Cade's Justice. Pat Tracy

No matter how nefarious your behavior, all you dwell upon is your own comfort.”

      “On the contrary, it would be your comfort I’d be considering. Now behave yourself. I want to judge how badly you damaged yourself while in my ‘monstrous’ house.”

      “It’s too dark to see anything.”

      “Damn, you’re right.” He pulled her skirt down.

      She was in the middle of a sigh of relief when he stood and swept her into his arms. The world tilted alarmingly. “Put me down!”

      “Miss Step, has anyone ever pointed out that you are an extremely bossy woman? In the short time we’ve known each other, you’ve barked out more orders than Sherman probably issued on his march to the sea.”

      She was bossy? Clearly, the man suffered from delusions. She refused to say anything else until…She envisioned no circumstance wherein she would exchange further conversation with him.

      “Would it kill you to cooperate?” His tone was at once aggravated and strained.

      “If I’m too heavy, you’d best set me down.”

      “It’s my intent to carry you inside,” he growled softly.

      The low, hostile sound put her in mind of Duncan. “Then do so.”

      “I will—as soon as you let go of the hairs on my chest.”

      Emma’s face went hot. Immediately her fingers relaxed their death grip on his shirt. “Uh, I’m sorry.”

      “Apology accepted,” came the gruff response.

      He proceeded toward the house. Even her guilty embarrassment couldn’t compel her to twine her arms around his neck. With her hands folded in front of her, she suspected she was an awkward bundle to manage, but that was his problem. She’d been willing, after all, to limp along beside him.

      She was relieved when they reached the slightly raised step at the side of the house. Being transported by Courtney’s uncle through vaporous, otherworldly mists was surely the stuff of nightmares.

      While shifting her weight to one arm, he reached forward to unlatch the door. Even though she knew she wasn’t heavy, she was still impressed by his strength and admitted he was a splendidly formed man. Too bad his character didn’t measure up to the rest of him.

      “If you’d put your arms around my neck, this would be easier.”

      “Stop playing Sir Walter Raleigh, and you’ll have both hands free.”

      “I bet you’ve lost count of the times you’ve been called overbearing.” He leaned to the side, managing to get the door open. “They must call you General Step at the Academy.”

      He carried her through the side door into the kitchen. She tried to ignore the leashed male strength at his disposal. He sat her on the kitchen table and turned the nearby lamp to increased brightness.

      She assured herself it wasn’t concern that tightened his expression. He raised her skirts again. She said nothing, even though her stockings and lace-bordered pantalets were exposed to his view. Instead, she crossed her arms and imagined she was tucked safely in her own bed.

      “Which foot is it?”

      He didn’t look up as he asked the question, and she continued to have an unrestrained view of his thick pelt of black hair.

      His head jerked up. She was pinned by a pair of relentless dark eyes. Swallowing, she decided she would limit herself to strictly necessary speech.

      “The right one.”

      He looked down again. She felt him gingerly remove her shoe. Despite his obvious care, a flash of pain spiraled through her. She flinched and sucked in her breath.

      “Sorry,”, he muttered, his head blocking her view of the proceedings.

      His warm fingers strayed upward, above her knee, where the garter beneath her pantalets held her gray stocking in place. There was no point in ordering him to cease his outrageous liberties. Other than crowning him on the head with the smoked ham by the sink, she’d learned, there was no way he could be stopped.

      The throbbing in her toes lessened as her awareness became centered on the strangely hypnotic feel of his gentle touch. She closed her eyes. The stocking came down slowly. The caress of air stirred against her bare foot. She raised her eyelids. The scandalous sight of her limp gray stocking dangling over one of Mr. Cade’s broad shoulders greeted her. Against the flimsy garment, the black suit jacket he wore looked as rigid as armor.

      “Damn, you really hurt yourself.”

      For no reason at all, tears came to her eyes. She did feel hurt, perhaps even battered. The fact kept intruding into her thoughts that in less than two weeks all she would have between her and starvation was the meager funds she’d secreted beneath her mattress.

      He cradled her heel in one wide palm while pulling a chair forward. Never taking his focus from her foot, he sat down. “I don’t think you broke any toes, but they’re swollen and turning purple.”

      With him sitting, she could see the results of the chair’s assault. At a time when she needed to search for employment, she was going to be reduced to hobbling from place to place.

      “One thing’s certain, you won’t be running any footraces soon.” His tone was unexpectedly sympathetic.

      The warm pressure of moisture built behind her eyes. What a wretched time for him to start acting kindly. It was easier to deal with Mr. Cade when he was at his nastiest. How dare he unsettle the last of her composure by sneakily changing tactics.

      At that moment, she would have given her soul for a clean white hankie. Instead, she was reduced to wiping her nose with the edge of her cloak. Seeing her worn, muddied shoe tossed heedlessly a few inches from the heel of his brilliantly polished boot made her feel even lower than the beetle she’d fancied herself earlier. Bits of matted newspaper littered the floor. Sitting on the table with her bare leg exposed to her knee—which was where he’d shoved the hem of her pantalets—her dress flecked with mud and her toes turning purple, she felt downright pitiful. Courtney’s uncle would probably have rather had a sack of soiled laundry on his table than her own sorry self.

      She sniffed.

      He raised his head. The dark eyes lancing into her didn’t hold a trace of pity. No, it was something else, something elemental and…shockingly intense. Her stomach turned over. It abruptly occurred to her how improper it was for her exposed limb to be thrust forward for his examination. While her thoughts were diverted by her threatened circumstances, he’d removed his grip from her heel. It rested with bold familiarity upon his inner thigh. She forgot anything so mundane as throbbing toes.

      He must have read something of her panic, because his fingers curved around her ankle before she could pull her foot from its inappropriate perching place. His thumb idly rubbed the sensitive skin along the inside of her heel.

      “The best thing you can do tonight is stay off your feet,” he said in a reasonable manner that was at odds with the growing heat in his unwavering gaze. “Allow me to extend an invitation to stay here.”

      Emma’s breath caught. Surely it was her own fevered imagination and woeful ignorance about men that was turning this bizarre incident into something more than Mr. Cade performing an act of simple Christian charity. He was merely playing the role of Good Samaritan. There was no reason to imbue his offer with impropriety. No gentleman would invite a woman who was a total stranger to conduct herself…improperly. Of course, she’d already concluded that his actions were significantly less than sterling.

      “That’s a generous invitation, but I really must be on my way.”

      Somehow his gaze became even more intense. “Why?”

      Why? Well, because…For no reason at all, she trembled. “You know as well as I do that it’s impossible for me to remain.”