Aubrey’s brow furrowed. He opened his mouth to speak then closed it again. Finally, he opened it again. "Of course, I think that would be perfectly suitable, but I can’t help wonder… Is this punishment? If it is, I certainly deserve it, but…" His voice broke, rough with regret. "I wish there was something I could do to make amends."
Eleanor busied herself with the washstand, her hands trembling just enough to betray her emotion. "This isn’t about punishment. It’s about giving us both time to think. I hope you understand."
For a long moment, Aubrey didn’t speak. Finally, he nodded. "I do. But I hope you’ll let me try to earn your forgiveness."
Eleanor turned away, her composure barely holding.
The silence that followed felt charged with something Eleanor could not quite name. She was acutely aware of Aubrey's gaze following her movements. Of the way his breathing quickened when she leaned close. Of the tension in his body that seemed new.
"There," she said finally, setting aside the basin. "Now I just need to check your dressing."
Eleanor reached for the sheet covering his lower half.
"No!"
The word came out sharp, almost panicked. Eleanor's hand froze.
"My lord?"
"Do not. That is…" Aubrey's face was flushed now, his eyes squeezed shut. "Perhaps we could skip that tonight. The dressing is fine."
But Eleanor had already pulled back the sheet, and— Oh. She jumped back as though confronted by a snake, heat flooding her face.
Eleanor had tended his body for over a week now. Had washed every part of him with clinical detachment. Had seen him naked, vulnerable, helpless.
But she had never seen him like this.
"I am sorry." Aubrey's voice was strangled with mortification. "I did not—it is not—you looked so pretty when you came in, with your hair like that, and the dress, and then you were touching me, and I could not… I could not control it."
Eleanor stood frozen, her medical supplies clutched in her hands, staring at the evidence of his arousal with a mixture of shock, confusion, and something else. Something that felt dangerously like... power.
All through their marriage, she had been the one humiliated, the one made to feel inadequate, unwanted, invisible.
But Aubrey was not finding her invisible now.
"Does it..." Eleanor heard herself ask, her voice barely above a whisper. "Does it hurt? To grow like that with your injuries?"
"What?" Aubrey's eyes flew open, shock and mortification warring on his face. "I… No. It doesn’t cause pain… not in the way you’re thinking. But you should keep away."
But Eleanor had already moved closer, studying him with genuine curiosity now. She had spent over a week tending his body with professional detachment. This was simply... another aspect of his physical condition. Wasn't it?
She reached out with a piece of gauze, lightly touching.
"Do not!" Aubrey gasped, his entire body going rigid. "Please, Eleanor, for the love of God, do not—"
But she could see his reaction. The way his flesh hardened further at even that light touch. The way his breathing became ragged. The way his hands fisted in the sheets.
He was completely at her mercy.
And afterbeing at his mercy all these years, Eleanor found she rather enjoyed the reversal.
"I am simply checking to ensure the swelling is not causing additional pain to your injuries," she said, her voice taking on a tone of exaggerated medical concern. "It would be negligent of me not to assess all aspects of your physical condition."
"Eleanor—" His voice was hoarse, almost pleading. "Please—"
She let her fingers trail along his thigh, ostensibly checking the bruising, but close enough to his arousal that he made a strangled sound.
"The bruising seems to be healing well," she observed clinically. "Though I notice your breathing has become quite laboured. Perhaps I should check for fever—"
