He bound the last of her scratches with a strip of linen and secured it neatly before rising to his feet. She found herself looking up at him again, too aware of the distance and how little of it remained.
“You’re a difficult woman to ignore, Lady Cordelia,” he told her, almost amused.
“I’m also a difficult woman to lift over one’s shoulder,” she muttered, feeling herself blushing.
“I had no trouble with that,” he murmured almost playfully and turned away to rinse the cloth.
Cordelia stared after him, heart oddly full and confused in equal measures. For he had no obligation to her. And yet, here she was, washed and bandaged and warm with something dangerously close to affection for a man she barely knew.
Chapter Eight
It was a well-established truth, at least in Cordelia’s mind, that nothing soothed a stormy heart quite like the city. The wind was brisker, the people more refreshing, and most importantly, there were no brooding dukes with penetrating eyes and inconvenient heroics to be found in Mayfair’s more fashionable tea houses.
Or so she prayed.
The Dowager Duchess had been called to her solicitor on family business of a delicate and dull nature, and with two hours of freedom granted, Cordelia had fled with the desperation of a ship escaping a squall. She needed tea, conversation, and the blessed certainty that she was still a person apart from her affliction.
The tea house on Bramble Street was an unassuming little establishment, tucked between a modiste’s and a pastry shop. Cordelia had chosen it with purpose; it was not a placefrequented by the ton’s most glittering ladies or scandal-seeking columnists. It was quiet, charming, and most importantly, it was where her two dearest friends awaited her.
The moment she stepped through the door, the soft tinkle of the bell above summoned a flurry of motion.
“Cordelia!”
Lady Matilda Sterlington, the Dowager Viscountess of Forth, was already rising from their table by the window, her hands clutching a dainty napkin like it might save her from collapsing under the weight of her own nerves. She was dressed, as always, with understated elegance of subtle greys and blues that did not compete with her delicate features or her honey-brown curls.
Lady Hazel Thorne, on the other hand, remained seated. Her expression was calm, her cup of tea balanced neatly in one hand. She raised an eyebrow as Cordelia hurried over.
“You’re late,” she said with a smirk. “Which means something dramatic has occurred. Sit down. We shall require detail.”
Cordelia flopped into the chair between them, removing her gloves like a soldier might remove armor after battle.
“I am,” she divulged in a hushed tone of voice, “in ruins.”
Matilda gasped softly. “Oh dear.”
Hazel merely poured her tea with unbothered grace. “So, the Dukeishandsome.”
They were, of course, informed of what had transpired in the past week as Cordelia had written to them both, assuring them that she was all right and safe.
“I never said it was about the Duke!” Cordelia hissed which, of course, only confirmed it.
Matilda’s hand flew to her chest. “You’re in love?”
“No!”
Hazel narrowed her eyes. “You kissed him again, didn’t you?”
“No!” Cordelia said again, more offended than was strictly warranted. “Well, not since the first time, but as I explained to you in my letter, that was a misunderstanding, and there was practically a corpse there at the time. I could hardly be expected to act normally under such conditions.”
“Oh, goodness me,” Matilda blinked with a chuckle. “I thought you kissed a dead man!”
“Well, no,” Cordelia clarified. “And he was just nearly dead. He got better… unfortunately.”
Hazel set down her tea. “Begin at the beginning. And do not leave out a single foolish detail.”
Cordelia groaned and dropped her forehead to the table. “I do not understand him. One moment he is carrying me across gardens and bandaging my wrists like some sort of romantic novel hero, and the next, he is furious with me for touching a cabinet I had no idea was sacred. He speaks so little, but when he does—ugh! I never know if I want to strangle him or… well. That.”
Hazel raised her brows. “Strangle him with affection?”
