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“Loose?” He chuckled, transforming his features from angular to inviting. “Did we not just agree—”

“Not awanton, you stubborn man.Lucinda,” she said with asperity, giving his shoulder a light punch, then hissing when she realized how sore the back of her hands. “Lucinda Most-Assuredly-Not-a-Tart Thomalin. Originally from London. Most recently employed in Brighton.”

“Employed?”

“As a lady’s companion, lest you let your tart-filled mind go in other, more base directions.”

“It hadn’t. Not just then.” The smile he gave her was mischievous—and just a shade naughty. What manner of shopkeeper had she barged upon? “The question was pure curiosity, I assure you. For I have not personally known an unmarried London female who was ‘employed’ in anything other than…”

“Bed sport?”

He gave a quick nod, his cheeks above the bristle turning ruddy.

“Then mayhap you have not known therightsort of women.”

Embarrassment ceased as his features hardened once more. “Mayhap I have simply not knownenoughwomen.”

How she wanted to inquire over that intriguing statement. “You speak with such candor,” she told him, unsure whether she was trying to direct the conversation into more mundane areas or not. “’Tis quite invigorating, I confess.”

“Doubtful.” He pointed to the uneaten portion behind her. “If you’re feeling invigorated, ’tis likely the beef.”

She gave a snort of laughter, even as she shook her hand, her stinging fingers protesting.

He scooted to the far edge of the cot and gestured to the open area beside him. “Here. Sit next to me. Let me assess the damage.”

“Damage?”

He pointed to her ungloved hand.

“Ah.” She debated but a moment before launching forth a flirt of her own. “But sitting beside you, sir, would be ever so forward given how I have now introduced myself but you have yet to return the favor.”

He acknowledged the rebuke with a slight smile. “You are correct. In one sense, I am neither the Mr. Chapman nor his sons you referred to, for that was my great-great-grandfather and offspring, until a decided change in fortunes, ah—circumstances,” he seemed to correct. “Never you mind, for I am, for the most part, the current proprietor of our fair establishment.” He stood, offered her a regal nod and then resumed his seat. “Brier Chapman, at your service.

“And to clarify something of import”—he gave the bottom of her skirt a light tug, encouraging her to join him—“that is Brier with an E-R at the end, not the commonplace A-R.”

“Heavens. Neither of us should wish to becommon, I am sure.”

“’Twould be a dastardly grievance, I have no doubt. Now give me your hand.”

Sitting next to him, even upon something as rudimentary as a cot was absurdly easy; placing her hand within his, allowing him to inspect her skin was most assuredly not.

“No doubt you think me owdacious and given over to histrionics.” Babbles burst forth, as though her tongue was determined to distract the rest of her from how quickly his soft, exploring touch banished the sting from her skin, the lingering ache from her bruised posterior. “But I can assure you I am not. My mind is most sensible, as those who know me would attest. My manner somewhat somber—”

“That would be a shame,” he murmured, turning her hand over to inspect the back, as she bit down on the hiss of pain when he ran one finger over a swollen knuckle with care.

“A shame? Why?”

“A miss such as yourself should not take pride in being somber.”

“I should—Sheshould not?”

“’Tis a crime. An unpardonable sin.”

“Unpardonable? Asin? Surely you speak nonsense to distract me.” With a steady tenderness she would not have expected from him the first few minutes of their brangling acquaintance, he placed her hand upon his thigh, just above the bend of his knee, and reached for her other.

Oh my, oh mercy.Breathing had never been of such import, nor focusing on thus as it became in the next few seconds, as she fought every urge within her to tighten and flex her fingers when the warmth of his body rose to infect hers.

Infect? You make him seem a virulent being full of vile intent.