Page 8 of Five Nights with a Rakish Duke
She opened her mouth to argue with him again but grew distracted by looking at him. He had shed that manner of playfulness for a minute and held a stern expression. His jawline was strong with a short dappling of stubble, rare in this world of clean-shaven jaws. His nose was sharp though not too large, and those grey eyes held a mistiness to them that made them intense. In this darkness, with only the moonlight upon them, those eyes appeared like silver jewels, staring at her.
“Is your word something that can be trusted?” she asked a little breathlessly.
“My word is never something I go back on,” he said, still holding onto that sincere tone. “Of that, I can assure you. Now, may I be permitted to inspect the injury?”
“If anyone sees…” she trailed off, biting her lip as she gazed up to the terraces. Yet they were far away from others who had escaped outside.
“No one will see.” Deciding that the pain was worth the risk, she eventually nodded and held her breath.
“I am trusting you have some medical knowledge here, Sir.”
“I have a little. I spent many months beside a physician as they nursed someone in my family,” he said with a smile. “Wait here a moment.” He stood to his feet and walked off down the garden. For a minute, she thought he was going to abandon her, just as the Earl of Shrewsbury had run from her, yet his shadow came hurrying back to her very quickly, appearing once again in the moonlight with something grasped in his hand.
As he came into focus through the darkness and dropped down on his knee in front of her, she could finally make out what was in his hand. It was a sprig of honeysuckle, taken from a tree at the far end of the garden.
“Honeysuckle?” she said in surprise, pointing toward it.
“Indeed,” he said, offering it to her to smell. “This little plant has more to it than just a pleasant scent.” She sniffed it softly, inhaling the beautiful scent before he lowered the plant sprig back down. “A physician once recommended it to me as good for fighting infections.”
He tore off the leaves and offered her the flowers to take before rubbing the leaves between his palms until they were torn up.
“Care to lift your skirt a little, Madam?” he said, unable to stop his smile. Penelope frowned and titled her head to the side.
“I cannot believe you just said that,” she said, biting her lip and shaking her head.
“Ha! Do you believe I have asked such things of ladies before?” he asked, raising his eyebrows in playfulness.
“Somehow, I do not doubt it.”
“Will you refuse, My Lady?” he said, glancing down at her legs. The heat in that stare made her itch to lift the skirt, not to inspect the sting, but because of his words about ladies. She wondered what he did… when ladies did lift their skirts for him.
Good God, the man is leading me into trouble!
“You are enjoying this far too much for my liking.”
“I cannot deny I am,” he said gently. “Now… will you lift the skirt, Madam?”
Without words, she eventually lifted the skirt of her gown, just enough to reach her knee and reveal the sting. Her hand was trembling from the movement. The stranger before her seemed to forget his want to laugh, for his face turned serious, and he gently took hold of her calf.
The moment he touched her leg, her breath hitched. There was a warmth to his touch, one that made her want to slide toward him on the bench instead of retreat away. She had to clamp a hand on the stone seat of the bench to stop herself from moving anywhere. He tilted her leg around a little to reveal the sting.
“Ooh,” he made a soft pained sound. “No wonder that hurts so much; you have come up all swollen already.”
His hand went wandering. It did not stay around her calf but slipped up a little higher, up to the back of her thigh. He moved slowly as he lifted his gaze to hers as though waiting for her to retreat from him.
“Are you looking for another sting?” she asked, breathlessly. “Because you’ll find no more up there.”
“You did not pull away, Madam,” he whispered to her, leaning toward her a little more. For a brief moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. The intensity of it made her turn her leg to the side, practically inviting him into the space between her legs.
“Stop,” she said softly, to which he halted instantly. “I see what you mean…” She panted with bated breaths. “You are a danger to ladies.” He smiled mischievously and sat back again, looking down at the sting on her exposed calf. As he lowered his fingers from the back of her thigh, she breathed, letting the shudders of excitement linger.
“The wasp must have been quite frightened trapped in your skirt.”
“He should not have been in there in the first place.”
“Indeed, he should not,” he said then lifted the leaves and brushed them against the sting. “A happy place to be trapped though, I am sure.”
“Oh, you are bold,” she accused, then her words fell silent.
