“I frighten you?” he asked hoarsely. “I thought I had lost you.”
His forehead pressed against hers. Charlotte could feel his uneven breathing fanning over her cheeks, and for once, the arrogant duke looked utterly shaken. It made her heart twist painfully with tenderness. She had never seen him stripped so bare emotionally before, and suddenly all the walls she had always sensed around him seemed cracked wide open.
Victor’s hands moved over her arms, her shoulders, her waist. “Are you truly unharmed?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Victor, I am perfectly well.”
“I do not believe you.”
Before she could protest, he carefully began undoing the fastenings of her gown. Charlotte stared at him in surprise as his fingers worked with intense concentration. There was nothing improper or playful about his expression now. He looked consumed by worry.
“Victor…”
“Hush,” he said.
The command was gentle rather than stern. He slid the fabric from her shoulders carefully, exposing her chemise beneath. His eyes swept over her skin anxiously, searching for bruises or cuts.
Charlotte’s breath caught. “You are behaving as though I fought a war.”
“You may mock me all you please,” he muttered, “once I am certain you are safe.”
She could not help smiling faintly despite the emotion clogging her throat. The feared Duke of Mulford looked ready to battle the entire city over one frightened wife. His large hands skimmed carefully down her arms, examining her wrists and palms. When he found a faint red mark near her elbow, his jaw tightened immediately.
“There,” he said darkly. “You are injured.”
Charlotte looked down. “That is hardly an injury.”
“It shall bruise,” he said.
“It shall survive.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “You are exceedingly difficult.”
“And you are exceedingly dramatic.”
A reluctant huff of laughter escaped him then. “You could have nearly died today, and you call me dramatic.”
“I did not nearly die; our carriage was not involved,” she said.
“You were near enough.”
The raw honesty in his voice silenced her. Victor swallowed hard before gently pushing her chemise sleeve farther down to inspect her shoulder. His fingertips brushed her skin lightly, reverently, and Charlotte shivered beneath the touch.
His gaze snapped upward instantly. “Does it hurt?”
“No,” she whispered breathlessly. “Not at all.”
Something dark and yearning flickered across his face then. His hands slowed as they moved lower along her waist. Even through the thin fabric of her chemise, his touch sent heat racing through her body. Charlotte watched him carefully as he knelt before her and lifted the hem slightly to inspect her legs.
The sight of the proud duke kneeling for her nearly stole her breath entirely.
“Victor,” she said softly.
His hand smoothed carefully over her calf. “Tell me if anything pains you.”
“Only my heart.”
His hand stilled immediately. Slowly, he looked up at her.
