“How do you feel today?” the doctor asked after a moment of charged silence.
Hector didn’t reply.
“Lad.” Dr. Landon reached out, but Hector bolted back with such speed to make her jolt.
“I want Madeline to cut my hair and beard,” he said in a gruff tone.
She tilted her head, not sure she’d heard him correctly. “Excuse me?”
He stared at her. “Cut my hair and beard.” An order.
“Mr. Wentworth.” Dr. Landon straightened his glasses. “I may be patient with you, but you do not speak to a lady in such a crude manner. You do not order a lady around.”
“Dr. Landon,” Maddie said, never taking her gaze off Hector, “it doesn’t matter.”
She’d be rude too after eight years surrounded by monkeys.
“It does, miss. I don’t mind being mistreated, but a lady is a different matter. I believe we might need to remind Mr. Wentworth of how we behave in civilised society.” The doctor pinned her with a glare holding all the outrage of a British gentleman.
“You’re right, Doctor.” Hector blinked, his shoulders sagging. “Please, Maddie. My hand is injured. Would you help me?”
Maddie’s cheeks warmed under his scrutiny, and he seemed so lost she wanted to hug him. “But I’ve never cut...oh, well. I’ll do it.”
eight
MADDIE HELD THE sharp, shiny pair of scissors in her bad hand, wondering if she should let Verity cut Hector’s hair. He’d survived eight years alone on a wild island. She didn’t want to be the one who killed him on a ship on his return trip to civilisation. Her mother and Verity didn’t help. Mother, grey from the seasickness, couldn’t stop staring at Hector as if he were a circus freak, and Verity seemed scared to death of him.
For some reason, Maddie wished to be alone with Hector. Her mother and sister were intruding into a private moment, as absurd as it sounded.
He sat stiffly on the chair, chin up and eyes scanning the cabin. His long hair almost reached his waist and fell in golden curls over his back. He must have washed it because it smelled of verbena and shone with a glossy hue.
“I’ll start now,” she said, trying the scissors.
He didn’t say anything.
But she needed to hear him. “Hector, I—”
“Just cut it, Madeline.” Her mother waved a dismissive hand. “Stop this fuss.”
“It’s not a fuss. I want to be sure he knows what’s about to happen.”
Mother’s gaze travelled skywards. Verity gave Maddie an encouraging nod.
“You may cut,” Hector said.
“All right.” Maddie cut the first lock, needing to apply more strength than she imagined. The severed curl dropped to the floor in a glitter of gold and copper.
Mother raised her eyebrows. “Good gracious, Mr. Wentworth. Why don’t you wear something appropriate?”
Hector didn’t reply, closing his fists on his thighs. Maddie kept cutting his hair, careful not to graze his skin. The more she cut, the more his strong neck became visible. She appreciated the hard tendons and roped muscles twitching under the skin. Her fingers itched to draw them. Would she be able to capture the life pulsating in his thick veins? She doubted it, but blazes if the challenge didn’t tickle her.
“It’s rude not to answer one’s question.” Mother folded her hands in her lap.
“Leave him be, Mother,” Verity said, peering at Hector’s half-naked chest with an interest her betrothed wouldn’t like.
Mother huffed. “His manners are barbaric.”
“Mother!” Maddie and Verity chorused.
