Page 16 of The Duke's Forbidden Bride
This was by far his favorite expression.
“Do close your mouth, Lady Eleanor.”
Strange. According to the rumors, such a sight should not have been unfamiliar to her. Perhaps it had only been her surprise.
Her blush deepened as she clamped her mouth shut.
“Why are you offering me your shirt?” she demanded.
“Your dress is falling apart,” Spencer pointed out, his tone grim but not unkind. “My coat’s bloodied, and I’ve already cleaned the worst of your wounds. It would be foolish to wear that thing again. Just… put the shirt on, Lady Eleanor. And lie down. You need rest.”
Her hand clutched at her ruined bodice. She looked as if she might hurl his shirt back at him on principle alone. Hatred flashed in her eyes—not toward him, not fully, but at theposition, at the indignity, at everything she’d had to endure to survive.
“I am not in the habit of undressing before men,” she said icily.
He held up both hands, backing away from the hearth. “I won’t look.”
“Youalreadylooked,” she snapped.
Spencer exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “I looked because you were bleeding.”
Silence fell between them. Her face was flushed, and not just from fever.
With jerky movements, Eleanor turned her back to him, dragging his shirt behind her as she moved toward the bed. She slipped beneath the covers fully clothed, then shot him a warning glare over her shoulder. “Turn around.”
He obeyed.
He heard the faint rustle of cloth—her torn dress being peeled away, his shirt sliding over her skin. A pause. Then a softthumpas the tattered garment hit the floor.
Only then did she speak again. “You may turn back.”
Spencer faced her, just in time to see her sink into the pillows. His shirt swallowed her small frame, the sleeves slipping past her slender wrists. The lower half of her body was hidden beneath the blanket, but he could easily imagine the hem barely brushing her upper thighs.
The thought sent a sharp pang through him—unexpected, unwelcome.
He tensed, his jaw tightening. She was vulnerable, exhausted, and wounded. This was not the time for such thoughts.
He forced his gaze up and nodded once, choosing not to speak.
She turned her face toward the fire.
“Where will you sleep?” She eyed the bed wearily.
“On the floor,” he told her simply.
“That means you will be below me,” she said. “You could… you could reach out, catch me off-guard.”
Anger surged through him. Perhaps the darker parts of him craved her, but he’d never touch her without her consent.
“I have already seen your back, Lady Eleanor, and had no inclination to do anything indecent,” he argued in a tight, furiousvoice. “That should be enough for you. I do not take advantage of women, no matter the circumstances.”
She opened her mouth, likely to protest again.
“Good night, Lady Eleanor,” he added, cutting her off. “Rest well.”
She slid further beneath the sheets. He did not watch her long enough to see how long it took her to look away from him or drift off. Instead, he stared into the flames, his back turned to her.
For now, they could both enjoy some peace.
