Her face heated with embarrassment or anger, or both, she couldn’t be certain. “No! That she is your mistress!”
He rubbed the back of his neck, and she felt as if she were sitting on an emotional swing flying over the precipice of a cliff. A swing that kept sending her higher and higher in each direction; one wrong word ready to catapult out of her mouth and strike him dead in his bed. And he suddenly looked very exhausted. She probably taxed his mind almost as much as he vexed her.
“This is not a conversation a gentleman should have with a lady,” he finally said.
She snorted, and with that noise, a grin spread across his face. He nodded toward her injury. “How is your hand?”
“It will be fine.”
“Let me see it.”
“I said, it will be fine.”
“And I said, let me see it. Now, Caillen.” She recognized the lordly sternness of his voice and wondered if she should adhere to his command or leave. He held out his hand to take hers and she stared at it. This is what had started this whole disaster, and yet it was altogether different. Simon was allowing her to knowingly, voluntarily put her hand in his.
For anyone else, his pinky finger sticking out in such an ugly fashion would be cause for hesitation. For her, his deformity only made him less threatening and more vulnerable. Rather than acquiesce, she studied him and gauged his ability to take advantage of the situation. He held his breath as she debated and then much to her shock, and his, she placed her hand in his, palm up.
Simon gave her a slight nod as if thanking her for trusting him as he pulled her closer. She could feel the warmth radiating off his body, even when he stopped short of creating contact beyond their hands. It was as if he purposely created intimacy, without making it sensual. Except everything about Simon was sensual, and the distance between them made him even more dangerous. Just not in a way that would send her running. As if he were unaware of the tumult he was creating within her, he pulled the cloth away from her cut, and blood immediately began to seep from the wound.
“I’m afraid the doctor will need to stitch it closed for you.” He rewrapped her injury, pulling the wrap tightly as he worked to tie it around her hand.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, her voice breathy as she attempted to maintain her composure. It was obvious she wasstruggling with the limited contact of their hands. She suspected he prolonged it as he tended to her injury and spoke in hushed tones.
“I thought by the way you had cared for me, and by the way you interacted with the children, that you had lost some of your fear.”
“I have, just not as much as I would’ve liked.”
“Is it just men?”
She shook her head and when he waited for a response, she finally volunteered to give him a peek into her terror. “When I do not expect someone to touch me, it carries me back. I don’t understand it, and I can’t control it. I’m sorry I was sharp with you. I was angry at myself for reacting the way I did. I did not expect for you to grab me.”
“And for that, I should be the one to apologize, not you.” He gazed up into her eyes and she wanted to melt into the warmth of his attention.
She shook her head once more. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Caillen, I know what you went through and I know what it’s like to avoid touch after being subjected to the brutality of another.”
Her brow furrowed. “You have never avoided my touch.”
“Yourtouch. Anyone else, and I break out in a cold sweat. Even with Sébastien, it’s a practice of self-control.”
“I’ve never noticed you experience discomfort with anyone. You hide it well.”
“You haven’t been in here in the past month when the doctor is here, or when the maids change my bedding. When my footman, Charlie, offered to perform the duties of my valet, I nearly punched him in the face with this.” He raised their hands together, his little pinky mocking the effect of his punch. “I offered him a raise instead.”
“Will we ever be what we were?” She asked, her tone soft and somber, as the meaning of what he just confessed nearly overwhelmed her.
He gave her a sad smile. “I don’t think anyone can live through what we’ve experienced and come out unscathed.”
“I can hug the children with no issues, but I haven’t been able to tolerate the touch of my sisters.”
“The children pose no threat to your safety, adults do.”
“My sisters would never hurt me,” she argued, her gaze still on their hands. He had finished tying the linen, and yet she did not pull away.
“Nor should a husband.”
Her breath caught and her gaze shot to his, right before she yanked her hand away.
