Page 26 of Tender Blackguard

“You’re injured.”

“Afraid so.”

Though questions swirled through her head, she ignored them to focus on the more immediate concern. “How bad?”

A pause as his pale eyes met hers. “Bad enough.”

Chapter Nine

Lark stepped aside to allow him entrance. “Come in, then.”

He pushed away from the doorframe and half strode, half stumbled into her bedroom.

“Sit down,” she insisted. Before you fall down.

As he lowered himself heavily into one of the chairs before her low-burning hearth, Lark quickly stoked the dying coals into full flame before adding water to the teakettle and setting it to warm. She had no idea yet what his injury might be, but hot water came in handy for a variety of things.

After relighting a few candles, she brought a couple with her to set on the table between the armchairs.

The marquess had tipped his head back and closed his eyes. His hand had fallen away from his side to rest in his lap. His fingers and palm were covered in blood, and the dark material of his waistcoat was made even darker with more. He must have lost a lot of blood to be so weakened.

Fear and concern tickled the back of her skull, but neither emotion would be of much help to the marquess. He needed firm focus and decisive action.

She gave a sharp clap of her hands. “Perk up, my lord. You’ll need to stay awake for this.”

He opened his eyes with a fierce scowl. The crystalline blue peered at her through narrow slits. “I haven’t lost consciousness yet, Mrs. Evans.”

Though the sharpness of his tone lifted the fine hairs on her nape, she refused to let his iciness deter her. “Then you can assist me by removing your clothing. I’ll need to see what’s what.”

Turning away, she fetched a few more necessary items. A washbowl filled with some of the warming water from the kettle, a clean cloth, and a needle and thread since she was fairly certain there’d be some stitching required. She might need to fetch some things from the kitchen to make a poultice, and she’d need some linen for bandages. But first, she needed to stop the bleeding and get the wound cleaned.

Returning to the marquess, she repositioned a small footstool at his side, where she could reach the items on the table and use the candlelight to greatest advantage.

He’d removed his outer garments as she’d instructed and had loosened his neckcloth. His white dress shirt had a long slash in it and was soaked in a large red stain that was garish in the flickering light.

Taking up the cloth, she submerged it in the water bowl. “Remove your shirt, my lord.”

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