"Surely there is someone you wish to contact?" she asked. "Another gentleman? A friend? Or perhaps an employer?"

An employer? She clearly believed it possible he was from the working class. Under normal circumstances, Stephen might have been amused at the very thought. His valet would have bristled like a spitting cat. But these were not normal circumstances.

He quickly weighed his options. While he didn't want anyone to know his whereabouts, he needed to trust someone, and only one person had his complete trust. His best friend and brother-in-law, Justin Mallory, the Earl of Blackmoor.

"Actually, I would like to contact someone."

"Excellent. A friend?"

"Yes. Someone I used to work with."

"Where are you employed?" she asked, her eyes alight with curiosity.

"I am, ah, a tutor," he improvised swiftly. "For a family in London."

"A tutor? That's grand! What subjects do you teach?"

"Ah, all the usual ones. The classics."

"Mathematics? Latin?"

"Of course."

A broad smile lit her face. "Lingua Latina? Vero?"

Stephen barely suppressed a groan. Damn it all, the woman spoke Latin. He'd studied the language, of course, but he'd never excelled at it and hadn't attempted to speak it in years. He desperately conjugated a few verbs and hoped for the best. "Caput tuum saxum immane mittam."

Her smile faded into a puzzled frown. "Why would you want to throw an enormous rock at my head?"

He forced himself not to wince. Apparently he hadn't said "I'm delighted to make your acquaintance." "You misunderstood me, I'm sure." To divert her attention, he cleared this throat several times. "May I have some water?"

"Of course." She handed him a goblet.

He took several swallows and gave it back to her. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Stephen." A blush colored her cheeks. "I really shouldn't call you Stephen. What is your surname?"

Without thinking Stephen answered "Barrett," and wished he was physically able to kick his own ass. So much for protecting my anonymity. He coughed several times then added, "Son. Barrettson."

"Stephen Barrettson …hmmm… the name Stephen means 'victorious' and Barrettson loosely translates to 'brave as a bear.'" She flashed him a crooked smile. "Studying the origins and meanings, of names is a hobby of mine. Yours is a very noble name indeed."

"For a commoner," Stephen added quickly.

"Oh, but there's nothing common about you at all, Mr. Barrettson. One need not be a peer of the realm to be a noble man."

"Indeed," Stephen said softly, wondering if he imagined the sudden bitterness he detected in her tone when she said "peer of the realm." If she harbors a low opinion of the nobility, I'm doubly glad I didn't tell her who I am. "Hayley is an unusual name. What does it mean?" To his surprise, a bright blush suffused her cheeks.

"It means 'from the hay meadow.'"

For the life of him Stephen couldn't imagine why "from the hay meadow" would cause the hectic color suffusing her face. He tried to recall the last time he'd seen a grown woman blush and realized he never had. Until now. All the women he knew were sophisticated, worldly, and more likely to set fire to themselves than to blush.

Unable to squelch his curiosity he asked, "Why are you blushing?"

Her color grew even more pronounced and she bit her lower lip, the corners of her mouth tilting up in a smile. "Am I blushing?"

"Profusely. And you look amused as well. Believe me, I could use a good jest. Why does 'hay meadow' cause you to bloom like a rose?"

"Perhaps I'll tell you when you're feeling stronger. I'd hate to shock you and have you suffer a relapse," she said, her amusement evident. "Besides, it's a story I couldn't possibly share until we know each other better."

Before he could question her intriguing words, she picked up a linen napkin from the tray and leaned forward.

"You missed a toast crumb," she said, brushing the cloth against his lower lip.

Stephen stared at her as she touched his mouth with the napkin and all thoughts of names promptly fled his mind. Her face was only inches from his, her magnificent eyes trained on his mouth. The tips of her full breasts lightly grazed his bandaged torso. The contact only lasted a few seconds, but it sent a jolt right to his loins. He felt himself stirring against the sheets and suddenly remembered.

He was naked.

To his utter shock, an embarrassed flush crept up his neck. He'd bedded more than his share of women, but here he was, blushing like a schoolboy.

"Ah, were you able to salvage my clothing?" he asked, bending his knees so she wouldn't notice the way the sheet was tenting on his lap. Just what I need. One more aching body part. How bloody delightful.

"I'm afraid your garments were ruined beyond repair, but I have a robe and several pairs of riding breeches and shirts that belonged to my father that will surely fit you. If you'll excuse me for a moment, I shall fetch them."

He breathed a sigh of relief when she left the room. What the hell is wrong with me? I must have hit my head damned hard for a country mouse to arouse me. By the time she returned several minutes later, her arms laden with clothes, he'd regained control of himself.

"Do you feel able to stand?" she asked. "Perhaps it might be better if you waited-"

"No. I'd like to move around a bit," Stephen said firmly. "But I believe I need some assistance. Could you send Grimpy to me?"

"Grimsley. And no, I'm afraid not. He's fishing at the lake with Andrew and Nathan."

"How about the other fellow your sister mentioned? The one with the hairy arms and tattoos?"

"Winston. He's also unavailable." She stood next to the bed, her hands planted on her hips, and for the first time Stephen noticed her attire. She wore a plain brown gown that would never be mistaken for fashionable or lust-inspiring. But there was something about her stance that captured his attention. His gaze traveled down the length of her, taking in every curve and hollow the drab gown hinted at-full breasts, slender waist, and what appeared to be amazingly long legs. How the hell had he missed what was clearly such a lush figure? I was too busy staring at her eyes. And her mouth. To his utter annoyance his manhood stirred again.

"I don't expect Winston or Grimsley to return to the house for several hours," she said. "If you don't wish to wait, I can assist you."

Much to his chagrin, he was in no condition to stand up. Damn it, didn't she realize he was naked? Had she no sense of propriety? "I can do it myself," he said, his voice tight.

"Nonsense. After lying flat on your back for a week, you'll feel dizzy until you regain your balance." She leaned over and grasped his forearms. When Stephen continued to resist, she looked at him, her eyes reflecting mild exasperation. "Would you prefer to remain abed, Mr. Barrettson?"

"Stephen. Call me Stephen. It's ridiculous for you to suddenly start calling me Mr. Barrettson," he all but snapped. "It's just that, well, I am-"

"You're naked under the sheet. Yes. I'm fully aware of that." Her matter-of-fact tone nettled him further. "But as I've been caring for you for the past week, there's no need to be embarrassed. I nursed my father during his illness. I am quite capable in these matters, I assure you." Her lips twitched. "I promise I won't look."

Stephen's face grew unaccountably warm. Was she laughing at him? The thought of this woman seeing him naked disturbed him in a way he didn't understand. And the fact that she'd seen to his needs yet seemed utterly unimpressed with his attributes irked him as well. There were scores of women in London who found him most impressive. But this country chit appeared perfectly calm, while he felt downright flustered.

In fact, the more he thought about it, the more her composure irritated him, pushing him to needle her out of her complacency. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was how to throw a woman off balance. Looking directly into her eyes, he asked in a soft, flirtatious drawl, "I take it that it was you who disrobed me?"

Hectic color suffused her face and her amusement disappeared like a snuffed-out candle. She jerked upright, dropping his forearms as if he'd scalded her. "I … I merely assisted Winston and Grimsley. Time of was of the essence."

Her flustered reaction cheered him considerably, settling his ruffled feathers back into place. He could have stopped, but some inner demon urged him on. How much deeper could her cheeks glow? Curving his mouth into a slow grin, he said, "Well, as there's apparently nothing under this sheet that you haven't already seen, I suggest we … proceed."

Her cheeks reddened beyond crimson, stopping just short of scarlet. She swallowed visibly. "Proceed?"

"Yes. Why don't you hand me the robe?"

She hesitated, but didn't refuse his request. She held the black silk robe behind him and averted her head so quickly, he thought he heard her neck snap.

Feeling much more in control of himself and his situation, Stephen carefully slid his arms into the sleeves, his ribs groaning with every motion. After he tied the sash around his waist, he slowly brought his legs over the edge of the bed and, by grasping Hayley's arms, eased himself into a sitting position.

Waves of dizziness washed over him. Nausea cramped his stomach and for an awful moment he feared disgracing himself. He gritted his teeth and took slow breaths, as deep as his protesting ribs would allow. After several minutes, the dizziness and nausea passed.

Summoning all his strength, he grasped Hayley's hands and rose shakily to his feet. His damn legs felt like water, and he was forced to grab her shoulders for support. She wrapped her arms around his waist and supported him until he felt steady.