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to tick, and his thick dark hair was matted with blood.
    He brushed it out of his eyes, examining the blood on his fingers, then threw the counterpane back and reached for her foot. Why was he trembling so all of a sudden? Instinctively she yanked her foot away, and drew them both up, dragging the counterpane up to her chin again.
    “I want to see if the cuts are clean,” he said. “If there are no slivers in the wounds, it is a simple matter of cleaning and binding them. My housekeeper, Grace here, is an able nurse. She has cared for you since I brought you back yesterday, but she is in her seventies and her eyesight isn’t as sharp as it used to be. Mine, however, is infallible. May I?”
    Cora gave it thought. Reaching behind, she pulled her long hair in front and draped it over her breasts. Let him see through
that
with those roving eyes. Then, curling her toes defensively and fixing in place what she hoped was her most fearsome glower, she nodded her assent and let him move the counterpane.
    How gentle his hands were as he examined her feet. A strange sensation rippled through her at his touch. Making matters worse, his fingers tickled her, and she wiggled her toes. How could she even think of laughing in such a circumstance? He didn’t seem to notice. He seemed more interested in the oozing blood than probing for shards. After a moment, she drew her feet up beneath the nightdress, again out of sight and out of his reach.
    He replaced the counterpane and stood up, raking his hair back into more blood. His hands were covered with it by the time Amy knocked at the door.
    Ignoring the maid’s gasp, Joss rattled off instructions that she stoke the dwindling fire, then fetch warm water, some of the cook’s healing balm, and bandage linen. That done, he dismissed her, crossed to the window and pulled the draperies aside. The gray streamers of first light were showing no break in the storm. The glare hurt Cora’s eyes, and she diverted her gaze. He seemed to be deep in thought, but she wouldn’t stand for that. She had too many questions demanding answers.
    “How did I come here?” she said. “Where are the others . . . my father? How do you know my name?”
    “All in due time, miss,” he said, stalking toward the door. “Rest assured that you are perfectly safe in my care. Let my servants minister to you. We shall talk once you’ve rested.”
    Joss reeled out of the room and stumbled along the hall in the direction of his chamber. He hadn’t taken two steps when he backed up a pace. He’d forgotten about the broken pitcher, and he cursed under his breath as some of the slivers pricked his feet. One by one, hebrushed them off, then skirted the rest and staved off toward the sanctuary of his apartments.
    What a wildcat! Cheeky little slip of a girl. What could have provoked such a display? Just minutes in each other’s company and they were both bloodied. That was another thing: there was no mistaking the strange phenomenon now. The scent of her blood was still with him—on him, in him, mingled with his own. He tasted it on his fingers. How salty-sweet it was, thick and red and heavy with the taste of precious metal. The thrill it gave him rocked his soul. And then there was the physical attraction. Her strange, hostile behavior was part of that. Granted, she had come through a great, nearly fatal ordeal, but something horrendous must have occurred in her life for her to fly at him in such a way without provocation.
    There was no denying her beauty—the alabaster skin and large, almond-shaped eyes glazed over and dilated with rage. Oddly, he couldn’t recall their color. And her hair! He had never seen the like: thick and lustrous, the color of chestnuts kissed by the sun. How long it was, falling about her like a wavy curtain fringed with tendrils. It had taken all of his willpower to keep from reaching out and stroking it. He’d curbed those urges, however, and stroked it with his eyes instead. She had