Page 10 of A Bride for the Cruel Duke

Eyes wide, she looked at the duke, who still stood with his back to her.

She glared at him for some reason, as if this was his fault. Then she wet the towel again, trying a second time to touch gently at her knees?—

“Ow!” she winced and pulled the towel back. She had barely managed to clean the blood from the first one, but just the thought of doing it again made tears well in her eyes. She eyed the wounds, looked to the towel, then at the duke, and came to a decision. “All done,” she announced and put the towel back in the bowl of water.

“Is that right?” the duke said, back still to her.

“It was not as bad as I thought...”

He turned around and looked at her, one eyebrow raised. She matched it with her own, daring him to question her.Why do I care what he thinks? And why am I so insistent on antagonizing him?

He sighed and strode right for her.

“What are you doing?” she scrambled back in fright.

“The wounds will infect if they are not cleaned.”

“I know that.”

He stopped before her and raised a judgmental eyebrow. “I have some experience with tending wounds. More than yourself, I would gather. And in my experience, it is always easier when someone does it for you.”

“I…” Caroline understood what he was saying well enough, that he was offering to help her. But with her legs exposed as they were, her bare thighs showing, the thought of the duke between them as he tenderly touched and dabbed at her aroused within her the exact sensation she had been desperate to avoid. “I will be fine.”

He continued to look down at her. “There is no need to appear brave. Best to admit that you are not capable rather than the alternative.”

“The alternative?”

“Infection,” he said. “Which I assure you will be infinitely worse than anything I might possibly do.”Do you want a bet?

Caroline knew it was dangerous. She knew she should have told him no and not dared to put herself in such a position as that. Yet the duke spoke sense, she knew too that she was not capable of cleaning the wounds properly, and most of all… she wanted to see what might happen. As shameful as that was.

“Fine,” she sighed with exaggeration and shuffled back, opening her legs further for him. “Have it your way…”

The duke dropped to his knees before her, shoving his hand into the bowl and ringing the towel. Then he moved between her legs, his free hand going for the skirt of her dress.

“What are you doing!” she snatched at his hand; his wrist alone was too thick for her hand to wrap even halfway around.

“What did you think I was going to do?”

“I—” She caught her tongue, knowing she was being foolish. “Just be quick about it.”

He snatched his arm free. Then, quicker than a man his size should have been able to move, he reached up and wrapped a single hand around her waist to hold her down.

“What are you?—”

“To keep you from thrashing,” he said, holding her steady.

Panic flooded Caroline. That desire to fight, as if her life was at stake! She thrashed, but it was no good. She bucked, but he hardly seemed to feel it. She gasped when she noticed that her skirt had been lifted above her knees, and he was already attending to her wounds.

“Will you stay still?” he growled as he dabbed at them.

There was pain, that did not vanish. But Caroline was hardly able to feel it, her mind on his hand which still pressed against her waist. He was so strong. So large. Sopowerful. Kneeling between her legs the way he was, her mind went to places that made no sense to her yet made perfect sense at the same time.

Her breathing was heavy... more so as his hand moved from her waist to her thighs. He gripped her right one first, pressing it into the bed so she could not move as he wiped at her knee. She winced but he did not stop, dipping the towel back in the bowl of water and ringing it with a single hand.

Her mind now moved to his hand around her bare thigh. Squeezing roughly, but not painfully, his grip was so powerful and commanding. Somehow, the way he cleaned her wounds was soft and tender, even caring.

She found herself looking at his face, his expression tight and set as he worked, biting into his lip. There was more behind his eyes than mere frustration at having to help her as he was doing. It was a strange thing, but his hand on her thigh began to squeeze a little bit more firmly, his eyes flicked from her wounds to her thighs, and she could see sweat beading on her forehead. His breathing, ordinarily so calm, became labored.

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