Page 30 of Tender Blackguard

Her tone made it clear she wasn’t shocked at all. She simply didn’t believe him.

He considered trying to convince her, then decided holding his tongue was likely the better option. If she truly didn’t care, then forcing the issue would do more harm than good.

But he couldn’t keep from wondering what the woman had experienced in her life to create such a casual attitude to the evidence of violence. Then he recalled that she’d grown up running the streets of London. She’d likely experienced a great deal.

The acknowledgment triggered an odd sensation inside him. Like a complex knotting of some emotion he’d either forgotten the name of or had never really known before.

Refocusing on her task, she folded the linen into a small square then pressed it to his wound. “Hold this, please.”

Alastair did as she instructed, reaching across his body to cover her fingers with his own for a brief moment before she slid her hand away. In that second of contact, however, he noted the warmth and softness of her fingers. When he heard the short hitch in her breath, he had to clench his back teeth to keep his own reaction in check.

This, more than the pain of getting stitched closed, was torturous. His body proved itself to be unbelievably receptive to soaking up every nuance of her nearness. Her scent. Her warmth. The sound of cotton sliding over her skin as she shifted position. And for a brief, flashing second, he allowed himself to acknowledge that she was very likely nude beneath that billowing nightgown before he forcefully shoved every trace of the thought from his head.

He quickly sought a distraction and focused on her movements as she used a slim blade to slice more linen into strips. She wielded the knife with ease and grace. Within a few minutes, she had a small pile of long bandages. Then, with a flick of her thumb, the knife blade appeared to slide into its handle before she set it on the table.

“A handy little tool,” he murmured appreciatively.

The corner of her mouth tilted in what he couldn’t exactly describe as a smile. “Quite.”

Then she turned to face him more squarely. “You’ll need to sit up straight so I can get the bandages around you.”

“Would it be easier if I stood?”

“If you’re up to it.”

He grunted in response to the doubt in her voice as he rose smoothly to his feet. Having no warning of his intention, she had to quickly swing her knees out of his way as she scrambled to rise as well. Her huff of breath suggested annoyance as she reached for the first strip of cloth before turning to face him with a disapproving scowl.

Dressed as she was and with her head barely reaching his shoulder, she shouldn’t have been the least bit intimidating, but the stern look in her eyes had him clearing his throat.

Pressing her fingers between his over the wound site, she said, “I’ve got this. If you could lift your arms...”

Alastair raised his arms and linked his fingers behind his head to allow her better access to his torso. He could probably manage to apply the bandage on his own, though maybe with a little difficulty, but the woman seemed determined to see the task completed herself. And apparently, he was in a mood to torture himself with her nearness a bit longer.

Starting at the wound site, she quickly and efficiently wrapped the linen around his body. The act required her to step into him as she passed the bandage behind his back. Her breath bathed his bare chest and her nightgown swirled about his legs. On the next pass, the end of her long braid tickled the sensitive skin of his belly, just above the edge of his breeches. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to halt the delicate shiver tracing across his skin.

Directing his gaze over her head to a spot on the wall, he forced his focus away from the gentle, assured work of her hands and the close proximity of her feminine warmth. The feelings coursing through him were not to be borne. She was his housekeeper, and as such, she was under his protection. And he was not the depraved wretch his sire had been.

Finishing with the last bandage, she tied it all off neatly then stepped back and assessed her work. After only a moment, her gaze began to wander, traveling intently across his belly, up over the contours of his chest, before halting awkwardly at his shoulders. Clearing her throat, she turned toward the table, as though the items there suddenly needed a great deal of attention.

But it was too late. Alastair lowered his arms to his sides with a heavy exhale. He’d seen the appreciation flickering in her eyes. The way her pupils expanded and her breath quickened.

Unable to move out of fear he’d lose the firm grip he retained on his body’s physical reaction, he remained still and silent, staring at the capable slope of her shoulders and the slim line of her back.

“You’ll need to change the bandage in the morning. You may take the rest of the poultice and linens to your room. Apply it at least once a day until the threat of infection has passed.” She turned and handed him the basket containing the jar and remaining bandages. “Can you make it upstairs on your own?”

Her fine brows were arched over her gaze as looked up at him. And was that a teasing note in her voice?

Surely not.

He narrowed his stare, wondering how she’d respond if he asked her to assist him to his bedroom. Heat zinged through him like a flaming arrow.

Not a good idea.

“I’ll manage,” he said gruffly.

With a nod, she stepped away, but an impulse suddenly claimed him. Shifting the small basket to one hand, he reached out to grasp her wrist. Two of his fingers inadvertently slid across the concave of her palm, and she immediately stiffened in reaction. He had just a brief moment to note the subtle callouses she bore before she lifted her chin to meet his gaze.

His throat felt thick as he spoke. “Thank you, Mrs. Evans.”

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