Page 8

She closed her eyes, and as Clarendel began to pull his hand away, she squeezed it. “You. I want you to do it.” She swallowed again and released him to start hiking the hem of her green gown over her knees. She couldn’t look at Clarendel as she leaned forward to lower her white silk stockings. One was perfectly clean, while the other sported tiny drops of blood at the knee and calf. The flesh below revealed a scratch on her left leg, and without thinking, she pulled the loose bits of skin. She had no clue what to do about the ankle, which looked rather larger than its mate.

Markham cursed. “Blast, I hope that’s not sprained.”

“Tom, do you have any of your old kit in your room? I can clean and wrap it, but it’ll help if we have something to numb it. She can feign a stumble in the hall.”

“I’ve got some bits and bobs,” Markham answered, already on his feet. “I doubt opium’s a good idea this early in the evening, unless she’s fond of chasing the dragon—”

“Maybe save giving the lady opium for the third meeting,” Clarendel said with a smirk. “Clove oil and rum will have to do.”

Markham laughed at that and vanished through a nearly hidden door panel.

“Pity. I’ve always thought dragons sounded interesting.” She oughtn’t to have spoken, and her face warmed as Clarendel’s bright blue eyes fixed on her with an expression far too thoughtful.

“If we can get you back to the ballroom without a scandal, Darby won’t be a problem tomorrow. Then we can talk about your interest in opium.”

“To—tomorrow?” She hadn’t considered it. There hadn’t been time. But if anyone saw him come in after her? And how would they explain his injuries? If even a touch of the truth was revealed...

Amy bit her lip, her chest heaving. It didn’t help. If she cried, there’d be puffy cheeks and a red nose, and it’d make things worse. “D—do whatever you must. My father cannot hear of this. Please. Please—”

“Hush.” Clarendel’s hand touched her cheek, startling her into looking up. His handsome face, lit by candles, looked like a painting. An avenging Roman general. Or an archangel. A fallen one...

“Darby will stay silent. And if anything goes amiss out there, blame me. Hell, you can pick Markham, too. He won’t argue. We’re both terrible fates, but we can’t be worse than that ham-fisted walrus.”

“Not so terrible.” She tentatively tilted her cheek into his palm, wondering at the slight calluses of his warm skin. “Th—thank you, Lord Clarendel. If not for you...” She shivered, another tear rolling down her cheek.

“Don’t canonize me just yet. You’re about to curse me to Hell when I wrap that knee.” His hand curved along her cheek, brushing away her tears. A moment later, his lips touched hers. Amy’s breath stopped. Soft. She hadn’t expected his lips to feel like satin. He seemed all hard edges, glittering smiles. But his fingertips danced along her bruising skin, and his kiss was so gentle...

Her heart thudded louder than the ticking clock. “I-if that’s how you tend the wounded, it’s no wonder your soldiers got through that march.”

His sapphire eyes danced as if she were the wittiest lady in England. “I’ll let you keep that sunny vision of military discipline.” Clarendel picked up the forgotten strip of linen and handed it back to her before gingerly lifting her aching leg. His palm brushed upward along her calf as he inspected the swelling at her knee, sending a delirious mix of thoughts through her discombobulated head. What if his fingers kept going upward? What if he gripped harder? What if he replaced his hand with his lips? “You should consider which sudden ailment you’re about to have, Miss Sunderland.”

“I’ve had falls and fainting fits before. It won’t be difficult to convince Aunt Leah.”

Clarendel’s eyes flicked up to hers. “Has something like this happened before?”

Amy bit down hard on her cheek. The usual excuses stuck in her parched throat. She’d hesitated too long. What if he believed she had a habit of being accosted by terrible men with worse intentions? “Nothing like this.”

“But something...” he trailed off, his expression becoming impenetrable before a faint smile returned. “Ah. Perhaps you’ve got my younger sister’s knack for the most unfortunate illnesses right when she doesn’t want to go somewhere.”

She nodded slowly, refusing to look at him. The creak of footsteps on a loose floorboard saved her further explanation.

“Sorry for the delay. I ran across a rather insistent companion of my own.” Markham reappeared from the other side of a bookcase—apparently, there was a second door to the library after all. He tossed a leather case at Clarendel’s head before swerving off course toward the sideboard. Clarendel caught the package his friend so carelessly delivered, and Markham began pouring more libations into the crystal cups.

“Am I going to be patching you up as well?” Clarendel asked, sorting through the leather-bound box. He laid out several items on the stiff brocade cushion beside Amy.

“If Miss Hargrove had any idea of the true state of my brother’s health, I’d be sporting talon scrapes down my back.” Markham reappeared at her side, holding a glass of something that was certainly not brandy. “Cordial. It’ll go down easier than brandy. My mother swears by it.”

“Best drink it,” Clarendel advised, producing a small vial from the apothecary-style kit. “This will sting before it gets better.”

“Have you thought about how to get her out of here?” Markham asked. “We can’t very well march her into the ballroom between us.”

Clarendel nodded. “You’ll have to fetch my dear sister and suggest she let you take her for a turn to see a friend. She’s had a run-in with Darby’s ilk before,” he said, looking at Amy. “My sister is Lady Mornington—lately widowed and entirely discreet. She’ll vouch for your good behavior and unfortunate balance. Perhaps even take you home if your father wishes to remain for the later sets.”

Amy’s eyes darted between the two noblemen before she settled back against the chaise and tilted the cup to her lips. It was colder than Clarendel’s kiss, but the medicinal sting helped her regain some semblance of sense.

“I know who she is,” Amy said, handing the cordial glass to Markham.

I wish I knew why you are being so helpful.