Her lashes curled out when she squeezed her eyes and then sniffled. “I’ve done it again. Something stupid, that is.”
Her heartbreaking words had him swallowing hard. “Your head hit the wood. Lie still a moment.”
“You didn’t stand a chance when I decided to save you last night.” She tried to sit up, but it was easy enough for him to halt her effort. “I’m all right.”
“We’ll let the doctor decide that.” He slid his fingers around to the back of her head, and both of them winced when he touched something warm and sticky. “You’re bleeding.”
“Stupid. So stupid of me.”
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” He ignored her protests and ran his fingers down her arm. Shapely ankles and calves showed where her gown had flipped up and, mindful of his servants, Chase drew the hem down to cover them.
“No. Just my head. I can get up. We’ve barely begun the second course.”
“To hell with the second course. Put your arm around my neck.” He wasn’t going to just stand about with her lying on the floor bleeding.
Her lashes fluttered a few times and then she surprised him by obeying, and he managed to tuck one hand under her knees and lift her out of the toppled chair.
“You can’t carry me. I’m too heavy.”
He grunted and adjusted her not unsubstantial weight in his arms. There was plenty of her to grab hold of, and curves to keep her from slipping, but he damn well was capable of carrying her. “I’ve got you. Hold on to me. I’m going to take you to your chamber.”
“I can walk!” She made a mewling sound and buried her face into his neck, much the same as she’d done when he’d tried to protect her from the gossips.
Her scent was perfectly suited for her. Subtle and secretly feminine. He didn’t mind carrying her at all.
“Don’t be difficult.”
“But—”
“Hush.” Chase wasn’t angry with her. He was angry with himself. None of this would have happened if he’d kept his wits about him the night before. Within less than twenty-four hours, he’d ruined her, forced her to marry him, and now failed to convince her that none of it was her fault. She’d become so overset with the notion, by God, that she’d cut her head open.
Calm, dependable, rational Bethany Fitzwilliam had all but given into a fit of vapors. It was about time.
“I’m sorry.” She mumbled.
“You’ve nothing to apologize for.”
Her only mistake had been caring enough to put herself in harm’s way so that she could warn him.
She’d come outside toprotect him,and he’d done all of this… to her. He was the one who was supposed to do the protecting!
Chase carried her up the stairs. When he turned the corner, he found Polly holding the door to his mother’s chamber wide for them.
Only it wasn’t his mother’s chamber. It belonged to his wife now.
He carried her through the door and placed her on his mother’s bed.
Hell and damnation, first thing tomorrow he’d order the room painted and refurnished. Completely remodeled.
A man’s wife couldn’t sleep in a room he’d always associated with his mother.
“A washcloth for her head, Polly.” Chase adjusted the pillow and felt sick when his hand came away covered with blood.
“It’s not as bad as it looks.” Bethany watched him through half-closed eyes. “Don’t look at it, and breathe through your nose.”
“It’s not the blood,” he admitted. “It’s that this happened to you in my home—where you ought to be safe.”
“You can hardly protect me from myself.”
