Page 25 of The Iron Earl

Without asking, his hands moved back up under the blanket, making quick work of loosening her short stays and then stripping down her stays and chemise.

“You—you are quick with that.”

“I’ve had some practice.” He was close now. So close his warm breath caressed the bare skin on her neck as he spoke.

He said the words with enough hint of pride that she couldn’t help but wonder how many women he’d stripped like this. Probably too many to count. The man was so handsome Lucifer himself must have smirked when he set Lachlan onto this world. Women were entranced by him—she’d recognized that in the ballroom at Wolfbridge.

Hell, she’d probably be as delighted as the next woman at his touch if her circumstances weren’t so dire. At the moment, she could only afford to concentrate on her last chance for escape.

Escape from her stepfather. From Mr. Molson. And for that she had to disappear far, far away.

She nodded, jerking slightly at his touch as he wedged the cloth from where it was clamped tight between her ribcage and arms.

The fabric peeled down her skin and she was naked from the waist up. Naked, but shielded by the heavy weight of the blanket. How he’d managed to keep it in place about her as he stripped the wet cloth from her torso she didn’t know.

He was taking care not to strip her bare in front of his eyes. A kindness he didn’t need to extend to her after her utterly foolish actions.

His hands left her hips where the mass of her dress, chemise and stays sat rumpled and he shifted away from her.

She tightened her hold on the edges of the blanket against her bare chest and glanced back at him.

He started to stand behind her, but then stopped on one knee, looking at her. “What would have happened if you would have had to escape in your mind?”

“What?” Her forehead crinkled.

“If you couldn’t have escaped me with your body? You said you would have escaped with your body or in your mind.”

He had understood her fully, her mad words, her weak explanation. Her lips drew inward, her breath quivering in her throat as her look dropped. “Then I would have gone limp and closed my eyes and imagined I was elsewhere.”

“Where?”

“With my mother. We’re walking together outside in the sun. She’s picking flowers. I’m helping her. Lavender sprigs. It’s simple and so long ago. But I was safe, so that is where I go.”

She dared a glance at him.

The blue streaks in his hazel eyes flickered in the light of the lantern by the tent’s entrance. She couldn’t read anything in them. Stoic. Stoic as always when he looked at her. He offered a slight nod. “That is a good place to go. Lost memories.”

For a second, he looked to say more, but then he stood abruptly, moving to the flap of the tent. He stopped at the entrance and picked up the dress he’d brought to the river for her. She hadn’t even seen him carrying it back with them.

He turned and brought it to her, dropping it to her side. “Stand.” He held his hand down to her.

She managed to unwedge her left arm from her ribcage enough to squeeze her wrist out past the fold of the blanket. His big hand enveloped hers and he pulled her to her frozen feet—so numb, she thought her toes would splinter under the pressure of her weight. It took her a long breath to catch her balance.

The wet mess of clothing surrounding her waist slipped, slapping to the ground in a wet thwack.

Lachlan bent, gathering up the clothing on the ground as she lifted her feet so he could slide them away to the side. He moved toward the flap of the tent, then stopped to point at the bundle by her toes. “Put that dress on.” He stepped out of the tent.

Evalyn sank to her knees, then sat back, huddling the blanket close about her as she threaded her hands out to loosen the twine around the bundle and pull the grey dress onto her lap. The wool of it would itch against her skin without her chemise, but it would be warm. And all she could concentrate on at the moment was how to get warm.

Her fingers still shaking uncontrollably with every movement, she unfolded the dress only to find an impossibly long row of tiny black buttons lining the back of the dress. Buttons already secured in their matching loops.

Damn.

She started at the top button, fingers trembling uncontrollably with the cold. Tensing the muscles in her arms, she tried to still the tremors in her hands long enough to unbutton the top one.

The fabric slipped out of her fingers.

Damn.

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