Benedict's Challenge - Carole Mortimer Page 0,6

so. Circumstances were such that he had no right to lay claim to any woman, let alone one who already appeared to be in some distress.

He straightened. “Be ready to offer words of comfort if she should awaken when I examine her.”

Jimmy lifted one bandaged arm as high as he could in the facsimile of a mocking salute. “Wiv pleasure, my lord.”

Benedict was careful not to touch flesh as he unfastened the gown’s tiny buttons before folding back the sides of the opening to reveal she wore a white camisole beneath. The skin Benedict could see was as smooth and pale as the rest of her.

Lifting a scalpel from a tray beside him, Benedict pushed away all thoughts as to who he was examining and concentrated solely on learning what was causing this woman to groan in pain whenever she was moved. It took mere seconds to slice down the back of the camisole and reveal that the skin here was also unblemished, with nothing visible that might have caused her pain.

“Try lower,” Jimmy pressed.

“Lower?”

“’Er bottom and the tops of ’er legs.” The other man’s expression was grim. “A good thrashin’ on the bum and fighs causes the person being ’it great discomfort sittin’ down or standin’ up, wivout anyone else bein’ the wiser for it.”

“You sound as if you speak from experience.” Benedict voiced his concern for his new young friend.

Jimmy shrugged. “I do, yes.”

“I am sorry for that.”

“Not your fault.”

If Benedict was to be able to see the areas of this woman’s body that Jimmy had suggested, then he would need to cut down the back of the gown and her drawers. Benedict felt an innate aversion to doing that. It seemed far too…invasive.

And he would not have hesitated to do so with any other patient!

The accusation was completely valid, Benedict accepted, his expression grim as he used the scalpel to slice through the silk and cotton.

He gasped and drew back in horror when he saw the intricate lacework of stripes, some of them scabbed over, but others open and weeping pus—and testament to the fact they were not fresh wounds—which decorated the pale flesh across the young woman’s buttocks and the backs of her thighs.

Injuries which had been deliberately and painfully inflicted, and, as Jimmy had said, so as to cause the most discomfort when sitting. Possibly applied with a whip or a thin stick.

“I’ll go and send for the lads,” Jimmy stated firmly as he turned away to step out of the room.

Benedict felt an unaccustomed stinging in his eyes, and it took him several seconds to realize that the uncomfortable sensation was caused by the tears that now blurred his vision.

Someone, and Benedict was inclined to think it was not-a-buffoon-after-all Lord Henry Gordon, had inflicted severe and terrible injuries upon this defenseless young woman.

Chapter Three

Chloe was so warm and comfortable when she woke that she felt no inclination to open her eyes only to face yet another day of the hardship that had become her life these past two years.

If her senses were functioning correctly, then she was currently lying on her side on a very soft mattress and covered in the heavy warmth of thick bedcovers.

Which was unusual enough, considering she usually slept on a hard and lumpy mattress with only a thin blanket to warm her.

Chloe decided to continue enjoying the dream, keeping her eyes closed as she stretched out her legs and felt the softness of sheets against them. The freedom of movement and lack of discomfort also informed her she was no longer dressed in the dampness of her blue gown but appeared to be wearing something made out of soft cotton. One of her two night rails, perhaps? If so, they had never felt so warm and comfortable as this before.

Perhaps she had died and gone to heaven, and this warmth and comfort was her reward for having lived a blameless if short life.

Her life had certainly been short, but had she lived a blameless life?

Not according to Lord Gordon—

“I know by your breathing that you are awake, and it is now time for you to open your eyes and look at me.”

Chloe froze, in body and thought, at the sound of that strong and commanding voice.

Perhaps it was God? Or one of his Archangels?

Whatever, or whomever, Chloe recognized it as a voice which brooked no argument to her obeying its instruction.

She raised heavy lids, wondering if her guess of being in heaven was correct when she found herself looking