Page 56 of The Duke
She made an expectant gesture, as though she’d already known. But how could she have done?
“Cole,” he blurted. “My friends call me Cole.”
“Cole.” Her eyes crinkled at the sides, signifying that he’d pleased her. “We’re not exactly friends, are we?”
That brought a wry smile to his face. “I’d rather we no longer be enemies.”
“I’d like that as well,” she replied, her face shining with genuine satisfaction. “And you may call me Imogen.”
He wanted to say her name. Wanted to test the intimacy on his tongue, so lush and lovely was the word. But the way she looked at him now, the light in her hazel eyes masking something dark and haunted opened a tender ache in his chest he’d not known since…
“You are so dreadfully kind,” he accused. “So good. Do you never hold a grudge? Do you not hate anyone?”
“I don’t know if I’m capable of hatred.” She glanced outside, as though testing her theory. “I firmly believe that hatred is a disease. And one does not cure a disease by propagating it, does one? I believe, Iknow,that kindness can be infectious too. And that is something worth diffusion. That is why I am attempting this undertaking. To show kindness to those who don’t know the meaning of the word.”
“Even now?” he marveled. “After what happened last night?”
“Especially after what happened last night,” she said gravely. “Though I do believe I’ll need to hire more protection… perhaps Mr. Argent is aware of someone.”
“I don’t know if you’re intrepidly courageous or just fantastically daft.”
“Let’s agree on the former, because then we can remain civil.” A hard glint of warning underscored the levity in her voice. “For a moment there, I thought you had remembered how.”
“Remembered?” he scoffed. “It is a vast assumption on your part that I’ve ever demonstrated civility in the first place.”
“No it isn’t,” she argued, solemnity replacing all humor. “I know that you’re capable of kindness.”
Cole didn’t have time to puzzle over the volumes of meaning in her regard.
“How fares your wrist?” She deftly changed the subject, turning his arm until it faced upward and inspecting the straps much like she’d done in the garden. “Does it still trouble you as it did last night?”
“It’ll keep.” It did bother him still, but not so much as the tender concern knitting her brow, or the probing gentleness of her touch.
Amusement dimpled her cheek, which he was glad to notice regained more color by the second. “Such a masculine response,” she murmured demurely. To illustrate her teasing, no doubt. “I believe I can procure a salve of comfrey, lavender, and a fractionated oil that will soothe the irritation. I’ll send my maid, Lillian, to deliver it when I’m able.” She glanced uncertainly out the window, then visibly set her chin and met his gaze with the steady capability and authority of a Major General, or a long-time nurse. “You should apply it at least twice daily, and most liberally at night. It would be best if you avoid wearing your ill-fitting prosthesis unless absolutely necessary until it can be adjusted to avoid exacerbation.”
Something pleasant glided through him. Something other than awareness, frustration, or even desire.
He dare not call it admiration. He dare not call it that…
“You must have been an extraordinary nurse,” he blurted. “I can see why Anstruther didn’t want to relinquish your care of him.”
His compliment seemed to startle her just as intensely as it did himself. Her eyes, turned an intriguing shade of sage by the room’s décor, became positively owlish and unblinking.
It was Cole who ultimately looked away, searching for safer ground. “I’ll admit to having had very few women in my society with any amount of employment experience,” he said conversationally. “What was it like, being a nurse?”
Imogen withdrew her hand from inside his cuff, as if barely realizing the improper amount of time she’d spent with her hand against his skin. After a thoughtful silence, she answered softly, “Messy. Difficult. Sad… Infuriating and utterly fulfilling.”
“Do you miss it?” he asked, before he could think of a reason not to.
“Sometimes. Though I think I am more suited to what I am doing now,” she said carefully. “I believe I was always meant to help those in need. I want to do everything in my power to alleviate pain.”
He nodded as he silently watched her deft, elegant fingers secure his cufflink. He had to admit that, despite his protestations, there was nobility in her cause. Her intentions were ceaselessly honorable, he knew that now. Finished with his cufflink, she laid her hand over the one with which Cole braced himself on the cushion beside her knee.
“What was it like being a sp—a soldier?” she corrected herself before calling him a spy.
He searched her gaze, waiting for the familiar savage, chaotic emotions to well within him when he thought of his military career these days.
They didn’t. In fact, a strange sort of half-smile tugged at his lips. “Messy. Difficult. Sad… Infuriating and utterly fulfilling.”
