“I can and I will,” she said, knowing she was being foolishly stubborn, for she could hardly lift herself up without feeling like an ax had just split her head in half.
Her body began to spin out of kilter the moment she tried to stand.
But her uncle was dead and did she not have an obligation to find his killer?
“You’ll fall if you try to take a step. Blessed saints. Just stay in bed, Gory. Why must you always be so stubborn? I won’t tell Greeves the reason for summoning Dr. Farthingale. He knows better than to question me when I order him fetched at once. This is serious, your head wound cannot go untreated.”
She eased back against his pillows because she was going to cast up her accounts if she attempted to rise again. “Very well,” she muttered, frustrated that he was right.
Her head was still spinning and she was close to losing consciousness again. She knew Dr. Farthingale could be trusted, and how was she ever to start investigating if she did not even have the strength to get out of bed? She would be of no use at all, unable to observe the evidence and then dissect each clue without a clear head.
It was bad enough her heart was in tatters.
She was distraught, even though she and her uncle had never been close. In truth, he and his wife were odious. But he was still her blood kin and no one deserved to die in this horrible manner.
Julius left her side a moment to await Greeves, the Huntsford’s reliable head butler, in the hallway.
Gory closed her eyes, but opened them when she sensed his return.
She felt disoriented, uncertain how much time had elapsed, but thought it was more than a few minutes.
Julius was silently attending to a task at the opposite end of the room, unaware she had awakened and was watching him. These Thorne brothers were big men, yet quite graceful on their feet. Julius moved with the stealth of a cat, silent and predatory, as though always on the prowl. This is what these Thorne men were, big and powerful cats. Strong. Territorial. Ready to fight for what was theirs and always protective of those taken into their fold.
She curled up more comfortably under his bedding, feeling safer than she had ever felt before as the nice male scent of him surrounded her and soothed her with each breath. Upon looking around the room, she realized she must have shut her eyes for more than a mere moment. A fire had been lit in the hearth, and Julius was now off in a corner with his back to her as he…mercy.
He removed his shirt, unaware she was watching, and revealed his sculpted form.
Her heart began to beat faster as she stared at his broad shoulders.
Her entire body tingled as she took in all that naked expanse of skin.
Had she died and gone to heaven?
Still unaware she was awake, he began to rinse the blood off himself. Her uncle’s blood. He was too busy attending to his task to notice she was gawking at him. It must have gotten all over his hands and clothes while helping her out of her gown.
Her breath caught as she watched his movements by firelight.
It was as though he was performing an intimate dance just for her, each sinuous tug and flex of his muscles magnificently ethereal in their beauty. She took in every detail of his perfectly formed muscles…deltoid, trapezius…rhomboid. His dance was a waltz and Gory began to silently count in time the music in her head. One, two, three. He dipped a cloth into the water and then ran it languidly along his upper body.
And again.
One, two, three.
He dipped the cloth into the water and ran it over his body yet again. The droplets glistened as they trickled down his neck and slid onto his sculpted back and shoulders, a trick of the firelight illuminating him in its golden aura.
The waltz whirled in her head.
She almost moaned aloud when he turned to glance at her and she caught sight of his taut, muscled chest. He had a sprinkling of dark hair across his bronzed skin, the droplets of water also glistening as he casually rubbed the cloth along that broad expanse. Several droplets slowly wended their way downward to his lean stomach.
And lower.
Shocked by the heat of her response, she quickly closed her eyes again and dared not open them until some time later when he shook her lightly and whispered her name. “Gory,” he said, his voice gentle and deeply resonant.
She sighed and turned to look up at him. “I drifted off.”
“Understandable. You’ve been through a lot tonight.” He had donned a plain, white shirt, but wore no cravat or jacket, nor even a waistcoat. Not that formality was required at this hour of the night while she was in his bed and naked beneath his robe, no less.
He settled in the chair beside the bed, his expression one of concern as he studied her intently by the dim light of the lamp on the night stand beside her and the distant glow of firelight that chased the dampness out of the room and warmed it.
