Page 4 of When a Duke Loves a Woman
“What is a woman of means doing here?” he asked distractedly, as his hands moved swiftly over the man, locating each wound, giving it a quick peek before moving on to the next.
She hadn’t had the means when she’d begun. Her oldest brother had set her up, and she was still working hard to make something of herself. “Providing drink to those who want it, employment to those who need it.”
He slid his pale blue gaze over to her. “I was making a point, Gillie. Don’t assume you know what you don’t.” He jerked his head toward the small kitchen area. “Now, can you take his feet, while I lift him by the shoulders, and help me haul him onto the table?”
It was a struggle, but she had height on her side to give them the leverage needed to get the man off the floor and stretched out onto her wooden table. He was a tall tankard of ale, his legs below the knees dangling off the oak. He had some heft to him. She could see that, splayed out as he was. Broad shoulders, a working man’s shoulders. The lean torso of a chap who didn’t spend the better part of his days or nights engaged in gluttony. Activity ruled him. She very much doubted he was a toff. But based on the fine threads of the clothes that remained to him and how perfectly they were cut to fit him, he, too, had means.
“Warm water,” Graves said absently, snapping her attention away from a perusal she had no business making. Time was of the essence if this man was to be saved, and the physician, rightfully so, expected her to see to his bidding, to assist with his endeavors.
She shoved some wood into the stove, got a fire going, filled a pot with water, put it on to warm, then stared at it, suddenly uncomfortable that she had not one but two men in her flat. She didn’t bring men here, didn’t entertain visitors, not even her brothers. These rooms served as her sanctuary, the place where she could escape from the harsh realities of life and find a measure of peace that made it easier to go out in the world. Her tendency had always been to withdraw because the hustle and bustle of a great number of people tended to sap her of energy. In order to survive, she’d taught herself not to retreat, but she still required a haven where she could restore her calm in order to better face the world.
Testing the water, she decided it was warm enough, poured it into a large bowl used for mixing pastry, turned around, and very nearly dropped the porcelain dish. Graves had removed the man’s clothing, every stitch, and was examining the wound in his thigh—the one near his cock, flaccid but still impressively thick and long.
As a child, she’d seen her brothers’ personal areas when they got their weekly baths, but they’d been boys, and this gent was certainly no boy. From head to toe, he was quite the imposing specimen, with well-defined muscles. The hair on his chest was dark and curly, arrowed down to his pelvis, down to that part of his person that should not have made it difficult to breathe. She set the bowl on the table near his head, scampered over to the linen cupboard, and yanked out a sheet.
“Good,” Graves said. “We’ll need some strips.”
She swung around. “I was thinking of covering him, for his modesty’s sake.”
Understanding crossed over the physician’s face as he held out his hand. “Sorry, Gillie. I wasn’t thinking.” She realized he was very much aware that it was her modesty at stake.
Taking the sheet from her, he spread it over his patient, leaving the wounded thigh bared along with most of his torso. The draped sheet molded itself to the man’s contours, did very little to stop her from envisioning what was beneath the white linen. She feared she was blushing like a modest chit, not an experienced tavern owner. “Is he going to live?”
“Hope so. Shoulder and thigh are the worst, but nothing major hit. He has a deep gash in his backside. Got lucky with the stab to his side and the one on his arm as it appears both were just glancing slashes, not deep enough to have nicked anything important. But he’s still lost a lot of blood.” Looking up, he held her gaze. “He’s fortunate you found him when you did.”
“Tell me what I can do to help.”
“I need to thoroughly clean out these wounds, which will be an incredibly unpleasant process for him, and then close them up. I don’t want him waking and fighting me, so I’m going to use chloroform. Once I have him in a good sleep, I’ll need you to keep him that way until I’m finished with my work. I think you’re sharp enough to follow my instructions, if willing.”
She nodded jerkily. “Whatever you need.”
“You won’t swoon on me?”
“Don’t be daft.”
Although her stomach did get a bit queasy if she watched him work, so she concentrated on studying the patient, searching for any signs he might be stirring from his slumber. His face was marred with bruises, one on his jaw, one on his cheek. His eyelid was swelling. Three punches then. Not to mention the dark discolorations on various areas of his arms and torso. He’d fought. Hard.
She didn’t understand people not just handing over their valuables. Objects weren’t as dear as life. But then, going by looks alone, this man seemed the uncompromising sort.
He had a strong jaw, shadowed by dark stubble. He’d not taken a razor to his face recently, so she didn’t think he’d been wandering the area in search of a woman. Most fellows tidied themselves up a bit, even if they were paying for the loving they were going to receive.
Before Graves had begun his work, she’d poured warm water into another bowl. Now she dipped a cloth into it and gently began wiping away the dried blood on the stranger’s face, not much liking what she was revealing. Even with the cuts and bruises, he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. He did funny things to her insides, made them feel all tingly and fluttery, a new sensation for her. Men didn’t usually cause any reaction in her at all, except for a watchfulness. She’d learned early on that when it came to her person, she couldn’t trust men to behave, so she was always ready to put them in their place and ensure they knew they’d get nothing from her that she wasn’t willing to give. Until that moment, she hadn’t even gifted any bloke with the press of her lips to his.
Her mum had worried about her safety in the rookeries, and as a result of her apprehensions had dressed her in her brothers’ discarded clothing, cropped her hair, and bound her breasts when they’d begun to appear. She was nearly grown before she’d donned a skirt. She was comfortable not garnering attention, preferred it. Even at the tavern, she favored staying behind the bar, seldom going out among the customers, unless trouble was brewing.
Her presence intimidated. Her height made her impossible to overlook, her glare promised retribution. Not from her fists, necessarily, although she did have a rather decent punch. But she had four brothers with mightier fists who were always at the ready to defend her, and everyone knew it.
No doubt that was the reason the ruffians had run off when she’d called out to them, which meant they were from the area. That sickened her, the thought someone she might have served would do this to a man, a man as gorgeous as this one, a man it was a pleasure to touch, even if linen separated her skin from his. When all the dirt was removed from his face, she wanted to lean in and kiss away the scrapes and bruises, wanted to heal what she had no power to mend.
She’d never been very motherly, the reality of her youth shoving aside those instincts. Whenever her brothers had been roughed up, she’d seen to their injuries with a dispassionate air, always mindful of protecting her heart. It hurt too much to care. She knew her limits, knew her path. It didn’t involve marriage, children, or love.
The injured man made her wish she was softer than she was, that she could wrap herself around him and give him all the comfort she’d hoarded for years.
“There,” Graves said, breaking the ridiculous spell under which she’d fallen, staring at a man as though he would awaken and be pleased to find himself within her arms. “That should do him for now.”
She rather regretted she wouldn’t get to clean the rest of him, was almost envious of the lucky person who would. Setting the cloth into the bowl, she carried both to the sink, knowing they needed to be out of the way for what was to come next.
“If you’ll give me a hand, we’ll move him to the bed,” Graves said.
