thoughts had been just moments before.
Serena glanced at the brown glass bottle and white cloth, and an idea came to her. “No. Leave it with me, Quinny. I’ll take it in to him. Come back later. You can do my hair then.”
“Very well, miss.”
Medicines. How she hated them. They were a reminder of how imperfect the world was … and how mortal. Her father was reduced to taking powders and restoratives every day, each of them foul and unpleasant, in an effort to extend his life. The thought that she was the cause of Malcolm’s need for them needled her with guilt.
She tightened the dressing gown around her and knocked on the secret door.
A moment passed. And then the door swung open.
The sight of him took her breath away. He was back to trousers, but he didn’t have on a stitch of clothing above them, displaying a torso that seemed sculpted from gold. His chest was smooth, like marble statues of old, with just a smattering of hair down the middle. Muscles fanned out from his neck and connected with two chiseled shoulders. Odd scars told a tale of a tortured life.
A look at his face brought a fresh stab of guilt. His cheek had purpled, and now she could see a tiny cut on his lower lip.
“I-I’ve some salve for you.”
He looked her up and down. There was no judgment in his expression, only a reserved air. “Thank ye,” he said, holding out his hand.
Ill at ease, she clutched the bottle tighter. “May I come in?” she heard herself ask. There were dozens of reasons why it was a mistake to suggest it. Impropriety, indecency, shame … spiders. She put all those out of her head as she stepped over his threshold.
For the first time, she got a close look at the chamber he now used as a bedroom. The walls were bare of plaster, and he used the interior wood framing as shelves. A few books, probably borrowed from Lord Askey’s library, lined one shelf, and a comb and razor lay on another. A narrow bed, certainly too short for a man of his height, edged the wall separating them. On the framing above his pillow lay his pistol holster and daggers. The smell of antique wood and mold permeated the room. It was surely a misery having to live here. And yet he put himself through it willingly. For her.
“Let me help you apply it,” she said.
“I can manage.”
“No. I want to. It’s … the least I can do.”
His frown softened, but only a little. “Very well.”
She glanced nervously at his semi-nude body. “Show me what pains you.”
He raised his right hand before her eyes, palm downward. The knuckles were discolored, and a tear sliced through the middle knuckle. She couldn’t look him in the eye, lest he see how remorseful she felt.
She opened up the bottle and poured some of the grassy-smelling liquid onto the cloth. She placed her hand beneath his to sustain it, and gingerly dabbed at the broken skin. The branding scar on the back of his hand was visible to her now, and she drank in each of the ugly details with her eyes.
“Is that better?”
“Aye.” His expression had gentled, and he regarded her thoughtfully. “Thank ye.”
“What else pains you?”
He raised his left elbow up to reveal a dark bruise on his rib cage. “I can’t take a breath without remembering the face of the bastard that gave me that.”
She sighed, and moistened the rag once more. He winced a little as she applied the unguent, so she took her time. He had a lovely warm smell to him. His abdomen was strong and sturdy, each muscle well defined. Too late she considered how wonderful it would have been if she had thought to apply the medicine with her fingers rather than a cloth.
“And your cheek?” she asked.
“Aye. It throbs a good deal.”
He was too tall for her to get to it comfortably. “Please sit down.”
He perched himself on the edge of the bed, and she wedged herself between his open legs. The hair at his temples was still wet from washing. She lifted the damp cloth and dabbed it on the swell of his cheek. It was an ugly bruise, discoloring and deforming his otherwise handsome face. Another pang of guilt damned her. That mark was a direct result of a deformity in her own character. If it hadn’t been for her, none of this would have happened to him. She