“He’s heartbroken. I think he’s scared of returning home.” She toyed with a corner of the newspaper.
“I would be as well. Do you think Mother was right when she said he isn’t right in his mind?”
Maddie thought about her conversation about propriety with him. “No, I think he’s one of the sanest people I’ve ever met.”
“What about his body?”
Maddie clutched the newspapers against her chest. Guilt caused her to fidget. “His body?”
Verity nodded. “Does he have any physical damage?”
A vision of Hector standing half-naked in front of her flashed across Maddie’s mind. “No. I believe he’s more than fine.”
eleven
NOT TO CATCH Hector shirtless again—alas, society and its rules—Maddie knocked on his door. “Mr. Wentworth? It’s me.”
“Come in,” came his deep voice.
He was fully clothed. Unfortunately. No, she meant luckily. Yes, luckily.
“I’ve brought you some newspapers,” she said. “They aren’t fresh from the press, but I thought you might be interested in knowing what’s happening in London right now.”
He nodded, causing his curls to fall over his cheeks. Maybe she should cut his hair again. He was far too attractive...or wild with those luscious curls. Or a pomade perhaps to tame them. No, it’d be a pity.
“How is your skin?” she asked. “Still sore?”
He nodded.
“We should ask Dr. Landon to give you a lotion.”
“We.” A corner of his mouth pulled up. “Thank you.”
She paused shuffling the newspapers. “For what?”
“To include yourself in my predicament.”
“Oh.” She shifted her weight. “I want to help you.”
“Thank you.” He took one of the newspapers from her hand with reverence as if she handed him the crown jewels. He opened it and stared at the pictures. “Amazing. The pictures are better than I remember.” He flipped through the pages, inching closer to them. “Very detailed.”
“The press made progress.” She grinned, enjoying his outburst of enthusiasm.
“Who’s the prime minister?”
“Lord Salisbury. Again. Funny how some things change, and others stay the same.”
“Indeed.” Hector raised his eyebrows, focusing on an article. “The Irish are protesting.”
“They are. My father says the parliament should have followed Gladstone’s example when he was prime minister and granted financial independence to the Irish farmers who—” She fell silent, surprised by her own boldness. There was something about Hector that pulled out the rebel within her. “I’m sorry.”
He lowered the newspaper, frowning. “What for?”
“Gentlemen don’t usually enjoy hearing me talk about politics. Mother says I’m too opinionated, and no one is interested in what I have to say.”
His frown deepened. “I am. What were you saying about Gladstone?”
She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, but stopped when Hector stared at her with too much intensity. She felt his stare all over her body. “He proposed to grant the Irish financial independence from the crown, which would mean fewer taxes and more equality for them. But the current parliament and prime minister are stricter than Gladstone. They think the government should tighten the sanctions on the Irish.”
