by Anna Bradley
Robyn froze. “What did you say?”
Too late, Atherton realized his danger, but even then he refused to back down. Fueled by drink and fury, he spat, “Only that I’ve no wish to raise a Sutherland bastard in my house.”
Robyn didn’t remember much after that apart from a confused series of sounds: the crack of his fist as it crashed into Atherton’s jaw, the man’s wheezing cough as he took another blow to the stomach, and finally a hollow grunt and the thud of a body as it hit the street.
When Robyn came to himself again, he stood over Atherton, who lay in a bloody heap on the ground. The men surrounding them shouted in victory or groaned in defeat according to the wagers they’d made, but when Robyn spoke, they all fell silent at once.
“Send round word of your second, Atherton. My man will call on yours tomorrow.”
Chapter Twenty-two
The fire burned down to cinders in the grate, and still Robyn didn’t come home. Lily wrapped her arms around her body to generate some warmth, but the chill of the room had sunk into her bones.
What could keep Robyn out to such a late hour? Visions of Louise Bannister’s tight breeches filled Lily’s head. She shivered again, but not from the chill in the room this time.
Perhaps she’d best go to bed.
She rose and tried to shake some feeling back into limbs gone numb from sitting so long in the same attitude. She winced as blood rushed back into her feet, then tingled and burned up her legs.
Could a heart grow numb if it languished too long in one’s chest?
Lily emerged from the drawing room into the still, dark entryway. Even Rylands, who apparently knew better than to wait up for Robyn, had gone off to bed hours ago. Her legs continued to twitch in protest as she began to mount the stairs.
She’d reached the fourth step when she heard the door open quietly behind her.
Her heart had not yet gone numb, for it lurched in her chest as she turned, then dropped like a stone into the pit of her stomach.
Robyn stood in the entryway, covered in blood. Lily watched, horror-struck, as a few dark red drops trickled from his battered knuckles to drip onto the white marble floor.
For a moment she couldn’t move; she could only stand, her hand over her mouth, frozen with shock. “Oh, dear God. Robyn.”
She did move then—she must have, for she felt each stair slap the bottom of her slippers as she dashed back down into the entryway.
Robyn held his hands up in front of him. “It’s not as bad as it looks. Most of the blood isn’t even mine.”
“Not yours?” Blood seeped steadily from a gash on his forehead. A bruise that put his earlier black eye to shame bloomed on his jaw, and his white cravat was so splattered with red, it looked as if he’d spent his evening in a slaughterhouse. “Is that someone else’s blood seeping from the wound on your head, then?”
“Well, no, I suppose that is mine, but the blood on my cravat isn’t.”
Goodness, men were foolish. What difference did it make which blood was his? “Never mind. It’s sufficient that at least some of it is yours. Come with me.”
Robyn raised an eyebrow at her imperious tone, but he didn’t offer any resistance. “Yes, ma’am.”
Lily took his arm, intending to lead him to the stillroom to get a closer look at the gash on his forehead, but they’d taken only a step when Robyn’s soft gasp of pain brought her to an immediate halt. “Robyn?”
He pressed one of his hands against the left side of his body, over his ribs. “It’s nothing to fret over. It’s just a bruised rib. Or perhaps it’s cracked. It’s difficult to tell.”
A cracked rib? That was far more serious than a cut on the forehead. Lily’s heart kicked hard, threatening to crack her own ribs.
She slipped her arm as gently as she could around his waist and urged him to lean against her. “The stillroom won’t do for a cracked rib. You need to lie down at once. Lean on me, and I’ll help you up the stairs to your bedchamber.”
He tried to disentangle himself from her arm. “Don’t be absurd. I’ll send you tumbling down the stairs if I lean on you.”
Lily ignored this and eased him toward the stairs. Robyn fussed and protested the entire way, but at length she managed to get him up the stairs, down the hallway, and into his bedchamber.
Once they’d entered, however, she drew to a halt. “Where’s your bed?”
Robyn grinned. “Ah. I’ve had dreams where you demand to be taken to my bed. Of course, in the dreams I can actually move without assistance.”
“Only you could manage to flirt while suffering a cracked rib,” Lily said, even as she felt a warm rush of pleasure at his words. “Your bed, sir?”
He gestured toward an open door on the right. “Through there.”
It seemed to Lily as though Robyn leaned more heavily on her now, and his breathing became labored, so she moved forward as quickly as his injury would allow. He sat on the edge of the bed while she propped up his pillows, then she eased him back against them and helped him lift his feet up. He lay back with a sigh and closed his eyes.
She stood over him, not sure what to do next. His forehead needed tending, and the cuts on his knuckles, as well. Perhaps she’d better call a servant . . .
“Don’t you dare call a servant to tend me,” Robyn said, as if he’d read her mind. “The last thing I need is some footman prodding at me with his cold hands.”
“Well, I can’t very well leave you here like this!”
He opened one eye. “Why not? I’m fine.”
His dark hair was matted with blood from the cut on his forehead, his jaw had turned an ominous shade of purple, and his knuckles had started to bleed again. “You’re not fine. You look a perfect disaster. Please don’t tell me Lord Pelkey did this to you?”
He opened the other eye. “A disaster? What an unkind thing to say. And no, Pelkey had nothing to do with it.”
Lily crossed her arms over her chest. “How, then?”
He hesitated. “A brawl outside one of the gaming hells.”
Oh, for pity’s sake. He deserved a cracked rib for being foolish enough to brawl. Still, she couldn’t simply leave him here with blood trickling into his eyes. She sighed. “I’ll help you. Do you have any water?”
Robyn raised himself up on his elbows, but the movement seemed to cost him some effort. “Are your hands cold?”
“Freezing,” she snapped. “Now, the water, if you would?”
He jerked his head in the direction of the window then collapsed onto the pillows again. “Over there. This is not how it went in my dream, by the way.”
Lily found the water and a towel on the washstand. She set the bowl down on a table near the bed, then stood over him, her hands on her hips. “Can you sit forward a little? I think you’d feel better if I removed your coat.”
Robyn heaved himself off the pillows with a pained groan. “If I recall, in my dream we did tear off our clothes.”
Lily grasped the sleeve of his coat and pulled carefully until his arm came loose, then she leaned closer to slide it across his back and off his other arm. “There. That’s much better.”
When she’d finished, he fell back against the pillows again, as if the effort had exhausted him. “Now that I think on it, it was me who tore off your clothes. I believe I prefer it that way.”
“I suppose you think I’ll remove my clothing to accommodate you?”
Lily felt herself flush as soon as the words left her mouth. Goodness—was she flirting with him now?
Robyn’s eyes gleamed. “Well, I am very badly injured.” That dangerous grin lifted one corner of his mouth. “It might distract me from the terrible, awful pain I suffer.”
Lily reached for the basin and sat on the edge of the bed. “You told me you were fine not five minutes ago.”
“Yes, well, I’m in far more
pain now than I was then, though that has little enough to do with my injuries.”
He winced when she touched the wet cloth to the gash on his head.
Lily dabbed at it, then leaned forward to get a closer look. It was an ugly gash, but she didn’t think it would need to be sewn closed. She brushed the towel over his forehead until it was reasonably clean, then dipped it in the water again and began to clear some of the blood out of his hair.
She worked steadily for some minutes before she realized Robyn had gone still and quiet. She glanced down at him, half expecting he’d fallen asleep, but his dark eyes were open, watching her.
Lily’s breath caught at the look he gave her. “I’m sorry. Am I hurting you?”
He nodded once. His gaze never left her face. “Yes.”
She jerked her hand away, but he caught her by the wrist and pressed her fingers against his cheek. “Don’t stop.”
Lily swallowed. “You have cuts on your hand.”
He didn’t release her, but moved their joined hands away from his face so he could see. His knuckles were no longer oozing, but they were caked in dried blood. “So I do.”
She withdrew her hand, dipped the towel in the water, and stroked the wet cloth over his knuckles. Robyn closed his eyes again and drew in a deep, slow breath.
Lily studied his face, at once both familiar and utterly new to her. She’d always thought him heartbreakingly handsome, and he was so now, with his long, dark lashes curled on his cheekbones.
She leaned close—she’d never noticed the tiny white scar on his bottom lip.
The tiny imperfections. The cracks in the glaze.
Perhaps that’s what love was, then. To see those scars, those imperfections, and to know they were what made a person beautiful.
She loved him. Bruised, battered, and bloody as he was, she thought him beautiful.
Why didn’t he touch her? Did he think her afraid still? She wasn’t, not anymore—
No. That was a lie. She was afraid.
Robyn might care for her, but he’d made her no promises, and yet she, the prim and proper Lily Somerset, had rejected a proposal from the most respectable gentleman in London, only to give her virtue to the wickedest one instead.
This was what she wanted—she knew that now.
Robyn hadn’t revealed his heart to her, but he’d helped her to see what lay inside her own, and once she had, everything changed. Giving her heart into his keeping had been the truly terrifying part, but it was done. It felt like a lie to hold back her body when he already held her heart.
She wanted to give him everything.
She was afraid, but she wasn’t a coward anymore.
Lily brought his damaged hand to her mouth and touched her lips to his knuckles. His eyes fluttered under his lids, but he closed them tighter, and she sensed a reluctance in him, as if he believed he dreamed her touch and didn’t want to wake.
She kissed each of his fingers in turn. His lips parted, but his eyes remained closed. He let out a faint groan when she slipped one of his fingers into her mouth. His body shifted restlessly on the bed, but still he didn’t open his eyes.
“You refused Atherton?” His voice was hoarse.
It didn’t occur to her to wonder how he knew. “Yes.”
He opened his eyes at last, and the look that burned in their depths stole her breath. He said nothing more—just watched her with his hot, dark eyes as she loosed the buttons on his waistcoat and spread the silk wide so she could get to the shirt beneath.
His breathing quickened as her fingers fisted in the linen to pull it free of his breeches. She slid one hand against the bare skin of his belly and felt the hard muscles under his smooth skin jump under her fingers.
“Your hands aren’t cold,” he murmured. He arched his body just a little, as if seeking her touch.
She teased a finger around his bellybutton. “Well, not anymore.”
Robyn gasped a little at the sensation, but then he caught her hand and moved it away from his body. “This isn’t a good idea, Lily.”
Lily sat back and regarded him. Did he think to refuse her? Perhaps he didn’t want her anymore . . .
Oh, no. He did. She had only to look at his parted lips and flushed skin to see it. Had he decided to be noble, then? It would be just like Robyn to refuse to take her virtue the very moment she’d made up her mind to give it to him.
She placed her hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat. It pounded under her palm, and she could see his pulse leap in his neck.
He caught his breath at her touch. “Are you trying to drive me mad?”
Drive him mad? Well, it was one way to overcome his uncharacteristic fit of virtuousness.
Perhaps she did want to drive him just the tiniest bit mad. Could she?
She gave him an affronted look. “Certainly not, Mr. Sutherland. I’m simply checking you for further injuries.”
She ran her gaze over him. The shirt posed somewhat of a problem, as she couldn’t remove it entirely unless he sat up. Yet she didn’t want him to move . . . there was something wicked about having him lie here, stilled for her hands, only half divested of his clothing.
She hiked her skirts to her knees, crawled onto the bed, and lay down on her side, propped up on her elbow next to him.
Robyn gaped at her, shocked. “What in the blazes do you think you’re doing?”
Lily had to press her lips together to keep from laughing. “I told you. I’m checking you for injuries. Now, here’s a bad one . . .”
She trailed light fingers against his jaw, then pressed her mouth where her fingers had been. She kissed him lightly, then dipped lower to lick his neck. A faint trace of salt and spicy soap met her tongue. She nipped at him with her teeth and felt a deep shudder pass through his body. “Oh, dear. Is it tender there?”
His voice was choked. “This is highly improper.”
“Improper? I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Lily whispered into his ear. Her teeth closed over his earlobe. “Think of me as your nurse. Nothing more.”
She traced her tongue over the whorls of his ear and he hissed in a sharp breath. Curious, she dipped her tongue into his ear and was thrilled when a gasp escaped him.
“Nurses don’t often climb into bed with their patients.”
“I’m very thorough.” She squirmed closer to him, then leaned over to place her mouth on his forehead, where he’d been cut. If her breasts just happened to press against his chest? Well, it was all in the name of medicine. “This cut on your head is rather deep.”
“Deep?” He sounded dazed.
She teased her lips over his face. “I’m afraid so. And there’s a little injury right here, on your bottom lip.” She darted her tongue at the tiny scar.
His body surged under hers and his hands gripped her waist. “That’s an old scar,” he managed.
Lily pulled a little away from him so she could look down into his face. His cheekbones were flushed with color, and his lids had gone heavy over dark, burning eyes.
She leaned down again and hovered her lips over his. “I’m the nurse, so I’ll be the judge of that. Now if you’ll just lie still like a docile patient, Mr. Sutherland . . .”
She loved his lips, especially the full lower one, just a shade too wide for perfection. She cupped a hand around his cheek and took that lip into her mouth. She sucked it inside and teased at it with her tongue.
It was as if flame had been set to dry tinder. Robyn groaned and opened his mouth ravenously under hers. His tongue thrust into her wet warmth. She curled her tongue around his and matched each of his maddening strokes, urging her mouth against his with a breathless gasp.
Oh, yes. This was what she wanted.
Robyn gripped the back of her neck and strained up from his pillows to press his mouth harder against hers, but she evaded him, then
tore her mouth from his with an effort. She wasn’t quite done yet.
He fell back with a groan. “What now?”
He sounded so pitiful, she almost sympathized with him. Not enough to stop, though. “I’m not quite done with my examination. A cracked rib, I believe?”
He was panting now. “You can’t mean to—”
“What kind of nurse would I be if I didn’t?”
He stared straight up at the canopy above them, his body rigid, as if he were afraid of what she might do next.
She lay a hand on his chest. “You needn’t look as if I’m about to torture you, Robyn. Are you afraid I’ll hurt you?”
He jerked his head once, still not looking at her. “No. I’m afraid I’ll leap on you and crack my other ribs.”
Leap on her? My goodness. What would that be like? “You’re injured. Leaping is discouraged in such situations, I believe.”
He drew her hand to his mouth and kissed the tip of her finger. “I’m injured. Not dead.”
“Indeed? Not from lack of trying.”
But she didn’t want to argue with him about the brawl. Not at the moment anyway. She eased away from him and shimmied lower on the bed so she was flush with his torso.
A tantalizing bit of skin remained visible from when she’d pulled his shirt up earlier, but now Lily dragged the linen up as far as it would go. “Oh, my.”
She couldn’t help the breathless exclamation. His chest was not quite exposed because the shirt wouldn’t go that far, but his belly . . . oh, she could make do with his belly. Hard, ridged muscle; smooth, golden skin; and a few fascinating hairs that thickened before they vanished into his breeches. She trailed a finger over that crisp hair and saw Robyn’s hands fist on the coverlet in response.
She slid her hand up, under his shirt, and laid it flat against the center of his chest. She paused, watching him, then ran one finger around his nipple, just once, hardly a touch at all.
A low moan broke from his chest. Fascinated, she did it again, and again, then slipped both hands under his shirt to tease his nipples. He gasped and writhed under her hands despite the pain in his ribs, as if he were helpless to stop himself.
