Chapter Six
Lucas jolted awake with the same jarring suddenness that he had in the past six months. Today, though, something was different. And he realized with a start that it was the pain. It was there, yes, still burning and clawing, but it had lessened. He did not want to wrench his shoulder from his body, at least.
And that was a positive thing.
There was something else that was different too. He could smell Diana’s perfume on his pillow, that sweet vanilla scent of her hair that made a man mad. That proved their night of passion had not been an addled dream brought on by laudanum and pain.
It had been real.
And yet he woke alone. That scent was the only indication she had been in his bed.
Slowly, he sat up, bracing for increased pain. It came, but it was still less than usual. “She truly is a witch,” he mused aloud, then threw off the covers and gingerly stepped from the bed. He wanted to find her. To talk to her. To make certain she was not troubled or pained by what they’d done.
And that required putting on his clothes. Always a challenge.
He moved to the wardrobe in the corner of the room and opened it. At some point Diana had placed his few shirts and trousers in the closet, folded neatly. When did she have time to do the laundering with all the other things she did?
He lifted the shirt and stared at it. His old nemesis. It required moving in ways that did not make his shoulder happy. But he gritted his teeth and slowly put his arm through the hole. Reaching back made the pain double, and he let out his breath through his nose with a low moan of discomfort.
“Would you like some help?”
He pivoted and found Diana at his door, tray of food in her arms. She was wearing a simple gown and her hair was half down around her shoulders, framing her face and making her even more beautiful than normal. He found himself wondering what she’d look like in a ball gown, done up like the queen that she was.
Of course, that would never happen. They would never go to a ball together, that wasn’t possible. He shook away the errant thought.
She was looking at him. She’d looked at him before, but now her gaze swept over his nearly naked body and her eyes lit up with knowing pleasure. Suddenly dressing didn’t seem all that important.
And yet having her help him felt like a loss. A surrender.
“I hate being so useless,” he admitted as he looked at the shirt hanging from his arm.
She set the tray down by the door and moved to him. She took the shirt from his arms and pulled out a pair of trousers. He balanced on her to step into them and held his breath as she began to fasten the flap.
“Useless again, is it?” she said softly. “You will relearn these things. Though I would think, as a duke, you would be accustomed to having help. You have a valet, don’t you? In some other life?”
“Another life.” He pursed his lips. “That is the way to put it. Yes, I did have a valet then. Very long ago. I have not had help dressing myself since I was…God…nineteen? Twenty?”
She glanced up at him. “That was when you joined the War Department?”
He nodded. “I’d been an officer, too, in the army. Briefly. But I did have a valet there.”
“A duke in the army,” she said. “Most do not pursue such things.”
He looked away. “I had my reasons.”
She returned her attention to what she was doing. He was pleased for that. He didn’t want to talk about the past.
“I want to look at the wound,” she said, unwrapping the bandage on his shoulder. He steadied himself on the back of a nearby chair as she did so.
“It feels…better,” he admitted. “Though perhaps that is wishful thinking.”
She looked at the now uncovered wound, wiping away what was left of the salve she’d put on it. Although he was untrained, he could see the injury appeared less angry.
“It looks better,” she said with a nod. “We’ve a long way to go, but I think there’s progress. Let me get my bandages and I’ll redress it. Sit in that chair, will you?”
He did as she asked, watching as she gathered her materials. She returned with them and with a cloudy drink that she handed over to him. “Drink this.”
He eyed and smelled it. It seemed benign enough. Smelled a bit floral, but nothing terrible. He took a sip. “Good God, that’s awful,” he said, glaring up at her.
