“Sport? Why do gentlemen find it entertaining to be hit?”
“Not to be hit. To do the pummeling.”
She rolled her eyes as though exasperated, jerked on the bellpull, threw back the covers, and scrambled out of bed.
“What are you doing?” he asked, alarmed by her actions. She wasn’t thinking of hugging him in comfort, was she?
“A man of your wealth no doubt has an icebox. We’re going to get you some ice for your wound.”
“It’s hardly a wound. Mick doesn’t have that hard of a punch.”
She stood before him, rose up on her toes, and studied his face as though it was a curiosity, something unusual that should be on display. She lifted her hand, he grabbed her wrist. She furrowed her brow. “It’s bruising and swelling.”
Releasing his hold on her, he gingerly touched his fingers to his tender cheek, near his eye. “It’s not that bad.”
A knock sounded at the door.
“Sit in a chair by the fire,” she ordered with authority before heading for the door.
He stood exactly where he was. No one ordered him about. No one.
Opening the door slightly, she spoke to the servant on the other side. When she turned back into the room, she pressed her lips together and pointed toward the sitting area. “Sit!”
She walked to the washbasin, picked up a cloth, and dipped it into the water. He looked at the sitting area, looked at her. Where was the harm? He wasn’t following an order. He wanted to sit. That was the reason that he ambled over and dropped into a stuffed high-backed chair.
As she strolled toward him, he watched the movements of her nightdress in fascination. He caught glimpses of the outline of her legs. He wanted to run his hands over her thighs, then send his lips on the same journey.
She knelt before him, lifted the cloth. “This will suffice until the ice arrives. The water was cool.”
“I can do it,” he said, reaching for it.
She yanked it back and glared at him. “I’ll do it.” She waited a heartbeat. “Please. You’ve done so much for me, and I’ve done nothing for you. I can give you this small courtesy.”
It had been so very long. He didn’t know how to accept kindness graciously. It was the reason that Tristan’s gift had nearly unmanned him.
He didn’t answer, but neither did he object or pull away when she very gently touched the cloth to his cheek. He watched her instead: the concern in her eyes, the tiny furrow between her brows, her concentration—as though if she didn’t do it just right, she would cause irreparable harm.
“I don’t understand men fighting,” she said quietly. “Did you get the better of him?”
He experienced a strange swelling of pride in his chest. “I felled him.”
“Why would you hurt a friend?”
“He’s not a friend. He works for me. He got in a good jab or two.”
She sighed. Another knock sounded on the door. “Hold this in place.”
Another order. As she got up to answer the door, he realized he was going to have to have words with her about this ordering him about business. He wouldn’t tolerate it. But when she returned, took the cloth from him, and placed ice shavings in it, he said not a word. As she gently laid it against his cheek, he thought he’d never felt anything so sublime.
“Are you hungry?” she asked. “I could have the cook prepare something.”
“No, I’ve eaten.” He wasn’t accustomed to having someone asking after his welfare. It was unsettling.
“Why would a gambling den need a boxing room?” she asked, her eyes focused on her task. She was positioned in such a way that from time to time, with an intake of a breath or an adjustment in her posture, one of her breasts brushed against his arm. It was almost his undoing. His mouth went dry. It would be so easy to roll out of the chair onto her, take her to the floor, lift the hem of her nightdress—
No, he’d not lift it. He’d rip it asunder. He wanted to see her in all her naked glory, and he had no doubt that she would be glorious.
“Men have frustrations,” he said, finding himself being tied up into knots at that moment with those very frustrations. “They need a place to work it off, so I have a room where they can box or wrestle. And sometimes—” He stopped. He wanted her comfortable with him. Not knowing the truth about him.
