s life. That much was for bleeding certain.
“Run along, the lot of you,” he growled at his nieces and the furred menace.
Giggling with delight, the twins obeyed at last, scampering away with Motley trotting obediently at their heels.
Now, he was left to face the ramifications of his actions. Grinding his molars, he closed the door and turned to face Miss Hen.
Er, Wren.
* * *
Feign slumber, Persephone. If he thinks you are asleep, he is likely to leave and spare you the embarrassment of an explanation.
Footsteps neared the bed as she kept her eyelids tightly closed against the light of late morning. The brightness of the sun suggested she had overslept. A strange development indeed when there had been an unwanted man on the other side of the pillow wall she had built to separate herself from his body. From his naked body.
Do not think of his body. Nay, you must not…
Too late.
She was recalling him as he had shucked his garments in an almost trance-like state, thanks to the laudanum she had given him in the hopes he would sleep. And he had slept. He was not formed like any other gentleman of her acquaintance, Mr. Rafe Sutton. Lean hips, broad shoulders, so much muscle, and good heavens, the forbidden place where her shocked gaze had lingered. The recollection of his long, thick hardness rising high was thoroughly unwanted, sending a flush from the soles of her feet to the roots of her hair.
Pray he does not notice, you hen wit. You have not ventured this far only to succumb to the whims of a charming scoundrel.
The steps drew closer. And with them came his presence. An awareness settled over her, one that was very much unwanted, along with a warmth she could not deny. Still, she took care to maintain deep, even breaths as if she were yet asleep.
Go away, she willed him. Go far, far away. Take your charming grins and your handsome scoundrel’s air and leave me.
“Blast your top lights,” he muttered.
Was he cursing her or was he cursing himself? She could not be sure. All Persephone could do was concentrate on her own slow, steady breaths. Eyes closed, nary a fidget. Remain still. Hope he would go away.
“The governess,” he added. “You rutting bastard.”
He was speaking to himself, then. Aloud. Strangely, she felt compelled to announce her lucidity. It was as if she were eavesdropping on a private conversation, which was wholly foolish in itself. There was no reason for her to hold Rafe Sutton’s feelings in higher regard than her own. Nor was there a reason to admit she was awake, listening to all. She owed him nothing.
To be fair, perhaps she owed him a minor apology. After he had divested himself of his clothing, he had taken quite a spill, hitting his head on the narrow bedside table in the process. For a heart-shattering moment, she had feared him dead. But as she had rushed over his insensate form, he had emitted a long snore, chasing her frantic concern that she had unintentionally murdered the brother of her benevolent employer, Mr. Jasper Sutton. Wrestling him into the bed had been another matter, for he was a large man indeed.