Beauty Tempts the Beast (Sins for All Seasons #6) - Lorraine Heath Page 0,17

she should have waited about for the surgeon.

“It belonged to her husband. He died before I came to live with her, so I never knew him, knew only her memories of him. The day I moved out to make it on my own, I tried to give it back to her. But she wouldn’t have it. ‘Just because you consider yourself grown, it doesn’t mean you won’t have dark times. Keep it. It carries not only matches but also my love for you.’”

She felt the tears sting her eyes, blinked them back. She didn’t know if it was the result of tonight’s attack, her recent change in circumstances, or worry over Griffith, but her emotions were running an entire gamut tonight. “How old were you?”

“All of fifteen. Thought myself a man of the world, but still had a lot to learn. Probably still do.”

As did she, it seemed. “As we get older, the lessons seem much harder, don’t they?”

“They seem to come with more consequences, yes. I’ve gotten your wound as clean as I can. The gash isn’t terribly deep. I don’t think it’s in need of stitches. But it does need the gin. It’s not going to be pleasant, I’m afraid.”

“I’m certain I’ve dealt with far worse unpleasantness.” Not physically, but emotionally, and in some ways that was worse.

After handing the precious match safe back to him, she clasped her hands together in her lap. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as he drenched one of the linens in gin.

To her amazement, he then gathered up her hair and draped it over her right shoulder. An odd thing to do when it hadn’t been interfering with him getting to the wound.

She felt his knuckles land softly against the left side of her nape, slide up to her hairline, down to the collar of her frock. Up and down, gliding slightly forward with each stroke. As he neared her ear, she heard the rasp of rough skin over silky flesh. What was he doing?

She recalled reading somewhere that Anne Boleyn’s executioner had distracted her by calling for his sword, even though he already had it in hand, so she relaxed before he lopped off her head. Was that what Beast Trewlove was attempting to do, to distract her?

When the gin-laced cloth landed against her wound, she couldn’t stop the sharp intake of breath, but the sting was nowhere as harsh as she’d expected it to be. Perhaps because she was focused on the movement of his fingers, wondering where he was going.

He pressed the pad of his thumb to the spot just below her ear where her pulse thrummed, and she wondered if he was counting the beats of her heart. His fingers unfurled and the tips grazed along the sensitive underside of her jaw. She closed her eyes as warmth and a pleasant sensation flowed through her.

Suddenly the linen and his fingers were no longer there. He began gently applying the salve.

“While I’m out searching for your brother, don’t go to sleep.” His voice came out as rough and raw—and the warmth within her heated as a fire did when another lump of coal or log was added to it. She had to clear her throat and take a moment to gather herself in order to respond without giving away how his touch had affected her.

“I don’t think that will be a problem. I’ll be too anxious awaiting Griff’s return.” And yours. Although she didn’t want to admit that to him or herself. “You won’t be placing yourself in danger, will you?”

“If it comes to that, I can handle it.”

She didn’t doubt his capabilities for a minute. Still, she didn’t like the thought of him encountering trouble on her behalf.

“The bleeding has stopped. It might be better to leave the wound open to fresh air. The knot is still there. Are you dizzy? Does your head hurt?”

“The room’s not spinning. My headache is less. I think the tea earlier helped.”

“Shall I brew you a cup before I leave?”

She twisted around in her chair. He was so close she could see the firelight dancing in his coal-black eyes. Stubble shadowed his jaw, made it appear stronger, more distinct. His features contained a nobleness that made it difficult to breathe. She wished she could blame it on her head, but it was him. All him. “Why are you doing all this?”

“Why should I not?”

Her smile was small, almost teasing. “Do you always respond to a question with a