“And drinking.”

Of course he’d been drinking. He’d been desperate to dull the pain of his homesickness. Still…that was not something he wished to admit to the little puritan facing him now—and he was quite certain she was a puritan. No one else could look so disapproving and for nothing more serious than a few gulps of brandy.

Chase opted for an innocent lift of his brows. “Are you certain I was drinking?”

“You reeked of brandy, and an empty bottle was found nearby.”

“Perhaps it was in my saddlebag and just leaked out,” he suggested mildly.

“Hm.” She appeared unconvinced. Completely unconvinced.

Chase’s amusement was quickly leaving, replaced by a sort of wary fascination. Miss Harriet Ward was obviously no fool. And she ruffled up like a wet hen when she was upset. For some reason, Chase found that he rather liked that outraged expression. Liked it a lot. Liked it so much that it made him want to reach out, scoop her up, and kiss her senseless.

He touched his forehead and wondered how hard he’d been hit. “I need to see a doctor.”

She turned and picked up a cloth and dipped it in a bowl that sat steaming beside the bed. “Dr. Blackthorne just left. He said you’d be fine.”

Chase had no doubt that Blackthorne was some sort of country bumpkin who knew more about torn horse ligaments than doctoring actual people. “What exactly did the good doctor say?”

As if she detected the sarcasm he’d tried to hide, Harriet shot him a look from beneath her lashes. She wrung out the cloth, then reached over and pressed it against his brow. “You can speak to the doctor yourself when next he comes.”

The warm cloth worked magic on Chase. He closed his eyes, a strange lassitude weighing him down. The ache behind his eyes began to melt away.

Harriet, for her part, was having a difficult time remaining stoic. The man was so handsome, resting against the pillows, his black hair falling over the bandage in the most interesting way. His eyes had especially caught her attention. Bright blue and clear, she had the feeling that she could see all the way into his soul.

Heaven help her, but he was a beautiful man. And the realization that this bit of perfection had held her in his arms and kissed her madly, passionately, as if she were the only woman in the world…Harriet thought she would burst into flames at any second. Not from embarrassment, though had she any sense she would feel at least a little, but from pure hot lust.

Harriet was no stranger to kisses. She’d been kissed before. Twice, in fact. Once was three years ago, at the farmer’s fair in Newmarket. She’d been walking along the stalls, a basket over her arm, when a lad had run by, grabbed her, and planted a firm kiss on her lips, then run off.

And then, two years ago, Colonel Hillbright’s grandson, Mr. Landry, had come from London for a visit. Harriet later learned that Mr. Landry was actually in hiding from his creditors, but when she’d first met him, she’d thought him dashing and pleasant.