A Duke in Time (The Widow Rules #1) - Janna MacGregor Page 0,130

opening the jar of salve. In actuality, it was to keep from revealing the effect he was having on her. At the last twist of the lid, the scent of peppermint floated between them.

“Ah.” She brought the container to her nose and inhaled. “It’s very pleasant. I added peppermint oil. It’s still your favorite, isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer.

She silently exhaled. He should know by now that silence had never stopped her before. “I tried the salve on myself. It isn’t harsh nor will it leave a stain.” She held the jar out to him.

Without wasting a glance at the salve or her, he said, “You do it.”

She swallowed slightly. She’d never dreamed he’d ask her to help him, but she wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. This might be the only opportunity to break down some of the barriers between them.

“All right.”

He grabbed her by the wrist before she could lifted his banyan out of the way. “Don’t.”

To an outsider, it might have appeared abrupt, as if he wanted to hurt her. Instead, his touch was incredibly gentle as if holding a piece of crystal. She studied his hand holding her wrist. With the long length of his fingers, he could easily encircle both of her wrists with one hand.

“Don’t what?” she asked.

“Don’t look at my leg when you rub it in.” His gaze never left hers as he continued to hold her arm. “Promise me.”

The rough and hardened voice infiltrated her chest. Every organ, cell, and other parts of her body vibrated in awareness. It was the first time they had truly been alone without another living creature disturbing them. Even his dog Regina had retired for the evening, content that her master was in good hands.

“I’ll only look at your face and the jar.”

“Thank you.” He released her.

She scooped some of the salve, then rubbed her palms together, releasing more of the fragrance. “The peppermint oil is designed to mask any odors.”

“I wouldn’t care if it smelled like a horse’s…”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Who would have guessed that the Earl of Sykeston possesses such a vile vocabulary? I’ll have to watch that Aurelia doesn’t hear such language.” The words trailed to nothing as she peeked at him under her eyelashes.

Finally, a small smile creased his lips. “Well, if that’s all she has to be afraid of, she’ll be fine.”

“I think I’ll start at your ankles, then move toward your knee. How far does the injury extend?”

“The worst is above the knee,” he answered. “Flesh is missing on my thigh where a ball had to be dug out.”

It took every ounce of strength she possessed not to cry out at the horror he must have endured. Not of pity, but of outrage at how much he’d had to brave. Not only had he been shot, but then to come under the surgeon’s knife afterward. “Are you ready?” she asked softly.

“Yes.”

Constance kept her eyes on his as she deftly placed her hands on his ankle. His skin cool to the touch, and the bones so different from hers. She massaged his ankle down to his heel. His ankle was so large, she couldn’t wrap both hands around it. As she trailed her hands up his calf, she prepared herself for what she might feel. A puckered wound, missing flesh, none of it would surprise her.

“How does that feel?” She continued to stroke upward, kneading the tight muscles of his calf. The hair on his legs was smooth but coarser than what she had expected. “Too hard…”

The words trailed to nothing when she found the first scar. It felt as if a cup of flesh had been carved out of the back of his calf.

He didn’t flinch when she grew quiet. “A little harder, please. That was the second bullet I took. The first knocked me off my horse.”

“Then what happened?” She pressed her fingers into his skin, again and again. With the palm of her hand she pushed straight down. She repeated the movement for several more minutes.

He wasn’t going to answer, so she reached for more salve.

Then she remembered their stupid rules. “I suppose I wasn’t supposed to ask about that.”

“What?” He tilted his head as if truly not understanding what she was talking about.

“Asking about your past. What happened on the battlefield that day certainly qualifies.” By then, she’d reached his knee.

He winced slightly at the movement. “I think I might have landed on my knee. I’ll have a bruise there tomorrow. Right above where