Forcing herself to stay calm, Amelia fisted his shirt where he’d tucked it into his breeches and attempted to pull it up so she could get it off of him.
But, almost as stubborn as her old corset, it didn’t come loose.
“I c’n doit…”He slurred his words, fumbling to undo enough of the fasteners so she could untuck the long tail of his shirt.
“Careful, now.” She was talking to herself, really. The sound he made, a low, slow moan, shouldn’t have vibrated her insides like it did. She swallowed hard and did her best to ignore it as she revealed more and more of his skin.
She had the vague thought that undressing a man in his bedchamber ought to send her reeling with guilt, but it didn’t.
Not when Mr. Beckworth so obviously needed her help.
Once she’d lifted the wet linen over his head, however, all thoughts of herself, of her feelings, fled. She swallowed hard.
‘’What happened to you?” No wonder he could hardly walk. She’d uncovered so many bruises and cuts that she hardly knew where to begin.
“An oar got the better of me…” he mumbled. “And a few rocks…”
She was in over her head. “I should find Bessie. You need a physician.”
“No bloody physician.” He grasped her wrist and lifted his gaze. She could tell that even that simple gesture exhausted him. “They can’t know.” Midnight eyes implored her.
Who can’t know?
But then she realized.
His team. Because he was the person they relied upon. It wasn’t a matter of pride so much as confidence.
And not his confidence, but theirs.
As the daughter of a marquess, she understood the importance of appearances all too well.
But, if she couldn’t seek help… “What should I do?”
“I keep liniment.” His voice came out hoarse. “In the top drawer.”
Refusing to panic, she forced a grim smile. “I take it this isn’t the first time you’ve been injured?” She located a small tin and pried off the lid, thinking that if its pungency was anything to go by, it ought to be extraordinarily effective.
“Vinegar,” he said, eyes closed. “In honey, and some medicinal herbs.”
Amelia returned to where he sat and then took a calming breath. “I’m going to clean these scratches first.” And then she added, “This might take a while.”
He answered with a barely perceptible nod and, taking a moment to decide where to begin, Amelia went to work cleaning one of the smaller cuts on the back of his shoulder.
Every time he flinched, Amelia winced as though the pain was her own. But she couldn’t lose herself to her sympathies. Eventually, it became easier to simply focus on the task at hand.
Debride, rinse, and then cover with the liniment. She couldn’t allow herself to be distracted by the fact that she was touching him so intimately, which proved more difficult onceshe’d progressed from his back to his front. Because there, she was dealing with… very interesting details of his chiseled torso; muscles and contours and that trail of hairs that disappeared into his trousers. There was also the indent of his navel, not to mention the tight buds on his chest. Small and hard, she found them particularly intriguing…
All the while she felt his eyes watching her.
She felt his breath near her face.
She felt the beating of his heart under her hands.
It must be the pain, she told herself—from her fussing with his injuries.
“Does it hurt?” she asked while dabbing at a particular nasty-looking cut. Was that her voice? It sounded unusually breathy.
She lifted her gaze from her task for just a moment.
