"I cannot remove it myself," Cleo admitted quietly.
Once again Sebastian came to her aid. He tugged her laces undone roughly with his left hand, his right pressed lightly against her spine.
It was torture. And she had done it to herself.
With a sigh, he stepped away from her. "There." Her silken robe was pressed into her hands, and then he turned and shuffled back toward the liquor.
Cleo stared blindly after him, want kindling along her nerves. It was clear that she'd been dismissed. Her entire body trembled. She didn't quite know what to do. Well, at least she could remove her dress now. She set about undoing her tapes and loosened her corset until everything collapsed around her feet, leaving her in only her thin chemise. Heat scalded her cheeks. He had his back to her, she knew it.
Was she so insignificant?
Cleo dressed swiftly in her nightgown, using her robe for discretion. Not that she needed it, she thought. Afterward, she stood there with her chemise fisted in her hands. Sebastian had stoked the fire. It crackled behind her, and he turned to the decanter again, judging by his footsteps. "You should return to your own room."
"I can't."
"I'm tired, Cleo. I don't want you in here."
Well, that was blunt. Cleo's cheeks burned. "I stumbled into the maid when she was bringing me dinner. She dropped the teapot all over my bed. She thought I'd best sleep here, and they'll try and air it in the morning."
She was met with another one of his precious silences, as if he was fighting to sort her words out in his head. "You cannot stay here."
"We are married, are we not? I know you don't wish to consummate the marriage, but I'm certain you'll be able to restrain yourself, and it's a large bed. You'll barely know I'm in it."
"I'll sleep on the trundle," he growled. A muttered curse caught her ear. Then he upended the liquor decanter, the scent of brandy flavoring the air.
"Seven hours married, and you've already turned to drink," she murmured. "This bodes well."
Fabric shifted and she almost suspected that Sebastian hissed under his breath. "Cleo, I'm hellish tired. I cannot argue with you tonight."
"Were we arguing?"
"Please. Just...don't. Don't push me tonight." For the first time, he sounded exactly as he claimed. Exhausted.
She could smell something now too. Spirits mixed with... Blood? Desire washed away from her as her mind replayed the past few minutes in her head. His stiffness, the muttered curses, the wince as he tugged at her laces... "Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine." It sounded like he had something in his mouth, and as glass clinked, she realized it was the top of the decanter. With a grunt, he tore a piece of fabric, and something slithered over his skin.
"You are hurt. Why didn't you say something?"
"It's nothing."
"Nothing, my foot!" Cleo hurried toward him, hands outstretched. "Here, let me help—"
Her hands met his half-opened shirt. Hard muscle flinched beneath her fingers. His stomach. Then her wrists were captured, and Sebastian held her politely away from his body. "I can manage."
Now that she was thinking again, and not sidetracked by the feel of his hands on her buttons, she could scent a faint burning scent. "You only have two hands. Let me help you, Sebastian. I feel terrible for forcing you to assist with my gown when you're injured."
If he'd been in the right frame of mind, she thought that he might have kept arguing. Instead he sighed and sank down onto the stool by the vanity. That's when she knew he was exhausted. "I was shot."
"Shot?"
The bottle upended. He swallowed. "The bullet went right through me. It's fine. Most of the bleeding's stopped."
"Where?"
Sebastian caught her hands and directed them to his shoulder. "Right through here."
Her hands slid over the bulk of a bandage. He'd been trying to wrap it around his neck and shoulder, without much success. Cleo pushed his shirt collar out of the way, inspecting the job with her fingers. "Has someone seen to it?"
