Page 77 of A Duke for Adela
“He wanted to steal your work, have everyone believe he was the brilliant one. Is it that much of a stretch to think he needed you out of the way?”
She shifted in his arms to look up at him, her bones aching with every movement. “I knew he was a ruthless character, but to go to such lengths?”
“Must a madman have a reason? He’s caught now, hopefully for good this time and won’t be able to harm you again.” He softly cursed. “What foolish lack of judgment.”
“Yes, he is quite the fool.”
Ambrose growled. “I meant you.”
“What?” This is what he thought of her for trying to save him? “I resent that you are angry with me over this. Why are you too stubborn to admit I might have saved your life?”
“Need I repeat, it was at the risk of your own? Am I supposed to be dancing a jig because of it? For pity’s sake, Adela. Do you have any idea how narrowly we averted disaster? Forget about your damned, bloody knees. It could have been you bleeding to death on the street.” He was still glowering at her, and if she were not in so much pain, she would have glowered right back at him.
“Put me down. I am fine,” she said, unwilling to admit she had a single ache even though her knees were burning and her wrist was throbbing, not to mention she had ruined another beautiful gown.
“Stubborn girl,” he muttered. “As for Mr. Barrow, he will give us more information later. Right now, let’s get your scrapes cleaned up and see to your wrist. Anything else hurt?” He kicked at Eloise’s door and stormed in the moment Watling opened it.
“Miss Adela! What happened to you? Are you all right?”
“I need clean cloths and some brandy,” Ambrose said, in full ducal authority tone. “Send one of the footmen to summon Dr. Farthingale. Is Lady Eloise awake yet?”
“Yes, her breakfast has just been brought up. I’ll alert her maid and have one of my boys send for the doctor. Hopefully, he is next door visiting his brother. He often stops by there on his way to or from a house call.” Watling scurried off to tend to those chores while Ambrose, still unreasonably angry with her, carried her into the elegant parlor and set her down on the stool beside the hearth since she was too bloodied to sit on any of the fine silk chairs.
He knelt beside her. “Let me have a look at your knees. You took a bad tumble. You’re still trembling.”
“Because I am angry.”
“So am I. You have to stop tackling people, Adela.” He placed a hand under her gown and raised the fabric above her knees.
Oh, that felt nice.
“Blessed saints, look at you.” He stroked his fingers along her calf, his gentle touch sending tingles up and down her body. There was something wonderful about his touch, for it was firm and confident, yet also exquisitely tender.
“I don’t go around looking for people to knock down. In fact, I had never run over anyone before I met you. So, in a way, you are completely to blame,” she said, trying to make a jest in order to lighten the situation.
He merely arched an eyebrow.
Sighing, she gripped her hands on either side of the stool to steady herself. But she had fallen atop her left hand and any pressure on it was painful, so she winced and let go of the stool with that hand.
This earned her another frown from Ambrose. “Your parents will arrive the day after tomorrow and our wedding is two days after that.”
“I know.”
He withdrew a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and used it to blot the blood at her knees. “This is how they will see you.”
“I am not going to walk around with my gowns hiked up to my knees.”
Her remark earned her another scowl. “You will be hobbling.”
“No, I won’t. Is this what has you so overset? That I will be a hobbling duchess on our wedding day? If that is all you care about, then–”
“Blast it, Adela! If you dare suggest I call off the wedding, I shall haul you over my knee and spank you.”
She clamped her mouth shut.
But after a moment, she dared to speak up. “You wouldn’t ever raise a hand to me, would you?”
He sighed. “No, of course not.”
