Page 35 of A Lady's Lesson in Scandal
‘For telling me about Nora. She’s an idiot, by the way. And wrong.’
Drake shook his head, letting his fingers graze over an unbroken line of creamy skin. ‘I suppose there are a few topics on which we actually agree.’
‘Yes, but there is also one topic that we decidedly don’t agree on. It isn’t that you aren’t good enough for her; it’s that you’re far too good.’
Drake’s hand paused, and he held his breath.
She is wrong. So wrong.
But he didn’t have the heart to tell her. Because it mattered that she found worth in him. He hated how much it mattered.
‘At any rate, I don’t think Nora deserves any more of our attention,’ Millicent continued. ‘Tell me something else. What’s a funny story about the fierce and formidable Major General Drake?’
Drake sucked in air and bit his lip. She was like balm on his ragged soul. Millicent made talking about his worst moments easy. The least he could do was distract her from her own pain with a silly story. So, he dove deep into his memories and told her about a night out drinking with Killian and the Renquist brothers that ended with Drake waking up in Killian’s wine cellar with a broken nose, a massive shiner, no shoes, and no recollection of how he’d gotten there.
By the time Drake removed all the bandages, Millicent was shaking, and sweat trickled from her hairline down her cheek.
‘Brave woman. I need to wash your back before I apply the balm. Can you stay standing, or would you rather sit?’
She must be in excruciating pain, but she hadn’t even whimpered.
‘I’m fine. Your stories helped, though I’m shocked at the behaviour of four such honourable gentlemen.’
‘Titles hardly make a man honourable.’
‘Another point upon which we agree.’
Drake hurried to a washbasin by the window and poured water into the bowl. A cloth was folded next to it. Taking it up, he lathered the piece of cotton with soap. The lye would sting likethe Devil, but there was no getting around it. Keeping wounds clean and well-dressed was the best way to avoid infection.
He returned to Millicent. Before washing her wounds, he placed a hand on her shoulder. She shuddered at his touch as he leaned closer, his lips almost brushing the shell of her ear. ‘I will be as gentle as I can. But this will hurt, Millicent. I am so sorry.’
Millicent laughed. A husky melody that tripped over his senses like whiskey. ‘Trust me, I’ve lived through worse.’
In the midst of his burning lust, suspicion flared again. Exactly what had she experienced to be so calm and collected in the face of intense pain? And why was she approaching this terrible event with the stalwart constitution of a seasoned soldier? Did the duchess have anything to do with Millicent’s unusual ability to face impending agony with controlled focus?
In a man, such courage would be admirable. In a woman, it inspired distrust. Hardly a flattering truth about Drake’s opinion of women in general and his fiancée in particular. He shook his head, trying to clear the swirling thoughts.
‘You are a unique creature, Millicent. Such bravery is rarely found in men or women. You face disaster with such determination.’ Dear God. He respected her. The startling truth rocked him.
Millicent turned, still holding the dress against her chest. Her eyes were huge in the dim light, her pupils almost taking over the warm chocolate irises. She shifted her hold on the dress to free an arm. Reaching behind his neck, her fingers brushed against the back of his skull. Pulling his head down, she pressed a kiss against his cheek. It was innocent and honest and so fucking arousing, Drake almost dropped his soapy cloth. Lemons and cotton infiltrated his senses.
Pulling away, she held his gaze. ‘Thank you.’
And then she turned again, facing the fire, and once more gave him her savaged back.
Holy shit. I’m in trouble.
Drake survived many things. Betrayal. Torture. Imprisonment. But he couldn’t survive Millicent Whittenburg. Of that, he was certain.
9
Millie was falling. And whenever one fell, one crashed and usually broke. Of that, she was certain.
To be seen with such clarity was a terrifying thing. Especially when it was so important she remain cloaked in shadows. But Major General Beaufort Drake, hater of women, killer of tyrants, courageous warrior for the prime minister, thought she was brave.
Oh my.
And everything he’d shared about his past with the despicable Nora only made him more desirable. Millie loved a challenge. Finding a soft place in Drake’s broken heart would be quite the feat. But was that a space she wanted to inhabit? As Drake carefully applied the balm to her cuts, her heart bled far more intensely than her wounds. How was she supposed to resist the hard, angry, beautiful, broken, scarred, brilliant man?
