“I insist.” It was too strange. Lady Sarah Pleinsworth was clearing away dirty dishes and preparing to move furniture. Even more astonishing was that she was doing it in order to help him.

“Be quiet and allow me to help you,” she said. Rather sternly, too.

His lips parted with surprise, and she must have taken a bit of pleasure in his astonishment, because her lips formed a smile, and then that smile turned smug.

“I’m not helpless,” he muttered.

“I didn’t think you were.” Her dark eyes sparkled, and as she turned back to the task of clearing the dishes, realization thundered through him like a hot desert wind.

I want her.

His breath caught.

“Is something wrong?” she called out.

“No,” he croaked. But he still wanted her.

She looked up. “You sounded funny. As if . . . well, I don’t know what.” She resumed clearing the dishes, speaking as she worked. “Maybe as if you were in pain.”

Hugh held silent, trying not to stare at her as she moved through the drawing room. Dear God, what had happened to him? Yes, she was very attractive, and yes, the velvet bodice of her dress was fitted in such a way that a man could not help but be aware of the exact—exactly perfect—shape of her breasts.

But this was Sarah Pleinsworth. He had hated her less than twenty-four hours ago. He might still hate her a little bit.

And he bloody well didn’t know what a hot desert wind felt like. Where the hell had that come from?

Sarah set the final dish down and turned to look at him. “I think what we need to do is get your foot on the table, and then pull the whole thing toward you so it will support the rest of your leg.”

He didn’t move for a moment. He couldn’t. He was still trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

“Lord Hugh,” she said expectantly. “Your leg?”

There was no stopping her, he realized, so he imparted a silent apology to his hosts and set his booted foot on the table.

It did feel good to stretch out the leg.

“Hold on,” Sarah said, coming back around to his side of the table. “It’s not supporting your knee.” She moved next to him and pulled the table closer, but it set the whole thing at a diagonal. “Oh, sorry,” she said, scooting around the back of his chair. “Just a moment.”

She stepped sideways through the space between the sofa and his chair, squeezing herself into a spot right next to him. They were not touching, but he could feel her warmth, pulsing off her skin.

“If you’ll just excuse me,” she said under her breath.

He turned his head.

He really shouldn’t have done so.