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“What can I do?” Reina asked urgently.

“Mr. Pembroke is in the housekeeper’s sitting room washing up before he carries Tuppence to the kitchen. If you would, please tell him to hurry. Don’t let him touch anything after he’s washed—not a doorknob, not a table, not his own trouser braces. In fact, make sure he dispenses with trouser braces altogether—they’re certain to be riddled with bacteria.”

Swiftly Reina rose to her feet. When she reached the threshold, she turned to close the door and caught a glimpse of Dr. Gibson leaning over Tuppence. She had the grave, tender face of a ministering angel, formerly spendthrift with miracles, hoping there might be one left in her pocket.

John was at the washstand in the housekeeper’s room. He was shirtless, his powerful back all shadow and gleam as he wiped his arms with a chemical solution that smelled strongly of bleach.

The radiance of the cast-iron grate reflected off the hard curves and reaches of muscle. Life had left its scars here and there, mapping a personal history that had been far from easy. Those marks made him far more beautiful and stirring than any work of pristine marble perfection.

He glanced over his shoulder and went still as he saw Reina. The air crackled like the moment before a lightning strike.

“Dr. Gibson wants to proceed with the surgery as quickly as possible,” Reina said breathlessly. Her gaze fell to his lean hips, where the loose waist of his trousers rode dangerously low and a pair of white cotton braces hung on either side. “She asked if you would dispense with those.”

“My trousers?” he asked blankly.

A nervous laugh bubbled up. “No, the braces.”

“Why?”

“Bacteria.”

John frowned at his already-disinfected hands and arms.

Recalling he wasn’t supposed to touch anything, Reina said, “I’ll remove them for you.”

From John’s expression, one might have thought he was a soldier at the siege of Paris, watching a horde of Vikings ramming through the city walls.

Trying to sound offhand, Reina added, “It will be no trouble. I’m a woman of the world, after all.”

Words seemed to fail him. He let out a breath with torn edges that could have been amusement or aggravation, or some mixture of the two.

They stared at each other, both unsure of what to offer or how much intimacy to allow. He stood there painted in firelight, all vibrant strength and masculine vigor . . . needing help but unwilling to accept it.

“Don’t be stubborn,” Reina said, and went to him, determined to do what was necessary. “The buttons are inside the waist?”

“Aye.”

“If you’ll hold your arms to the sides, I’ll just—” Her composure faltered as she confronted the muscular wall of his chest, covered with a light fleece of hair. Beautiful. In any other circumstances, she would have liked to look her fill, but at the moment, all that mattered was haste. Decisively she reached for the top edge of his trousers where one of the braces was fastened and slipped her fingers beneath the leather tab. His skin was like hot-pressed satin against the backs of her knuckles.

John stood with his arms suspended, as if he were carrying a clamp of bricks on each side. She could feel the heat of his breath filtering through the loosely pinned twists of her hair.

The pinched joints and nerves of Reina’s left hand protested as she freed the button, but she ignored the twinge.

“What happened to your hand?” John asked, as she began on the next button.

She should have known he would notice. “Tuppence was holding it. Whenever the pains started—” She moved behind him to unfasten the leather tabs at the back. “I didn’t mind. Especially if it helped her.”

“Cariad,” she heard him say, with a touch of gentle concern that nearly undid her.

God, she was relieved he was there. Or if there were a word that meant relief, except much more intense, she was that. It seemed as if John would keep everything from unraveling further and stop it all from turning into a nightmare. He was so well equipped to deal with painful reality, so willing to face it head-on.

After Reina had removed the braces and set them aside, John spoke in a hushed voice, as if they were touring a monastery. “Thank you. If you wouldn’t mind tightening the buckle strap, I’d be obliged.”

She discovered an attached cloth strap and buckle at the back waist of the trousers, and adjusted it to fit more snugly.

John immediately strode to the table in the sitting area, where a tin of sterilized towels had been set. He unwrapped a white paper parcel from the top of the tin and pulled out a collarless white shirt with loose sleeves.

“How is Tuppence?” he asked as he pulled on the garment and left it untucked.