“Liar.” She tugged on the end of his sash, pulling the tie free.
He backed up, securing his wrap. “What are you about?”
“You have another injury you failed to mention.”
“The doctor has already seen to it.”
“What is it?”
She saw him weighing his options, no doubt considering whether to brush off her question with a vague response or put an end to this line of query with the truth. From her perspective, the decision took much longer than it should have.
“A contusion,” he said finally.
She frowned, having never heard the term.
“Bruise,” he clarified. “A rather unpleasant one.”
“Is it the same on your leg?”
He nodded. “Thankfully, my assailant did not shatter my knee.”
“Oh, Sebastian.” She reached for his hand, and her chest clenched when his fingers grasped hers in return. “Where else?”
He released a long, heavy sigh. “Concussion.”
She peered at his head, seeing nothing amiss. “Where?”
“Are you this motherly to everyone?”
“Only to those who insist nothing is wrong. Point, please.” When he did nothing but narrow his gaze on her, she said, “Your attempt to stare me into submission will not work. That particular tactic ceased intimidating me many years ago.” She waved toward his head. “Where did he bash you?”
Rather than point to the location, he grabbed her wrist and lifted her hand to his hair. He carefully guided her fingers through the soft strands until she reached a large bump three inches above his left ear.
She sucked in an astonished breath. “Goodness, my lord. Why are you not abed?”
He closed his eyes, seeming to take comfort from her caress, although she did not touch the painful lump again.
“Hearing you say my name is so much more preferable than ‘my lord.’”
Heat rose into her cheeks. “Why do you always evade my questions?” Recalling his other injuries, she stepped around him, her fingers tracing down his nape.
“For the same reason you’re keeping the true source of your tears from me.” His luminous gaze followed her progress.
His wide shoulders filled her vision, and she once again experienced a sense of her own delicacy while standing next to him. With a feather-like touch, she skimmed her fingers down his back, circling the lower portion. “Is this where he hurt you?”
She heard him swallow. “Yes.”
“May I see?”
Over his shoulder, he said, “You might find more than an ugly patch of skin.”
She hoped so. Retracing her path, she memorized each silk-draped sinew before gripping the neckline of his banyan. With her eyes riveted on her hands, she drew the shimmering cloth off his shoulders. Something desperate and raw raked along her every nerve ending, making her hands tremble and her breaths shaky.
Once his upper arms were free, the silken wrap, secured by his sash, drooped over his bottom, revealing a long black bruise that ran perpendicular to his spine. It had to be six inches long and about two inches high. The visual evidence of the violence he’d endured and suffered alone forced her pleasurable thoughts to the wayside. “Sweet Lord.”
Further speech was impossible, for her throat had closed around that simple, inconsequential phrase.
“It’s nothing,” he said in a rough voice. “I hardly know it’s there.”
Fury replaced the ache in her heart. “Well, I know it’s there.” She reached around and freed the sash again. The length of cloth released, and his wrap melted in a pool of emerald silk at his feet.
Her heart hammered in her ears, nearly deafening in its ferocity. He was magnificent. Smooth angles and firm ridges. Taut skin and rippling muscles. Without moving a single inch, he stole her breath.
“Have your look, Catherine.” His blue-gray eyes pulsed with fire. “Because in ten seconds, I’m going to show you why that was a dangerous decision.”
His masculine perfection befuddled her mind so badly that it took her several precious seconds to work through his warning. When she finally did, she dropped to her knees and bent to inspect yet another injury. He stood with most of his weight on his right leg, his left leg cocked to provide a measure of balance but little else.
Similar to his lower back, a large bruise covered the underside of his knee. This one looked so much worse. Rather than a perfect outline of a geometrical shape, the bruise on his leg spread out in all angles like a slow-moving cancer. Her fingers hovered over the area, but she dared not touch. “What type of weapon causes this kind of damage?”