“Are you well, Mrs. Laurens?” the housekeeper asked. “Were you injured? Do you need me to draw up a bath or turn down your bed?”
That only served to inflame her cheeks even more. Lord help her, she was addled in the head. The word ‘bed’ sent her imagination galloping into dangerous territory.
She cleared her throat and forced herself to look Mrs. Norris in the eye. “I suffered a fright, but I am well. It is the gentleman who needs assistance. The doctor should be coming, but in the meantime, we’ll need some fresh water, towels, and any clean cloths that can be used for bandages.”
“Right away, my lady.”
Violet carried the clothes down the hall toward several servants bustling in an out of the guest room.
She stopped Sally, a blonde girl in her late teens, who was tall and gaunt, despite Mrs. Norris’ attempts to fatten her up.
“Is the gentleman safely abed? May I enter?”
“They took off his bloody things. The jacket and waistcoat are ruined, but I will try to wash the rest as best I can. Avery asked me to fetch some warm water. The gentleman is breathing and covered well enough for my lady to go in.”
Charles Avery, the butler, was the most capable man Violet had ever met. They’d taken him on when they’d returned from the war and though he was deemed unfit for the service of His Majesty, he’d served her unfailingly, even after John had died. Especially after he had died.
Violet peeked into the room and saw a maid adjusting the pillows and blankets while Avery cut strips of cloth, which she assumed were for bandages. The gentleman needed a bath, but hopefully a towel bath would do.
“Does my lady wish to stand outside and observe or does she wish to enter?” Avery asked, not looking up, but continuing to cut bandages.
Violet smiled as she walked inside. She wasn’t sure why she was trepidacious. They’d been in the same situation before, both with her husband’s illness and in the war. But something about this felt different for her.
“How is he?” she asked. “Were you able to assess his injuries?”
“The injury to his head is significant. His body is bruised, there is a small gash on his torso and the doctor will need to double check that his ribs aren’t cracked.”
“Sally went to fetch the hot water and see to his clothes. Can I assist you with anything?” she asked.
“If my lady wishes, she can cut this cloth into strips as I have done. We will need plenty of fresh bandages for his lordship.”
Violet took the cloth and scissors and went to work. It felt good to have the sturdy cotton between her fingers. She cut a few inches then tore the fabric all the way to the end. She’d learned that ripping was faster than cutting when time was of the essence.
They sat in silence for a moment as they both worked. If Violet closed her eyes, she would swear they were back in Portugal. If she listened hard enough, maybe she would hear Mrs. Santiago’s rasping voice as she yelled at Violet to return to the safety of the church, where the rest of the women waited for news of their loved ones. In her mind, she could hear the groans of the wounded soldiers in the infirmary.
It sounded so real that she looked up. Avery had wrapped new bandages over her previous makeshift attempt. The gentleman groaned as the cloth tightened over his head.
“Be glad for the pain, my lord,” Avery said. “It means you are alive. If all were numb, I’d fear for you.”
It was the second time he’d referred to the man as lord rather than sir. Could he be an aristocrat as Avery assumed? She was certain he was wealthy, but beyond that, she could not tell for sure.
The man’s eyes were glazed and she wasn’t sure if he could see her.
“Can you speak?” she asked gently.
He mumbled. “Aahh,” he cried as Avery tied the bandages off.
“What happened to him?”
Violet explained how she’d been accosted on the road and the gentleman came to her rescue. “The thief was crafty and underhanded. There was a scuffle, but as the gentleman went for his pistol, the thief smashed a rock into his head. At first, I couldn’t tell which of them had been shot. There was blood everywhere.”
“We cannot know how long it will take for Dr. Littleton to arrive. We should clean him up and see to his pain.”
“Shall I get a draught of laudanum?” She wondered why she hadn’t thought of it when she’d first gotten home. The poor man’s skull had been bashed within an inch of his life. “His pain must be immense.”
Avery looked into her eyes. “I suspect it is far worse than that, my lady.”
“I will return shortly.”
Violet hurried from the room and got the key to the cupboard where she kept the medicine and a few aged bottles of Scotch. She took a bottle of the whiskey and the laudanum. She preferred wine, but if there was ever a night where she needed the neat burn of a good Scotch, this was it.
As she entered the room, Sally and Avery were bathing the gentleman. He was naked and she could clearly see every inch of him from head to knee. Good heavens.
His body was marked with bruises, some new and some with a greenish tint, which must have been from an older injury. There were nicks and scars on his chest and arms and a few on his face. Where had he gotten those?
Her gaze traveled downward. She bit her lip and tried not to stare, despite the fact that he was as well made down there as he was everywhere else. He had more than enough to satisfy a woman, particularly considering he would only get bigger when aroused.
Stop looking at his nakedness and concentrate. Violet closed her eyes to regain her composure. In any other circumstance, she would walk right out of the room and wait until he was decently covered. But war had taught her that modesty and necessity did not make good companions.
Whatever missish notions she’d ever possessed had been wiped from her during the two years she’d spent with John in the fields of Portugal. Women were shielded from the atrocities as much as possible, but Violet had an iron stomach and sturdy hands, so she refused to be left with the weeping women holed up in safety.
“My lady!” Sally cried.
Avery ignored the exchange and kept working. It took a lot to ruffle him, though she could swear she saw the barest corner of his mouth move.
“No need to protect my modesty, Sally.” Violet stepped into the room, laid the Scotch on a table then approached the bed, medicine in hand. She set it on the bedside table and pulled the covers back completely. “I am a widow and I attended His Majesty’s soldiers in the infirmary. I’ve seen far more than this. ‘Tis you who should be shielded from such impropriety. Go on and fetch more hot water.”
Violet waved her hand to shoo the girl away.
“Yes, milady.”
Turning her attention back to the injured man, she brushed soap over the damp cloth then put it into the basin of warm water. She’d wrung out the towel when Avery interrupted her.
“Laudanum first. It will hurt less.”
She took a spoonful of liquid, pulled the man’s mouth open, and poured it inside. Since the teaspoon was small, she poured a little more and gave him a second dose.
The man’s mouth made a sour face, but she closed his jaw and made him swallow it all.
“I should’ve told Sally to fetch some tea. Laudanum tastes worse than a radish covered in dirt.”
This time, Avery did manage a tiny smile.
“Do not tell me it is my feminine sensibilities.” Violet crossed her arms and stared at the butler. He was teasing her without uttering a word, something he did often, though no one else seemed to notice it.
The man coughed loudly. She rushed to pat him on the back.
“Neber sheen.” Cough. “Woman like you.”
Avery still wore his half-smile and Violet realized that both of the men were laughing at her.
“Well, obviously you have not been acquainted with many women.”
The man shook his head. “Plenty.” He groaned loudly and raised his hands to his face.
She put her hands to his temple and pressed lightly, rubbing in the slowest circles she could manage. “See, you should not argue with a lady.” She continued ministering to him until she could hear his breathing become even.
When she lifted up, he caught her hand and held it. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome.” She looked into his eyes and they seemed less cloudy and dark. “Do not talk too much. You should rest, but try to stay awake until the doctor comes.”
“You should do the same, my lady,” Avery said to her.
“But we haven’t finished. He needs to be bathed.” She went back to the basin and wrung out the towel. It was warm still, but most of the heat had gone.
Tenderly, she wiped her patient’s face, but paused when she caught him staring at her. For the space of two breaths, she couldn’t move. The water trickled down from the edge of the towel, pooling over his chest.
This man was not her husband, but here she was, leaning over his naked body, bathing and stroking his skin, wishing that he would press his lips to hers.
“This might go faster if you would allow me,” Avery said, breaking their stare.
She looked and realized he had bathed half of the man’s body in the time it had taken her to wipe his face.
Violet’s cheeks burned. She was going to hell for this. Her duty was to bathe and nurse. Nothing else.
“I am sorry,” she said.
“Perhaps my lady should go and take a bath and get into clean clothes. He will be fine until you return.”
Violet nodded, which caused her to look down and see that the gentleman wasn’t so limp as before. She turned her head away, ashamed for looking at him so intimately while he was nearly helpless.
It was natural for a man to be stimulated while being stroked and bathed. And he was barely conscious as it was. There was no need to assume that it meant anything more than that.
So why did she want it to?
Violet glanced at the butler and nodded before hurrying from the room. She dared not look at the gentleman again.
* * * *
A hot, steaming bath did little to soothe Violet’s nerves. The water felt good, but the tightness in her limbs had less to do with weariness from her ordeal and more to do with the fact that she was still thinking about him.
As if she could do aught else with her ladies’ maid quizzing her.
“How gallant. Did he really take on both thieves on his own?” Miriam looked dreamy-eyed as she washed Violet’s arm. “Sally said that even with the bandages and blood, she could see that he was handsome. Is he handsome?”
Violet nodded. To speak might give away more than she wanted. Miriam was a sweet and devoted girl, but she loved to gossip. She hadn’t the discretion of Sally or Mrs. Norris. But the girl was sharp as a tack.
“A dashing gentleman, a lady in distress. It’s like a tale from Camelot.”
“Hardly. In Camelot, the villains do not use pistols.”
Violet sank deeper into the copper tub. She lifted her leg for Miriam to wash. The girl started with her feet, giving them a good scrub before she moved up her shin.
“Will he stay with us?”
“As we have yet to obtain his name or title and he is unfit for travel, yes, he will remain here for a few days.”
Violet suspected he would not be ready for transport even at the end of the week, but kept that to herself. She didn’t want to think past the next three days. If she did, her mind would wander into dangerous thoughts.
“You think him a nobleman, then? Oh, what if he is a duke or a prince!”
A laugh was her reply. Her maid had an eager imagination. A prince. If he had been, surely Violet would recognize him. The English princes were far too old and portly to be chasing thieves and wrestling in the dirt and surely a foreign prince would have a retinue following him everywhere.
“I doubt he is a prince. Would a prince be travelling alone on a country road at dusk?” Violet shook her head. “No, he would be dressing for some royal affair or sleeping off last night’s soiree with ten servants in attendance.”
“Maybe an earl or a viscount then.” Miriam circled her knee and washed her thigh. “Imagine, you could be a countess before Easter. Then we could get new livery and everyone would have to call you my lady, not just us.” Miriam’s green eyes were bright and her freckles softened under her happy glow.
“The man may not survive the week and already you are planning his marriage and future.”
“If he is not married yet, he ought to be.”
The maid was besotted with him already and hadn’t seen more than a glimpse of him.
“Let us focus on keeping him alive for now. We can worry about his marital affairs later.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Violet patted her cheek. She looked like her mother now, Violet’s distant cousin, who had died years ago from scarlet fever. She’d made a poor match and being the wife of a fisherman had never suited her.
Miriam and Violet had the same rich, dark hair and soft, full lips. But whereas Violet’s skin was clear, Miriam’s was dotted heavily with freckles and Violet’s eyes were hazel while Miriam’s were a bright shade of jade.
Though she did not envy her maid’s reduced circumstances, Violet envied her ability to see the world as fresh and evergreen.
The girl moved to the other foot, smiling as she scrubbed. Though she said no more about their mysterious guest, Violet knew her cousin was continuing to daydream.
Try as she might, she was not immune to the other girl’s fantasies. Who was her rescuer? Was he a nobleman as Avery and Miriam assumed or a well-to do gentleman? Either way, she suspected he was above her station.
Violet was a gentlewoman, with her own house, but she was certainly not the wealthiest widow in the shire. She lived quite happily on her two thousand pounds a year and never had want of anything. But she made no pretentions to nobility.
The man could very well be an earl or a viscount. As soon as he was coherent enough to tell her his identity, she would find his family. Though she’d gotten him to safety, his condition could worsen at any time. Violet couldn’t bear the thought of his relatives searching for him, never knowing what happened. In the war, she’d seen the faces of too many wives waiting in vain for their husbands to return from the battlefield.
Did he have a wife? Some beautiful countess or baroness who watched the window for his return? Had Violet been fantasizing about a man who belonged to someone else?
“Could you fetch more hot water?” Violet asked, wanting her solitude.
Miriam rose and gave a slight curtsey and left the room.
Violet closed her eyes again, settling deeper into the water, letting her hands roam over her skin, stroking and teasing as they made their way down. Her body needed release. Not merely from the stress of the day, but from seeing a handsome, naked man—who was only a few steps down the hall. It had been so long since she’d been intimate with anyone and now she yearned to know that pleasure again.
As she touched herself, his image formed in her mind. Try as she might, she could not erase it, could not think of anyone else. She imagined her hero whole and perfect, as he’d been when he’d galloped toward her on the road. She could see his luscious lips and silky hair and his firm, confident hands.
Hands that would know exactly how to hold her, how to caress her skin. And when he put his lips to her neck, she’d tremble down to the tips of her toes. Her fingers would fly down the buttons of his waistcoat and divest him of his shirt and underthings.
She’d kiss her way over his chest, nuzzling the fine hair with her nose, making her way down his abdomen. The buttons of his trousers would go as quickly as the rest and she would hastily strip his leggings and drawers until he stood as naked and proud as a Roman statue.
Her breath would catch when she gripped his shaft and stroked him. His hands would caress her derrière until she was damp with excitement. And she would feel his power as he yielded to her demanding hands
. She would grip the hair at the base of his scalp as she pumped him, taking him down into the depths of desire with her.
And when he couldn’t hold back his excitement any longer, he’d lift her up in his strong arms and wrap her thighs around his waist. With a searing kiss, he would command and she would whimper in response, allowing him whatever he wanted.
When he entered her, the way would be eased by the thick dew of her arousal. She’d feel every inch as he claimed her, rocking her body over his until they were fully one.
She would give him everything. Every sigh, every caress, every squeeze of her sex would be in homage to him. Because he was the god who had awakened her, who had brought her out of slumber and ignited the desire she’d thought lost forever.
With each thrust, he would draw her deeper and deeper into his world even as he went deeper and deeper into her body. And he would take her to the precipice until she cried, screaming his name.
What was his name? Violet came out of her daydream, still soaking in now tepid water, her hands between her legs, and her desire only partly eased.
She wanted to know more about him. She wanted to know his name, so that when she came again, she could whisper it to the heavens. Maybe the angels would grant her wish.
Violet rose from the water and stepped onto a towel. Miriam had not returned, but that was just as well. She needed to check if Dr. Littleton had finally arrived—and to see if the stranger was coherent enough to tell her who he was.
Chapter Three
Kit did not recognize his surroundings. The cherrywood armoire and the large four poster bed were not his own. His gaze went in and out of focus and he saw two footman and a girl that he couldn’t recognize. She was tall with flaxen hair. Next to her stood another woman with high cheek bones dotted with freckles, midnight hair, and emerald colored eyes.
“Bel—” He started to speak, but his words came out slurred. When she put the blankets over him, he tried to reach for her arm.
A Marquess for Christmas Page 3