He put the basket on the floor, then went to drag an armchair over to the bed. Once he sat, he lifted the lid on the basket and began removing his stash. “First, wine.” He lifted the bottle of Bordeaux and put it on the nightstand. “It’ll help you sleep.”

“Or pass out.”

“True, but we’ll limit ourselves to one glass, I swear. Next, I found this downstairs in the kitchen.” He handed her a plate containing different meats, cheeses and olives. He hadn’t found the provisions as much as paid someone to put them together. “And lastly”—he took out a deck of playing cards—“entertainment.”

She wrinkled her nose at the cards. “I don’t know how to play.”

“Fortunate for you, I do. I can teach you any game you’d like to learn. Now, isn’t that better than bees?”

“Only slightly,” she answered with a small smile, and popped an olive into her mouth. Her mouth moved as she chewed, her tongue darting out to lick her plump lips, and his stomach clenched. It reminded him of their lesson in the kitchen yesterday, when she’d nearly had him panting from licking a bit of sugar off her finger.

Why must she be so annoyingly good at all these tips he’d given her?

Clearing his throat, he opened the wine and poured two glasses. When he handed her a glass, she took a sip and blinked. “Oh, I like that. I hadn’t thought I would, but I do.”

“I’m glad. Wine is essential when one is laid up in bed with an injury.”

“And I suppose you know this from firsthand experience?”

“No, but I have been laid up in bed before. Does that count?”

Reaching for another olive, she asked, “Was that innuendo?”

“Of course. Though I must try harder if you couldn’t tell.”

Instead of eating the olive in her hand, she playfully chucked it at his head. “Not necessary. I am a fast learner.”

“I am perfectly aware,” he muttered under his breath as he picked the olive up off the floor.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” He took the deck of cards and began shuffling. Like any scoundrel, his card skills were finely honed. With one hand, he separated portions of the deck with his fingers, flipped a section, then reinserted it into the stack of cards.

Alice whistled. “Can you teach me to do that?”

“It just takes lots of practice. Not certain it’s the best skill to lure a proper husband, however.”

“Because proper husbands don’t play cards?”

“No, because proper husbands do not want their wives playing cards.”

Taking a piece of cheese off the plate, she said, “Maybe I don’t want a proper husband.”

There was a dangerous statement. “Of course you do. You cannot marry a rogue or a gambler.”