Regina made her way to the sideboard and returned with an entire bottle. “Drink as much as you wish. I won’t judge you.”
He smiled at that. “A nursemaid after my own heart.” He uncorked the bottle and took a swig. Then another, longer swig. “Don’t tell Grimaldi I drank his best brandy from the bottle.”
“I won’t tell if you won’t. Besides, I’m certain Mark will understand, given that you took a bullet meant for his cousin.”
Daffin flashed her a grin. “You may be right about that.”
Regina turned her attention back to his wound. Her face was pale.
“Are you certain you want to do this?” he asked.
She nodded. “I used to help the groomsmen and the stable boys when the horses gave birth. I’m quite used to blood.”
“Horse blood?” He gritted his teeth again as she dabbed at the wound with one of the soapy cloths. He took another long swig of brandy and concentrated on the liquid burning a path to his belly.
“Blood is blood,” Regina said, her bright blue eyes focusedon his wound. “We should probably remove your shirt entirely. Regardless of how pleased that shall make Louise.”
“And what about you?” he asked. “How pleased will it make you if we remove my shirt entirely?” Why the devil had he said that? He hadn’t hadthatmuch brandy. Yet.
“Depends on what I see when the shirt comes off,” Regina replied saucily.
Using the shears again to make it less painful, Regina tenderly helped him off with his shirt. When his chest was completely bared to her, she sucked in her breath. Good. It was the exact reaction he’d hoped for. Why, he didn’t want to examine at the moment, but apparently, Regina liked what she saw. Pride filled him. Why did he care so much what this woman thought of him? At least this time he could blame the brandy. He took another swig of the delicious stuff.
***
Regina fought her blush. Her gasp had been telling enough, she didn’t need to make a scene. But the man’s chest was in keeping with his Greek-godlike appearance. She was certain Michelangelo himself couldn’t have done a better job if he’d carved it out of stone. Hard and ripped with muscles, it was lightly dusted with hair and rippled when she touched it with the hot wet rag. She swallowed again.
“My apologies.” She fastened her eyes back on his shoulder. “It’s just that I’ve…”
“Never seen a man’s chest before?” Daffin finished for her.
“Is it that obvious?” She dared another surreptitious glance at his perfect torso. The man obviously kept himself in good shape. “Chasing down criminals clearly keeps you quite… fit,” she murmured.
“I also lift heavy objects and dabble in boxing,” he replied with a roguish grin.
“That explains it.” She leaned forward, refocusing her attention on his wound, carefully examining it. “It’s a deep furrow,” she announced after a few moments. She didn’t meet his eyes, tenderly dabbing at the wound. “No doubt it will leave a scar.”
“Won’t be the first, and hopefully won’t be the last.” He raised the bottle in the air in salute.
She blinked at him. “Hopefully? You mean you look forward to being injured?”
“It means I’m alive,” he murmured, swiping the back of his hand across his wet lips.
“Where are your other scars?” Regina ventured before realizing what a loaded question it was.
His grin turned positively roguish. “Care to see them?”
He was flirting again. She liked it. His words made her bold. “Depends on where they are.”
“One is on my back.” He slowly leaned forward and Regina glanced behind him to see a ragged round scar just below his opposite shoulder. “Another is on my calf.” He leaned down and pulled his breeches from his boot, lifting the garment high enough to reveal his leg covered in blond hair and another large roundish scar on the side of his calf.
“Is that all of them?” Regina ventured.
“No. But the last one is somewhere… private.”
A thrill shot through Regina’s core. “Where?” she couldn’t help but ask.
“My upper thigh.” His hot gaze didn’t let go of hers.
