The door closed, leaving him alone with her.
“Come and have a seat, Lady Grenfell, whilst I tend to your hands.”
“I will see to them myself when I get home,” she countered, predictably stubborn.
“Nonsense. You were injured by helping my daughter. The least I can do is offer my aid.”
“I would like to speak with you about the nursemaid,” she insisted, frowning.
Deciding to take matters into his own hands, he caught her elbow in a gentle grasp and guided her toward his desk and the waiting basin and soap. “Speak as I work, then.”
Although she held herself stiffly, she allowed him to move her to the desk. “You must sack the woman, Brandon.”
He took up a cloth and wetted it in the basin. “Your hands, if you please.”
To his surprise, she didn’t argue, offering them palms up. “The nursemaid had allowed Pandy to run off after Cat on her own. Anything might have happened to her. What if she had found her way into the Rotten Row thoroughfare and been hit by a carriage?”
The very notion was incomprehensible. It made his gut clench and his heart tighten painfully. “I’m grateful you were there.”
Nascent guilt mingled with fear. He had selected the nursemaid. He had placed Pandy in her care. If anything had happened to his daughter today, the fault would have been his. Jesus, he was just as bloody terrible at being a father as his own sire had been. But there wasn’t time to dwell on his vast insufficiencies, for he had a countess to tend to.
Brandon settled on her right hand first, which had suffered more damage than the left. Angry red gashes marred her palm,and though the bleeding had stopped, the fall had clearly been a serious one.
“As am I. She said all manner of awful things by the time she caught up with us,” Lady Grenfell continued, hissing when he gently applied the damp cloth to her cuts and scrapes. “She told Pandy that she had been born from sin and that no good would come of her, and I do believe she has been striking the poor girl with a rod.”
Clenching his jaw, he scrubbed the cloth over the brick of Winters soap before bringing it back to Lady Grenfell’s waiting palm. Lightly, he dabbed, trying to cleanse the grit from her injuries as the floral scents of the soap rose. “I’ll be sacking her forthwith.”
“I’m relieved to hear it.” She made another sharp inhalation as he continued his ministrations.
“Forgive me,” he murmured. “I’m trying to be as gentle as I can.”
“It stings a bit. I am perfectly capable of seeing to the scrapes myself.”
“Yes, but you championed my daughter today,” he countered, trying not to allow their proximity to affect him, nor the way her hand felt in his, dainty and warm and soft and right, so blasted right. “You stopped Cat from running off, and you brought them both safely home to me. Furthermore, you informed me about the nursemaid, and I’m grateful to you. Cleaning the wounds you received because of all that is the least I can do.”
“It is wholly unnecessary,” she protested, but she allowed him to continue.
He finished with her right hand, wringing out the cloth in the bowl to rinse it before gently patting it dry. “I insist.” Brandon took up her left hand and cleansed it as well.
A heavy, almost companionable silence fell between them as he finished his task, blotting her left hand dry. Still holding herhand in his, he made the mistake of meeting her gaze. There was a small, plum-colored bruise on her cheek, he realized.
Without thought, he cupped her cheek, gently touching the bruise with his thumb. “You’ve a mark here.”
“Oh.” She winced as he brushed over the purple skin again. “I suppose I did strike the ground with my face after all. It was a most ignominious fall. Quite murderous on the pride.”
She was attempting to make a jest, but there was nothing funny or lighthearted about what had happened today, nor about the way he was feeling just now.
“Lottie,” he said roughly, her name torn from him.
He wanted nothing more than to kiss her. He couldn’t kiss her. He shouldn’t kiss her. He needed a wife and not the complication of a mistress. She didn’t want to marry. And yet the tenderness she had shown Pandy, the concern for her welfare…and the way she was looking at him now.
Ah, hell.
He was going to kiss her.
How could he not?
“I’m sorry you were hurt,” he said softly, his thumb stilling over the purpled flesh. “Your hands, your cheek, your pride.”
