A Marquess for Christmas (4 page)

Violet
took the cloth and scissors and went to work. It felt good to have the sturdy
cotton between her fingers. She cut a few inches then tore the fabric all the
way to the end. She’d learned that ripping was faster than cutting when time
was of the essence.

They
sat in silence for a moment as they both worked. If Violet closed her eyes, she
would swear they were back in Portugal. If she listened hard enough, maybe she
would hear Mrs. Santiago’s rasping voice as she yelled at Violet to return to
the safety of the church, where the rest of the women waited for news of their
loved ones. In her mind, she could hear the groans of the wounded soldiers in
the infirmary.
  

It
sounded so real that she looked up. Avery had wrapped new bandages over her
previous makeshift attempt. The gentleman groaned as the cloth tightened over
his head.

“Be
glad for the pain, my lord,” Avery said. “It means you are alive. If all were
numb, I’d fear for you.”

It
was the second time he’d referred to the man as lord rather than sir. Could he
be an aristocrat as Avery assumed? She was certain he was wealthy, but beyond
that, she could not tell for sure.

The
man’s eyes were glazed and she wasn’t sure if he could see her.

“Can
you speak?” she asked gently.

He
mumbled. “
Aahh
,” he cried as Avery tied the bandages
off.

“What
happened to him?”

Violet
explained how she’d been accosted on the road and the gentleman came to her
rescue. “The thief was crafty and underhanded. There was a scuffle, but as the
gentleman went for his pistol, the thief smashed a rock into his head. At
first, I couldn’t tell which of them had been shot. There was blood
everywhere.”

“We
cannot know how long it will take for Dr. Littleton to arrive. We should clean
him up and see to his pain.”

“Shall
I get a draught of laudanum?” She wondered why she hadn’t thought of it when
she’d first gotten home. The poor man’s skull had been bashed within an inch of
his life. “His pain must be immense.”

Avery
looked into her eyes. “I suspect it is far worse than that, my lady.”

“I
will return shortly.”

Violet
hurried from the room and got the key to the cupboard where she kept the
medicine and a few aged bottles of Scotch. She took a bottle of the whiskey and
the laudanum. She preferred wine, but if there was ever a night where she
needed the neat burn of a good Scotch, this was it.

As
she entered the room, Sally and Avery were bathing the gentleman. He was naked
and she could clearly see every inch of him from head to knee.
Good heavens.

His
body was marked with bruises, some new and some with a greenish tint, which
must have been from an older injury. There were nicks and scars on his chest
and arms and a few on his face. Where had he gotten those?

Her
gaze traveled downward. She bit her lip and tried not to stare, despite the
fact that he was as well made down there as he was everywhere else. He had more
than enough to satisfy a woman, particularly considering he would only get
bigger when aroused.

Stop looking at his nakedness and concentrate.
Violet closed her eyes to regain her composure. In any other circumstance, she
would walk right out of the room and wait until he was decently covered. But
war had taught her that modesty and necessity did not make good companions.

Whatever
missish
notions she’d ever possessed had been wiped
from her during the two years she’d spent with John in the fields of Portugal.
Women were shielded from the atrocities as much as possible, but Violet had an
iron stomach and sturdy hands, so she refused to be left with the weeping women
holed up in safety.

“My
lady!” Sally cried.

Avery
ignored the exchange and kept working. It took a lot to ruffle him, though she
could swear she saw the barest corner of his mouth move.

“No
need to protect my modesty, Sally.” Violet stepped into the room, laid the
Scotch on a table then approached the bed, medicine in hand. She set it on the
bedside table and pulled the covers back completely. “I am a widow and I
attended His Majesty’s soldiers in the infirmary. I’ve seen far more than this.
‘
Tis
you who should be shielded from such
impropriety. Go on and fetch more hot water.”

Violet
waved her hand to shoo the girl away.

“Yes,
milady.”

Turning
her attention back to the injured man, she brushed soap over the damp cloth
then put it into the basin of warm water. She’d wrung out the towel when Avery
interrupted her.

“Laudanum
first. It will hurt less.”

She
took a spoonful of liquid, pulled the man’s mouth open, and poured it inside.
Since the teaspoon was small, she poured a little more and gave him a second
dose.

The
man’s mouth made a sour face, but she closed his jaw and made him swallow it
all.

“I
should’ve told Sally to fetch some tea. Laudanum tastes worse than a radish
covered in dirt.”

This
time, Avery did manage a tiny smile.

“Do
not tell me it is my feminine sensibilities.” Violet crossed her arms and
stared at the butler. He was teasing her without uttering a word, something he
did often, though no one else seemed to notice it.

The
man coughed loudly. She rushed to pat him on the back.

“
Neber
sheen.” Cough. “Woman like you.”

Avery
still wore his half-smile and Violet realized that both of the men were
laughing at her.

“Well,
obviously you have not been acquainted with many women.”

The
man shook his head. “Plenty.” He groaned loudly and raised his hands to his
face.

She
put her hands to his temple and pressed lightly, rubbing in the slowest circles
she could manage. “See, you should not argue with a lady.” She continued
ministering to him until she could hear his breathing become even.

When
she lifted up, he caught her hand and held it. “Thank you.”

“You
are welcome.” She looked into his eyes and they seemed less cloudy and dark.
“Do not talk too much. You should rest, but try to stay awake until the doctor
comes.”

“You
should do the same, my lady,” Avery said to her.

“But
we haven’t finished. He needs to be bathed.” She went back to the basin and
wrung out the towel. It was warm still, but most of the heat had gone.

Tenderly,
she wiped her patient’s face, but paused when she caught him staring at her.
For the space of two breaths, she couldn’t move. The water trickled down from
the edge of the towel, pooling over his chest.

This
man was not her husband, but here she was, leaning over his naked body, bathing
and stroking his skin, wishing that he would press his lips to hers.

“This
might go faster if you would allow me,” Avery said, breaking their stare.

She
looked and realized he had bathed half of the man’s body in the time it had
taken her to wipe his face.

Violet’s
cheeks burned. She was going to hell for this. Her duty was to bathe and nurse.
Nothing else.

“I
am sorry,” she said.

“Perhaps
my lady should go and take a bath and get into clean clothes. He will be fine
until you return.”

Violet
nodded, which caused her to look down and see that the gentleman wasn’t so limp
as before. She turned her head away, ashamed for looking at him so intimately
while he was nearly helpless.

It
was natural for a man to be stimulated while being stroked and bathed. And he
was barely conscious as it was. There was no need to assume that it meant
anything more than that.

So
why did she want it to?

Violet
glanced at the butler and nodded before hurrying from the room. She dared not
look at the gentleman again.

* * * *

A
hot, steaming bath did little to soothe Violet’s nerves. The water felt good,
but the tightness in her limbs had less to do with weariness from her ordeal
and more to do with the fact that she was still thinking about
him.

As
if she could do aught else with her ladies’ maid quizzing her.

“How
gallant. Did he really take on both thieves on his own?” Miriam looked
dreamy-eyed as she washed Violet’s arm. “Sally said that even with the bandages
and blood, she could see that he was handsome. Is he handsome?”

Violet
nodded. To speak might give away more than she wanted. Miriam was a sweet and
devoted girl, but she loved to gossip. She hadn’t the discretion of Sally or
Mrs. Norris. But the girl was sharp as a tack.

“A
dashing gentleman, a lady in distress. It’s like a tale from Camelot.”

“Hardly.
In Camelot, the villains do not use pistols.”

Violet
sank deeper into the copper tub. She lifted her leg for Miriam to wash. The
girl started with her feet, giving them a good scrub before she moved up her
shin.

“Will
he stay with us?”

“As
we have yet to obtain his name or title and he is unfit for travel, yes, he
will remain here for a few days.”

Violet
suspected he would not be ready for transport even at the end of the week, but
kept that to herself. She didn’t want to think past the next three days. If she
did, her mind would wander into dangerous thoughts.

“You
think him a nobleman, then? Oh, what if he is a duke or a prince!”

A
laugh was her reply. Her maid had an eager imagination. A prince. If he had
been, surely Violet would recognize him. The English princes were far too old
and portly to be chasing thieves and wrestling in the dirt and surely a foreign
prince would have a retinue following him everywhere.

“I
doubt he is a prince. Would a prince be travelling alone on a country road at
dusk?” Violet shook her head. “No, he would be dressing for some royal affair
or sleeping off last night’s soiree with ten servants in attendance.”

“Maybe
an earl or a viscount then.” Miriam circled her knee and washed her thigh.
“Imagine, you could be a countess before Easter. Then we could get new livery
and everyone would have to call you my lady, not just us.” Miriam’s green eyes
were bright and her freckles softened under her happy glow.

“The
man may not survive the week and already you are planning his marriage and
future.”

“If
he is not married yet, he ought to be.”

The
maid was besotted with him already and hadn’t seen more than a glimpse of him.

“Let
us focus on keeping him alive for now. We can worry about his marital affairs
later.”

“Yes,
my lady.”

Violet
patted her cheek. She looked like her mother now, Violet’s distant cousin, who
had died years ago from scarlet fever. She’d made a poor match and being the
wife of a fisherman had never suited her.

Miriam
and Violet had the same rich, dark hair and soft, full lips. But whereas
Violet’s skin was clear, Miriam’s was dotted heavily with freckles and Violet’s
eyes were hazel while Miriam’s were a bright shade of jade.

Though
she did not envy her maid’s reduced circumstances, Violet envied her ability to
see the world as fresh and evergreen.

The
girl moved to the other foot, smiling as she scrubbed. Though she said no more
about their mysterious guest, Violet knew her cousin was continuing to
daydream.

Try
as she might, she was not immune to the other girl’s fantasies. Who was her
rescuer? Was he a nobleman as Avery and Miriam assumed or a well-to do
gentleman? Either way, she suspected he was above her station.

Violet
was a gentlewoman, with her own house, but she was certainly not the wealthiest
widow in the shire. She lived quite happily on her two thousand pounds a year
and never had want of anything. But she made no pretentions to nobility.

The
man could very well be an earl or a viscount. As soon as he was coherent enough
to tell her his identity, she would find his family. Though she’d gotten him to
safety, his condition could worsen at any time. Violet couldn’t bear the
thought of his relatives searching for him, never knowing what happened. In the
war, she’d seen the faces of too many wives waiting in vain for their husbands
to return from the battlefield.

Did
he have a wife? Some beautiful countess or baroness who watched the window for
his return? Had Violet been fantasizing about a man who belonged to someone
else?

“Could
you fetch more hot water?” Violet asked, wanting her solitude.

Miriam
rose and gave a slight curtsey and left the room.

Violet
closed her eyes again, settling deeper into the water, letting her hands roam
over her skin, stroking and teasing as they made their way down. Her body
needed release. Not merely from the stress of the day, but from seeing a
handsome, naked man—who was only a few steps down the hall. It had been
so long since she’d been intimate with anyone and now she yearned to know that
pleasure again.

As
she touched herself, his image formed in her mind. Try as she might, she could
not erase it, could not think of anyone else. She imagined her hero whole and
perfect, as he’d been when he’d galloped toward her on the road. She could see
his luscious lips and silky hair and his firm, confident hands.

 
Hands that would know exactly how to
hold her, how to caress her skin. And when he put his lips to her neck, she’d
tremble down to the tips of her toes. Her fingers would fly down the buttons of
his waistcoat and divest him of his shirt and
underthings
.

She’d
kiss her way over his chest, nuzzling the fine hair with her nose, making her
way down his abdomen. The buttons of his trousers would go as quickly as the
rest and she would hastily strip his leggings and drawers until he stood as naked
and proud as a Roman statue.

Her
breath would catch when she gripped his shaft and stroked him. His hands would
caress her derrière until she was damp with excitement. And she would feel his
power as he yielded to her demanding hands. She would grip the hair at the base
of his scalp as she pumped him, taking him down into the depths of desire with
her.