Page 24 of Master of Games
To her disbelief, she began pulling out her fichu. As the cloth slid across her skin, she could see the licking marks that lanced across her chest. Not as bright red as they once were, but they still stood out on her pale skin.
“He gave away every unentailed piece of the dukedom, claiming I’d destroy it anyway.”
She tugged the laces at the back of her dress, letting the bodice slump forward. As it fell away, her chemise loosened, revealing even more of her skin.
He hardly attended it. “Then he hired additional solicitors to manage the remaining assets, stating I was incapable.”
At every turn he’d been undermined. Changing tack, she unlaced her boots, pulling them off before rolling down her socks.
Her legs were mostly untouched, the majority of the burns confined to her torso and one arm.
He reached for her foot, hooking her ankle so that he pulled it into his lap and began gently massaging the ball of her foot.
It felt so good that she sunk down deeper in her chair so he could reach even more of her foot.
His hand slid over the skin of her heel to her ankle and up her calf.
It occurred to her that she’d deeply missed being touched. She’d been so removed from…everyone.
“What did you do? Did you fire those solicitors when you became the duke?”
“No,” he answered, his fingers stuttering the slightest bit on her calf. “I let them do their job.”
There was a tightness in his voice that hadn’t been there before. She cocked her head, assessing him even as he pointed at her chemise. “You said I didn’t need to take if off.”
“Pull down the one shoulder. Let me see your arm.”
She pulled her foot from his grasp, giving her head a violent shake. “I don’t think so.”
“Don’t you have more questions?”
She did. Lots. But as curious as she was about him, she couldn’t allow him to see any more. It was just too painful. “I’m tired.”
“We just woke up.”
“I should go to bed.” Pushing up from the chair, she grabbed the glass of wine and the bottle. She wasn’t leaving it here with him. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Tabbie. Wait.”
But she didn’t listen as she pushed through the connecting door, closing it behind her.
Shit. He pushed too hard too fast. Again.
She’d gotten so close to his own wound, he’d been deflecting. Which was a mistake.
Running a hand through his hair, he pushed up from his chair, his injured arm twinging. He didn’t care.
Crossing to the fire, he stoked the flames, tossing another log on the fire.
Her boots still lay on the floor, the top of her dress tossed in a heap. With one arm, he picked up her boots and then tucked them deeper into the crook of his arm to grab her discarded top.
With steady strides, he moved to the door, opening it to step into Tabbie’s room.
She stood next to her fire, bare feet, corset, overskirts, and chemise still in place, as she drained her glass of wine.
“Tabbie.”
She turned away from him, rather than toward. “You were right. I should have had the wine first.”
