“So are you,” he returned.
He slowly opened the buttons and then eased the dress from her shoulders. Eliza shivered as he pushed it down her body. Every time his fingers brushed bare skin, sensation followed, and soon she was moaning.
When the sleeves slid over her burned hand, she instinctively curled it into a fist.
“Let me see you,” he said.
Her stomach knotted. “You have seen it.”
“I want to see it now, after Mr. Greedy’s ointment.”
She forced herself to keep still as he lifted her hand in his, turning it so the light caught the uneven, shiny surface of the old burn.
“It feels easier with the massaging and ointment,” Eliza whispered.
Mungo said nothing for a long moment, his thumb tracing up and down her fingers.
“This hand,” he said at last, voice thick, “held a frightened girl’s fingers tonight and kept them steady. It has bandaged wounds, poured tea, mended things, and held books.” He lifted his gaze to hers. “Never feel anything but pride for it, as I do.”
Tears stung her eyes. “My uncle hated looking at it, and he used to turn away if I wore no gloves.”
“If your uncle could not see the worth of you, that is his blindness.”
He pressed his lips to her palm, to the damaged skin.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Don’t thank me for kissing the parts of you I already cherish.”
“I feel off-balance when you’re sweet.”
He huffed a breath that might have been a laugh. “I’ll try and balance it out by being grumpy.”
“If you could, I’d be grateful.” This time she framed his face. “I doubt many have seen this side of you.”
“We all have sides, Eliza, and reasons for hiding behind them.” His lips brushed hers again.
She worked at the buttons of his shirt, and then, impatient, he took control and wrenched it over his head. His breath hitched when her hands slid over the skin he’d exposed. So warm, she thought, and solid.
“Eliza,” he said softly. “Look at me.”
“I am looking at you.”
“Look in my eyes and know that if you change your mind at any point, I will stop. I will hold you and nothing more.”
“I won’t change my mind, so you don’t have to keep cautioning me, Mungo. I am no gently bred woman who must always behave like a lady?—”
“You’re not going to behave like a lady?”
She studied him, this fierce man with the careful hands and gruff exterior that she now knew was how he kept himself safe.
“I have regretted so many things I could not control in my life,” she said. “I refuse to regret something I choose for myself.”
“Then I will try to be worthy of that choice,” he said solemnly.
They moved to her bed together, almost clumsily, bumping into the edge.
Mungo drew back the covers and lifted her onto the mattress as if she weighed nothing, then followed her down in a slow, controlled descent so his weight didn’t crush her. The mattress dipped around them, the familiar creak of the frame oddly comforting.
