The butler accepted Hart’s hat and gloves.
“Harris, can you tell Mrs. Keely that I need a jar of the salve that I ordered for Lady Weatherby. Deliver it to the Blue Room please. We will wait there.” She turned to Hart. “This way.”
He hesitated.
“It is bad manners to leave a duke loitering in the entry.” She headed down the hallway.
Hart either could follow her or stand there looking like a fool.
When they entered the room, it was unlit, and he paused letting his eyes adjust. Lucy crossed quickly to a table and lit a candle in a small hurricane lamp. The glow from it illuminated her soft features as she walked with it in her hand to light the tapers on a candelabra that sat on the low table in front of the sofa. Hart navigated carefully with his walking stick over to the seating area, trying not to trip on the side tables. He chose to sit in a wooden chair across from the sofa where Lucy had settled herself. Knees spread, he rested his hands on the top of his cane.
“I’d offer you something to drink, but we only have sherry. I know you don’t care for it.”
“It’s all right. I am attempting to drink less these days. I fear my bad habits have been amplified this last year. I hope to remedy that.”
“Has the recovery been hard? Physically, I mean.” Lucy asked.
He shrugged. “At first, yes, but now the eye is just a nuisance. The shoulder is what still pains me. The physician said that the scarring from the burns has pulled the skin too tight and most likely is tugging on the nerves beneath. There is nothing that can be done.”
“I don’t accept that. There is always something to be done.”
Hart smiled at her mulish expression. How did she always walk around with such certainty that life would work out the way she thought it should?
A small rap at the door was followed by Trudy’s housekeeper stepping through the threshold. “I have the salve for you, miss.”
Lucy rose and accepted the glass jar. “I’m going to send this home with the duke to help with his shoulder. I’m sure Lady Weatherby would approve. I’ll let her know in the morning.”
“Yes, miss.” The lady curtsied and quit the room.
Lucy strode over to him with a determined set to her mouth. “Take off your jacket, Your Grace.”
“Pardon?”
“I’m going to prove to you that this stuff works wonders. Don’t be a prude. Take off your jacket and untie your cravat so I can gain access to your shoulder.”
A prude? Him?He would have been considered by many to be a hedonist. A year ago, no one would have dared called him a prude. Challenge accepted. Hart rose to his feet slowly in front of her. After setting his cane aside, he removed his jacket with only a small wince. Keeping his eyes locked on hers. He untied the knot in his cravat. Her eyes tracked his movements as she watched him pull the length of linen slowly from around his throat. He laid both it and his jacket down on the table next to the chair. Next, he unbuttoned his vest. Lucy’s gaze followed each button as he slid them loose. He spread the brocade fabric open with a grin, gratified to see her swallow hard.
“Sit down, please,” she directed him in a low, soft voice.
He did as he was told and settled again in the chair. Finding himself at eye level with her gorgeous décolletage and the smooth, pale column of her throat, he closed his eyes briefly. Praying to preserve his self-control.
Lucy stepped to his side. He heard the rattle of the lid being set aside. Then she lifted the opened jar in front of his nose. “Smell, what do you think?”
It smelled like echinacea and lemon balm. A pleasant fragrance that was, like she’d said, not at all cloying or feminine. “Smells good.”
“Alright then. You just need a good dollop, then rub it between your palms to warm the oils present in the salve.” She pushed aside the open collar of his shirt and was about to slip a hand underneath when he gripped her wrist.
“Are you sure you are willing to touch the scars?” he asked.
This was a mistake. She was going to be horrified by the damage.
Lucy looked down at him calmly. “Hart, I was there after the accident. I know what to expect.”
She had been? “Those first few weeks are a blur of pain and opium. I didn’t know who was nearby.” He dropped his hand back to his lap. He didn’t like that she had witnessed him at his worst. But at the same time, it was a relief to have someone truly understand how bad it had been.
Her hand slipped underneath his shirt, and she spread the salve along the top of his shoulder, rubbing it gently over the puckered skin and down the back of his shoulder blade. Her light touch felt heavenly. It didn’t do anything for the ache, but he wouldn’t complain about having her hands on him. It had been so long since he had allowed anyone to touch him.
Lucy stepped behind him and pushed the fabric further off his shoulder. Then with both hands she began to knead his shoulder with deeper strokes across the muscles.
