Wang turned to her, his dark eyes softening slightly. “Yes,” he said simply. “But arrogance is their weakness. The first rule of fighting is never underestimate your opponent. We should leave before they recover.”
He stepped behind her once again, grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and pulled her away from the fray, towards the relative safety of the carriage, standing farther down the alley.
By the time they arrived home, and Wang reached in to carry her inside, her heartbeat had returned to a semblance of normalcy. But when she draped her arm around his shoulder, she touched a wet spot on his jacket.
Lifting the hand, it came away bloodied. “Kai, you’re injured!”
“Just a scratch. One of the ruffians had a blade.”
“We need to clean and close the wound,” she stated.
“I know.” He gave her a small smile that melted her heart. “I’ll ask Colin to patch me up.”
“No, don’t. If you ask Colin, then you’ll have to explain where we were and what we were doing. I can do it.”
“They’ll have to learn soon enough, Esther,” he said.
“I know. But not just yet. I-I’m not ready. Let me do it. Please. Let me take care of you as you did of me.”
He studied her with that steady, penetrating gaze, and whatever he saw on her face satisfied him, for he agreed. “Very well. My bedchamber or yours?”
She sucked in a breath and stared at him wide-eyed. Had he really said something as suggestive as that? Did he mean to fluster her? The humor dancing in his eyes and the way his lips twitched, as if to contain a smile, told her he was perfectly aware of the double entendre of his words, and her reaction amused him. She narrowed her eyes at him in mock outrage.
“You are naughtier than you appear, Mr. Wang.”
He started climbing the staircase, still holding her in his arms. She felt more than heard his husky laugh as it rumbled through his chest, and a gentle puff of air grazed the hairs at her temples.
“My bedchamber, please. It’s where I have my sewing kit.”
Seated at the comfortable armchair by the fireplace, she watched as he walked out and returned shortly with a small bag, then walked around, gathering the supplies needed to clean and stitch his wound. He brought the basin from the washstand and placed it on a table in front of her.
“For washing your hands. It’s important to do that before treating wounds. It prevents infection,” he explained.
Handing her the soap bar, he lifted the ewer and poured water over her hands. She washed thoroughly, not wanting to risk his wellbeing.
But when he removed his shirt and stood in front of her bare-chested, her mouth went dry and she stared dumbstruck.
Good God, his body was beautiful. All corded muscle and sinew. He was not a big man. His height and bulk appeared no more than average when clothed. It revealed nothing of the strength and sculpted beauty underneath. But when the layers were peeled away and the chiseled strength of his chest and arms was revealed, he was breathtaking.
She wished she could study every contour of his torso, run her hands over his shoulders and arms, skim her fingers over the ridges of his abdomen, but he only gave her a second before he sat on the footstool by her chair and turned his back to her, exposing the wound on the back of his left shoulder. She suspected that if it were in a different location, where he could easily access it, he would have tended to it himself.
She started cleaning the wound gently with water and soap, following his instructions, then applying the antiseptic solution. And then it was time to stitch it.
“Are you sure you are comfortable doing that?” he asked gently.
She smiled. “If there’s something I’m perfectly able to do, it is to place a stitch. Don’t worry, you’ll have the prettiest wound in all of England.”
He offered a grin before he settled back against her legs. She had to give him credit for not flinching when the needle punctured his skin.
“Those men, why did they attack us?” she asked to distract him, but also wanting to know what that had been all about.
“I suspect they are gang members and probably control some opium dens in Limehouse. They took exception to my trying to dissuade some people from consuming opium.”
“I see. When did you do that? I never saw you talk to anyone.”
“During the times you were changing after being in the pool. I tried to advise people of the dangers of opium, offered solutions and encouragement to overcome the addiction. I should have known that would upset the people who profit from it.”
“Why did you do it, then?” she asked quietly, placing another careful stitch.
