Page 47 of Tempting Fate
“I understand.” He could feel her sympathetic gaze touching at the many parts of his ruined face, and he wished the caress was real. “You live a life where weapons fly at you from the dark. It’s no small wonder to me you don’t want to miss a thing.”
After such an admission of his weakness, he couldn’t seem to summon a reply.
She bent closer, her whisper both consoling and conspiratorial. “It is only you and me here. Nothing unseen. Nothing in the shadows.”
That didn’t matter, his soul still itched to crawl out of his skin at the thought of giving up a sense that he relied upon to fight.
“Trust me, Mr. Severand.”
Trust. It was a word he didn’t recognize. A concept he never learned.
“I would never hurt you. I promise.”
She didn’t understand that she was the only person alive who truly could.
Watching her retch in the garden, his heart had bled along with the rest of him. She hadn’t been able to look at him without being sick. What he’d done, who he was, repulsed and dismayed her. As it should.
He’d murdered three men.
“Please?” she pled, her expression beseeching. “You saved my life tonight, and I… I must do something for you. I cannot sleep if I think your wound might fester.”
Denying her, it seemed, was something he was incapable of doing.
Taking in a deep breath, he let his lids fall.
He couldn’t suppress a flinch when she touched his shoulder, but as her hand rested there to steady herself, he found that connection of their bodies made him almost preternaturally aware of what she did. His other senses roared to life, experiencing her in ways he’d not yet done.
Her scent imbued him with lavender and something sharper emanating from the tin. The scratch of satin against his trousers as she moved between his legs was possibly the most erotic sensation of his life. The soft feathering of breath against his hair. The chilly glide of the salve over the scratch, her touch barely more detectable than a butterfly’s wing. The throaty murmur of compassionate encouragement. Bereft of words but full of meaning.
Gabriel swallowed a groan.
“This is not so deep as I thought it might be,” she remarked, using a soft cloth to catch a drop of the salve before it ran into his eyebrow.
“Head wounds tend to bleed more than others, appearing worse than they are initially.”
“Oh.” She applied a second coat of the stuff, being exceedingly thorough.
Or, perhaps, lingering? It’d no doubt been a traumatizing night for her, perhaps she was frightened to be alone. Perhaps she’d come to him seeking solace, something he’d never quite had to give.
“What you saw tonight… what happened… I wish I could express how sorry I am that you had to witness—”
“Can I tell you something?” she interrupted, her voice as steady as he’d ever heard it.
“Of course.” He wanted to know everything about her.
“Tonight was terrifying. But I wasn’t sick because of what you did. I mean, I was, but it’s the blood, you see. The sight of blood makes me ill, sometimes enough that I faint.”
At that, his eyes opened. Could it be all this time, her reactions had not to do with him? Even when she’d looked upon his face after the Midnight Masquerade…
He’d been splattered with the blood he shed to get her out.
“But you volunteer at a hospital,” he wondered aloud.
Her gaze skittered away. “I thought if I was around blood and such all the time, I’d inure myself to it. But after so many swoons, I was considered more of a risk than a help, and was delegated to sit with people as they recovered, and assist with paperwork.” She brightened as she reached for the lid of the tin. “I also create herbal tinctures that my brother-in-law Dr. Conleith uses as remedies for his patients’ more treatable ills.”
“Oh? And what do you make?” She must be particularly good, as upon application of the salve, the smarting of his head wound ceased.
“Well, mustard and comfrey poultices for chest ailments. Peppermint and wintergreen tinctures for sinus and lungs. Valerian and chamomile for soothing nerves. Fennel, mint, and licorice root for stomach remedies. Raspberry leaves and evening primrose oil for… well, for feminine ailments. And this, an antiseptic for wounds. Titus said it’s been a godsend.”
