Page 5 of A Talent for Temptation
Guilt choked him. “Not all your fault. The villain pushing you into me hadsomethingto do with it.”
“And that’s my fault, too.” She pulled a bottle out and poured some liquid from it onto a cloth, then leaned over him to dab at his wound.
“How so?” he ground out as the fluid against raw flesh burned.
“He was trying to abduct me,” she said, gently cleansing the wound with what smelled like alcohol. “No doubt to keep me from attending the ball tonight.”
Uh-oh. That was uncomfortably close to the truth, although Quinn hadn’t known she was going to a ball. “And . . . er . . . why should someone want to keep you from attending such a thing?”
She wouldn’t look at him. “I can’t talk about it.”
That utterly flummoxed him. “Why not?” Unless it was just as he’d guessed. She’d been going to be with “Gregory.” Again. “Were you supposed to meet Fulkham there?”Are you in love with your brother-in-law?His growing suspicion closed a fist about his heart.
“What?” she said, sounding truly surprised. “Certainly not. Why would you think that?”
“Well, you said he’d be out very late, and I thought perhaps you knew that because you were supposed to join him.” A hollow hurt settled in his gut. “When you cancel plans with me, it’s generally because of him.”
Her face closed up. “Your wound isn’t as bad as I feared, but it’s deep enough that I ought to stitch it up so it will heal properly.”
All thoughts of Fulkham flew right out of his head as she drew some thread and a needle out of her chest of horrors.
Not liking being at a disadvantage, he sat up, then clamped his hand over his arm. “You arenotgoing to practice your embroidery skills on me.”
She ignored him and threaded the needle. “Don’t be so skittish. I’ve done this before.”
“What, sewn up wounds?” When she nodded, he said, “Who the hellareyou? What sort of gently bred woman carries a knifeandknows how to sew up a wound?”
Her lips thinned. “It’s complicated.”
“Clearly. So do me the favor of uncomplicating it by explaining.”
“I told you—I can’t,” she said, clearly exasperated.
“Then I’m not letting you anywhere near my arm with that needle.”
“Fine,” she snapped. “Wait until you can see a doctor. Get an infection. What do I care?”
“Obviously not enough to let me know anything about your past. Not enough to tell me your hopes for the future.” His throat tightened. He took a chance and said the words he’d been suppressing for weeks. “Not enough to be honest and tell me why every time I bring up marriage, you change the subject.”
Her face fell. “Oh, Quinn . . .” She appeared to be debating something. Then she dragged in a heavy breath. “Let me stitch up your wound, and I swear I’ll tell you as much as I dare.”
Dare? That sounded ominous. But he couldn’t go on like this. It was turning him into a blithering fool, and he wasn’t used to feeling that way.
He uncovered his wound. “Thank you.”
She rose and walked over to a decanter. Pouring a generous portion of brandy, she returned to his side with the glass. “Here, you may need this,” she said as she held it out to him.
“You’re damned right I will.” To soften the pain of being used as a pincushion,andto soften the blow of whatever she was about to say.
God rot it. He downed the contents in one long swallow, relishing the burn. At least he could be drunk while she dashed all his hopes.
Looking a bit nervous, she sat down and took his arm in her hand. “Your wound really isn’t so bad. It’ll take two, three stitches at the most.”
“Just get it over with,” he growled.
She stuck the needle in him.
“Mother of God and all that’s holy,” he hissed through his teeth. “Are you sure you’ve done this before?”
