Page 81 of The Bachelor
She returned her attention to his thigh. “I assume that this is the part that was burned?”
“Yes.”
She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t let him see how deeply his wounds affected her. “It seems pretty bad. Does it still hurt?”
“No,” he said in a clipped voice.
Reaching for the garter on his injured leg, she glanced up at him. “May I?”
He nodded tightly. As she untied it and drew down his stocking, he talked, as if to keep his mind off what she was doing. “Aside from the woman I told you about, the one who recoiled when she saw this, the only people who have seen my wounds are Beatrice and a handful of doctors.”
She gazed at the withered leg as she unveiled it, realizing that he wasn’t putting his weight on it, which was why he could stand there without needing his cane. “Would you rather sit?”
“Yes, thank you.” He sat down and lifted his bad leg so she could pull off the stocking.
What she saw was truly sobering. There were long dents in the skin where the muscle had wasted away, scars upon scars, and burned flesh that had healed, leaving shiny, misshapen areas.
“How did you survive this?” she said, choking back tears. “You must be very strong-willed. Otherwise, you would have died in the hospital.”
“I daresay I survived because I was only in a hospital for a week. When our ship docked in Gosport, a letter was sent back to Armitage Hall about my injuries, and Beatrice and MacTilly, our Master of Hounds, showed up to transport me home. Beatrice said there was no way in hell she was leaving me in a hospital. And in truth, the doctors had already done everything they could do for me anyway.”
“I’ve always liked your sister.” Gwyn smiled at him. “And now I like her even more.”
“She was fearless. She got me through infections and fever and God knows what else. I was only half-conscious for most of the year I was in her care, so I don’t remember much. Between the laudanum and the whisky she poured into—and onto—me, she did whatever she had to do with me. And whatever she did worked. Though it’s a miracle I didn’t develop a craving for opium when it was all past me.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I wasn’t about to let her sacrifice go for naught. Not that she would have let me. There was no fighting her. She was determined to see me survive, and in the best possible situation she could manage.”
Gwyn struggled to contain her tears. “Then I owe her a debt of gratitude.”
“So do I,” he said hoarsely. “Because without her, I wouldn’t have lived to meet you.”
He leaned over to kiss her, so sweetly that it nearly broke her heart all over again. Then he drew back to pin her with a yearning look. “Gwyn, I know I’m not what you probably want, and I know that you would probably prefer a husband who lacks my difficulties, but . . .” He took a steadying breath. “Will you marry me? Take me as your husband with all my flaws? Have my children?”
Those last words were a sword cutting through all her happiness. “The problem is, well . . . I’m not sure I canhavechildren.”
She wasn’t entirely surprised when he eyed her with astonishment. “Why in God’s name would you think that?”
Oh, Lord, this was so hard. It had been easier telling Beatrice. “Because in addition to seducing me years ago, Lionel also got me with child.”
“You bore that arse a child?” Joshua said in a hollow voice.
Her stomach roiled at the thought of telling him all this. But she had to. If he truly wanted to marry her, he needed to know. “I didn’tbearthe child. I lost it when I was four months along. And the midwife who secretly cared for me afterward said she didn’t think I’d be able to have any more.” She cast him a wan smile. “That’s the other reason I haven’t married. Because every man wants a son to carry on his name. And I don’t know if I can provide one.”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “I don’t understand. Why on earth would you think you can’t have a son?”
“Not just a son. Any child.” With a sigh, she began to tell him everything she’d told Beatrice. He asked questions and made comments that showed he was thoroughly unfamiliar with the inner workings of women.
“So,” he said, “if I’m understanding you correctly, you think you can’t have children because of what one midwife said about your womb.”
“And because I lost my first child. Myonlychild so far.”
“That’s not saying much, because you’ve only shared a man’s bed twice. And it’s too early to know about that second time.” He lifted a brow. “I hear that the fellow who bedded you has his own problems.”
“Joshua, do be serious,” she chided him.
“I’m trying, honestly. But—” He scrubbed his face with one hand. “You said that your maid didn’t agree with her friend’s assessment? That means there’s a good chance that the midwife is wrong.”
