Page 29 of The Wayward Duke
Caroline exhaled. “I thought as much. For Mr Wentworth?”
He didn’t reply, focusing on her torn dress. “Any other injuries? The absolute truth.”
“Bruises and scratches. Though I may need to burn this gown now.” She attempted a wan smile, but it faltered at his stony expression.
What had once been an exquisite, gauzy confection was a tattered, filthy rag. Julian’s throat tightened at the visible evidence of what she had faced tonight. He could have lost her.
Wordlessly, he brought her abraded hand to his lips, breathing in the scent of her skin beneath the smoke and dust. Then he threaded his fingers through hers as the carriage rolled on through the streets.
12
Caroline stared out the carriage window as London sped past, buildings reduced to shadows and fragmented light. Julian’s thumb swept her knuckles in steady rhythm, anchoring her amid visceral memories churning through her thoughts. The bone-jarring explosion. Debris searing her skin. The hellish landscape of torn bodies and crumbling ruins, rubble shifting beneath her boots. She could still taste the acrid tang of smoke coating her throat.
The carriage rolled to a stop, wheels a distant crunch over the gravel drive.
“Let’s get you inside,” Julian said gently.
He alighted first, then turned and lifted her down. He steered her straight upstairs to the washroom and eased her onto a stool beside the copper tub. “Wait here while I fetch supplies and draw you a bath,” he instructed.
When he returned, his arms were laden with linen, scissors, brandy, and a steaming basin. He set them on the tiles before her and knelt, taking her bloodied hands between his own.
“This will hurt,” he warned. “But I need to clean them properly. I’ll be quick.”
She sucked in a breath, bracing. “I know. Just do it.”
Even with warning, she still flinched at the first touch. Julian kept his grip gentle as he swabbed every cut, clearing away blood and grit. Caroline focused on him – shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows, exposed forearms corded with muscle. Here knelt the elusive Duke of Hastings, scion of one of the noblest families in the kingdom, a powerful man humbled before her. Not a hint of impatience marked that austere face, only calm competence.
Unexpected tenderness pierced her, stealing her breath. This man had shielded her body with his own – and now he scrubbed the blood and grime from her torn flesh as if she were infinitely precious.
“I’m sorry,” Julian said when she gasped. His touch remained gentle. “I know it hurts like the devil.”
“A small price to pay for having all my limbs still attached.”
“You were brave,” he said, continuing his ministrations. “Quite commanding.”
“Well, there are some benefits to this duchess business. At least people snap to attention when I start bellowing orders.”
Amusement softened his tone. “Like a general marshalling troops into battle.”
She gave a laugh. “Yes, I’m sure that’s precisely how I looked. Covered in blood and soot, gown ripped to tatters. People will probably describe me as a deranged harpy.”
His hands stilled on hers. “I think what people will tell me is that my wife was ferocious tonight.”
Wife.
The word resonated through her chest. Spoken in that smoke-rough voice, as if he were relearning her measure.
“They might,” she conceded. Casting about for safer conversational ground, Caroline ventured, “You needn’t wait on me, you know. I’m perfectly capable of bathing alone.”
“Have you seen the state of these hands?” he asked. “I doubt you could even unbutton your gown.”
Stubborn man.“You underestimate my determination regarding personal hygiene.”
“And you underestimate my determination regarding you. Now stand so I can undress you.”
Too weary to argue further, Caroline rose to her feet. Julian’s hands went to her waist, steadying her. She shivered as his warm breath tickled her ear.
“There’s my good girl,” he all but purred.
