Page 92 of Heartbreaker

They stood there, wrapped in each other, in the certainty that something had happened between them—something that could not be changed. Whatever Miss Frampton and the Duke of Clayborn had been five days earlier was not what they were in that moment.

Henry marveled at the revelation, at the shift.

At the promise of what it might mean.

There was a wide world of worry beyond these walls. Jack and Helene and The Bully Boys and Havistock and Adelaide’s gang of women—there were dangers around every corner. But there, in that room, the sun rose and chased it all away, leaving only the two of them.

For a little longer.

She shifted in his arms, pulling away to fetch her spectacles, cheeks blazing. He understood immediately—his strong, brilliant, solitary Adelaide, who needed nothing but her wits, had liked being held.

Which worked out very well, as there was nothing Henry liked so well as holding her.

Still, he resisted the temptation to pull her close again. To return to the bed with her in tow. He might not have the strength to make love to her, but he certainly had enough of it to hold her for a while.

She tucked an errant lock of hair behind one of her ears, blazing red, and the knowledge that whatever shewas thinking had made her blush to her ears made Henry rethink his assessment of his strength for all sorts of things.

He wondered where else she blushed.

Vowed to find out.

Too soon, however, Adelaide regained her composure, and it was clear she had other plans. Turning away, she arranged the small table next to the washbasin and, with a mumbled excuse about food and fresh water, hurried out of the room, leaving him to his ablutions.

As he washed, he considered his wounds—unwrapping the bandage around his torso, revealing the deep scratch across his belly ending with two inches of stitches at his side. Billy’s handiwork, he assumed, along with most of the yellowing bruises he could see peppered across his ribs.

Without a mirror, he could not see the rest—but his face was tight with what could only be healing wounds, and he’d most definitely taken a facer in the fight.

It was embarrassing, really. All he could hope was that he’d done a fair amount of damage himself.

She returned with a tray, entering with quiet purpose that he suspected she employed to remain unnoticed. Impossible. Refusing to waste precious moments that could be spent noticing her, he took his time drying his face and chest—he’d been bare to the waist in bed—and watched as she busied herself around the room, doing her best not to look at him, poking at the fire in the hearth, pouring water into a glass, straightening his pillows and sheets, and turning down the bed carefully.

When that task was complete, she straightened, her back to him, and he found he was no longer amenable to not seeing her face.

“Thank you,” he said.

She did not turn. “You’re welcome.”

“Adelaide?”

Her spine could not get straighter. “Yes?”

“Am I so hideous that you cannot stomach looking at me?”

She spun toward him instantly. “What?”

Before he could reply, her eyes went wide, taking in the whole of him. “You unwrapped your bandages!”

She was across the room instantly, her hands on him even as she snatched up clean rolls of linen to repair the work he’d destroyed. “If I’d known this was all it took,” he said, softly, unable to look away from her, “I would have taken the bandages off immediately upon waking.”

“You can’t simply... take them off. You’ve a broken rib.”

He nodded. “More than one, I think.”

There was a minuscule pause in her ministrations as the words settled. “That doesn’t seem like something a toff would know.”

“Perhaps I’m not like other toffs.”

She slid a look up at him. “You forget, Duke, I’ve spent a great deal of time in ballrooms with you.”

---