She reached for the laces with hands that shook.
William caught her wrists. “Cut it off.”
Lanora stared at him, confused.
“Use my shaving razor and cut the shirt off. I’ll never get it over my head.”
“Oh.”
She collected the blade and returned to the bed. She couldn’t cut the front. It would be...she couldn’t. To cut the back, she must climb onto the bed behind him. With a deep breath, she said a prayer she wouldn’t cut him or her shaking hands in the process and climbed onto the mattress.
By the time she had his shirt off, revealing his bandaged-wrapped middle, Lanora shook all over. She felt as if she’d run a mile, uphill the whole way. She put the tattered shirt with his other garments. Her palms tingled, the memory of each time they’d brushed across his warm skin emblazoned on them. She tried not to look, even while she worked, but visions of his muscled back and sculpted chest were scorched in her mind.
Lady Cecelia bustled into the room, followed by a burdened Dodger. The little blonde woman made a sound of dismay. “What have you done to yourself, William? Dodger, put that clean sheet down beside him. No, leave it folded. Perhaps we can save the bedclothes this time. William, lay down.”
Lanora drew back, taking deep breaths. She let Lady Cecelia’s bright efficiency fill the room, a buffer between her and William. Legs unsteady, she settled into a chair. Trying not to be jealous, which would be foolish in the extreme, she watched Lady Cecelia tend William.
