Page 44 of A Duchess to Reclaim

Dominic’s mood darkened as he thought of the man he saw talking to her earlier. The damned scoundrel must be quite full of himself to talk to a married woman this way.Hismarried woman.

“Did he mention theDevil’s Masquerade?” He asked calmly.

“No,” Amelia grunted, throwing another punch.

“You realize attending those parties, for whatever reason, only put you at risk of confirming your previous rumored reputation.

“I know!” She yelled, then threw another punch, this time with her entire body.

He saw the mistake before the fist even landed, and was at her side by the time she let out a painful yep and hugged her wrist to herself.

“Stop,” he commanded, taking her injured wrist into his own hands. “You’re not doing it properly.”

“Apparently I cannot doanythingproperly,” she huffed, trying to yank her wrist from his hold.

His eyes flicked to hers in warning, and his grip on her injured wrist tightened. Amelia’s face pinched in sorrow as stopped fighting and then lowered her head. With gentle fingertips, he began to inspect the red, swollen joint.

“If you want to take your frustrations out on a bag I can teach you how,” he murmured, checking for a break.

She hissed out a breath of pain as he touched a tender spot and winced.

“I was not aware that throwing a punch into a bag of sand was something that needed to be taught,” she replied bitterly.

Dominic let out a huff of a laugh as he began to loosen his cravat with one hand.

“The bag of sand is to impersonate a body,” he explained, “So that the fighter can experience what it’s like to hit something solid as such. We train for years with wrappings and gloves before we fight barehanded so as not to accrue such injuries.”

Pulling the cravat from his throat, he gently bandaged it around her injured wrist, binding it tight.

“You have sprained your wrist,” he explained. “Cold compresses will help. And rest. Try not to use it for a day or two.”

Amelia sighed, her brows tensing as she closed her eyes. Her look of defeat was so apparent it softened some of those rough edges within Dominic. Before he knew it, he was wrapping his arm around her, pulling her back into his chest. Though at one time it would have pleased him, it now worried him that she took the comfort so readily.

“It is my dominant hand, though,” she whispered, leaning into him.

“Another trick I shall teach you,” he said softly, caressing a finger over her injury. “Striking with your other hand.”

He felt her shoulders begin to spasm, and his heart clenched strangely as he realized she was crying.

“I hate this,” she sobbed. “I hate being here. No matter what we do, what you do, people will always remember me as a ruined woman. You trying to fix this is hopeless.”

“You do not know me that well,” he replied, daring a chuckle, “My methods can be quite effective.”

“Not with me,” she sobbed.

Her body sagged into him even more, and, unable to take it, he turned her into his body and cradled her head into his chest. He did not know the man that so tenderly shushed her sobs and stroked her hair. Did not recognize the gentleness he displayed, or understand where the ability had come from.

“I’m sorry I went to theDevil’s Masquerade,”she sobbed into his chest. “I’m sorry I made matters worse. I won’t do it ever again, I swear. Just please, let me get away from these people.”

“What happened to you?” He asked, perhaps a tad crass. “What happened to the haughty woman in the carriage who declared her strength?”

“It’s gone,” she whispered, shaking her head against him. “My strength. Everything I thought I was. It’s gone.”

“Hush now,” he urged, lifting her chin with the crook of his finger.

He raised her eyes so he could look at her, and his heart clenched again as he took in her shining honey-brown eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

“That’s not true,” he found himself saying, stroking away some of her tears. “You are not the helpless woman from the auction, Amelia. You are the beautiful, forthright,stubbornwoman I pulled out of theDevil’s Masqueradethe other week.”

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