“It began as a favor to a friend. Grew from there.”
Her hair began to tumble down and he caught it as though he feared the weight of it falling would cause her discomfort, would pull on her injury. Tenderly, he loosened it down her back.
“So you might not manage it, but you own it.”
“I own the building. I take no payment from the women who work there, so I’m not a pimp if that’s what you’re thinking.” He dipped the edge of a piece of linen into the water. “This might sting.”
It did, even though his touch was light, tender, cautious. She sucked in her breath.
“I’m sorry. There are bits of debris embedded in the wound that need to be removed to lessen the chance of infection. I’ll strive to be gentle.”
“Serves me right. My brother’s hands are raw from his work on the docks, and I insist upon tending them—even when he’d rather I didn’t. He’s probably grown weary of thesting, would like to avoid it occasionally. I placed the jar of healing salve by the linens if you want to use it.”
“I do. I will. Have you any alcohol or whisky that I can use to torment you further once I’ve cleaned it?”
“I think my brother has a bottle of whisky in the pantry.” She started to rise.
He lightly touched her shoulder. “I’ll get it.”
She was amazed by the grace and silence with which he moved. She suspected the fellow in the alley hadn’t known of Beast Trewlove’s arrival until he’d felt the pain of his jaw shattering. All the different distinctive sounds had come so quickly, one right after the other.
When he returned, he set not only a bottle on the table but also a glass holding a small portion of clear liquid. “Gin, not whisky, but you might find drinking a bit will lessen the hurt.”
Taking a sip, staring at the fire, she was fully aware that she needed to distract herself, not so much from the discomfort, but from the touch of his large hands against her hair, her scalp, as he carefully worked to clean her wound. She couldn’t seem to stop herself from envisioning those capable hands caressing and healing other aspects of her: her battered soul, her shattered heart.
“How did you come to be in Mrs. Trewlove’s care?” That her children were others’ by-blows whom she’d taken in and raised as her own had been frantically whispered behind gloved hands and elegant fans after Mick Trewlove had taken Lady Aslyn Hastings to wife.
“My mother left me with her shortly after I was born.”
If he was upset or bothered by her question, his touch against her scalp certainly didn’t betray him.
“You know who your mother is, then?”
“No. She didn’t provide her name. Promised to return for me, but obviously . . .”
She hadn’t.
He’d have been too young to remember her leaving him, so he would have had to have been told. “How old were you when you learned all that?”
“Six before I worked up the courage to ask. Mum doesn’t hold back the truth. If you’re not prepared to hear it, you’d best not ask the question.”
Her heart went out to him. So young to face the reality of his past. How long might he have held out hope that it wasn’t too late for her to come back for him? How old was he before he’d finally accepted that she wasn’t going to return?
“That must have been terribly hard... to hear all that. I think I might have lied to you to spare you the pain of knowing she’d not kept her promise.”
“I’ve never known a lie, in the end, to have served anyone well. But one might have served me well at the time. Shortly after I learned the truth, I became afraid of the dark. I would scream unless a lamp was left lit to ward off the monsters who were coming for me. One night she gave me a match safe, so I would always have dry matches and the power to defeat the dark. After that the darkness became a choice. I had the means to chase it away, and I stopped being afraid of it. No longer needed the light so I could sleep.”
“She was a wise woman.”
“I think the oil for the lamps was becoming too costly.”
She heard the lightness in his voice, imagined he was smiling, almost turned around to catch a glimpse of what she’d never seen. Although perhaps the slight tilting up of the corners of his mouth that shehadseen was as broad as his smile went.
She wondered if he’d shared the story because he’d recognized that her questions were an attempt to distract herself from what he was doing. She nearly wept. It had been so long since anyone, other than her brothers, hadshown her such kindness. Those upon whom she should have been able to rely had deserted her as though she was so much rubbish to be discarded. “You used a match from it to light the fire. May I see it?”
He stopped his ministrations and the silver container appeared over her shoulder.
As she took it, she felt a jolt as her fingers skimmed over the tops of his. His skin was rough, abrasive, and yet she thought it would feel marvelous scraping over hers. Swallowing hard, she directed her attention to the elaborate raised relief of intricate vines, leaves, and flowers that adorned both sides of the small metal box. At the top was a small hinged lid. She opened it to find the container stuffed with matches. “This is not an inexpensive gift. It’s silver.”
