I set Papa’s gun down near enough that I could grab it if necessary. He’d managed to remove half of his overcoat, but his coat underneath was as wet as if he’d been riding in it alone. I clenched my jaw and reached for his buttons. With any luck his shirt and waistcoat would be dry, but in this kind of storm, I doubted it.
My hands shook as I carefully undid his top button. I glanced back up at his face, making certain he was still unconscious. His thick lashes stayed closed. I took a deep, steadying breath. I’d grown up around men. Many of Papa’s friends visited him, staying at Blackwell for weeks on end in order to hunt. I was no shrinking violet.
Still, I’d never had cause to undress any of those men.
The second button released, and with it I let go of my scruples. The faster I accomplished this task, the better it would be, both for me and him. I made quick work of the other two buttons and yanked open his coat with perhaps less care than I should have, for he groaned with the movement.
His waistcoat and shirt underneath were just as wet as the rest of him. Blast.
I’d laid my wet clothes out to dry near the fire, but they were still almost as wet as when I’d arrived. The only dry clothing was the night rail and dressing gown I’d brought in the oilcloth, and those were currently on my person.
My face heated. Exactly how far was one supposed to go in order to save a person?
My dressing gown was a warm one made of thick green velvet, and my night rail beneath it was sturdy white muslin. IfI gave him the velvet, it would be a cold night, but if Papa had spent months in Walcheren fighting the damp conditions and Napoleon’s men, I could handle one night without my dressing gown.
I finished pulling off the man’s overcoat and then did the same with his coat and waistcoat. I was surgical—a physician concentrating only on saving the life of a patient. But heaven help me, his shirt was plastered to his skin and did nothing to hide his well-formed chest underneath. I gritted my teeth. With another hard swallow and a reminder that his life was at stake, I undid the shirt buttons as well.
With his chest bare, I assessed the hard planes of it, checking for wounds. Other than a few old scars, one of which matched the sharp line of the scar over his left eye, his skin was unblemished. He was as well-formed as the Greek and Roman statues I’d strode past in the pleasure gardens of London. His was a body that could not be unfamiliar with toil and strain, however. The fabric of his coat and waistcoat was of a solid, middling quality, better than what a laborer would have. I had touched his hands and fingers while pulling his arms out of his sleeves, and the only callouses there were the kinds one might receive from horseback riding. But he must do an awful lot of it to be so fit and trim.
I shook my head.Focus. It didn’t matter what he did. He was a stranger in need of care and that was all that mattered.
I half closed my eyes while I finished pulling his arms out of his shirtsleeves. He still hadn’t woken, but his skin was dimpled all over with gooseflesh. His arms shook violently once and then with a quick burst of movement, he pulled his knees to his chest and curled into himself.
I fell away from him with a quiet gasp, resettled with a shaky breath, and then set to work removing his boots. They came off with a loud squelch.
His breeches were as sodden as the rest of him. But I couldn’t—I simply couldn’t remove any more clothing from him. I prayed I wouldn’t be cursed for my weakness and prayed even harder that wet legs wouldn’t be the death of him. He looked healthy enough, but his shaking wouldn’t stop and it was growing more violent.
I removed my dressing gown and threw it over him.
He settled slightly and for the briefest moment, his eyes fluttered open.
“C-c-cold.” He shivered the word from chapped lips.
“I know,” I said harshly. “I’m doing my best. Perhaps you could be of assistance? The fire is only a few feet away.”
He reached for my hand. “So . . . cold . . . ”
I grabbed his hand and stood. The man had been walking only a moment ago. Certainly he could stand and walk the few paces to the fireplace. I tugged on his arm, but he forcefully pulled me down and I tumbled forward, my feet stumbling until I nearly fell on top of him. Luckily I was able to catch myself on one knee.
“I’m trying to help you, you big oaf.” I shoved his shoulder. I gritted my teeth and made my voice match the tone Papa used when he was forcing Charlie and me to clean our pistols or row a boat faster on the pond. “Stand up and march.”
His eyes opened. They were dark in color but not solid—flecks and variations of browns and greens dappled his irises. The sight of them softened all of his harsh lines into something more ... well, confound it, handsome. I blinked and swallowed once again. Eye contact was not helping me ignore the indelicate nature of our situation.
He was not stunned by my eyes, however, for he looked down at the ground and heaved himself up, first to his knees and then to his feet. My dressing gown dropped to the ground beneath him and I quickly grabbed it and threw it over his bare chest.It fell immediately back down. I cursed and bent to retrieve it, this time taking the time to wrap it around his broad shoulders. Without asking leave, he draped an arm over my shoulders and leaned heavily on me. The heat from his fevered body permeated the muslin of my night dress the moment we touched. With a clumsy step, we stumbled forward.
When we reached the fireplace, he tilted dangerously to one side. I wrapped one arm around his chest and helped him lower himself to the ground more gracefully than he’d done when he’d first arrived.
He laid down on the bare slate floor. My dressing gown had fallen open, the tie somewhere under his back, so I pulled each side over him and tucked one end under his shoulder. His skin still burned at any touch, but at least the heat of the flames had slowed his violent shivering.
I glared at him. “What kind of a fool rides horseback through a storm like this?” I had enough to worry about with Papa’s injury. This stranger was old enough to know better..
His lip twitched almost as if in a smile. Had he heard me?
His eyelids lifted and for the first time he seemed to focus on me. He lifted his head off the ground. “Th-thank—” He managed only the barest beginning of the sentiment with great effort.
“Shhh,” I hushed. His eyes lost their focus and his head dropped back down. Immediately, I regretted hushing him. If I was going to care for a man all night, shouldn’t I at least know something about him? I leaned over him. “Do you have a name?”
Those dark eyelashes fluttered again and he nodded, but he didn’t answer. Or rather, I suppose he did, but I simply hadn’t been specific enough in my inquiry. “What is it?”
