she began. ‘I fear you are not strong enough.” He sat opposite her in the closed carriage, next to her aunt. His wicked flash of a grin ought to have warned her. “Why, after you cooled my fevered brow last evening, I slept like an infant. I feel certain that your ministrations did more than that vile brew Purvis poured down my throat.” He behaved as though he had bested her again, with an odious grin on his face. Elizabeth firmed her mouth, thinking of the dire things she would like to do to his lordship—like boiling him in oil, or something equally lovely. Her mind flashed to the nasty little comment he made the night before, saying that he could do worse than to marry her. Ohhhh, that abominable male conceit of his. It was not enough that he had to be the most handsome man about, but he must tease her into a muddled heap of sensibilities. What a lowering reflection to be considered as nothing more than a passable connection. Well, she would just keep that lovely music box he gave her last evening.
