Page 52 of The Duke and the Darkness

“Thank you,” she whispered between her fingers. “For…everything.”

He gestured for her to turn around. “I’ll undo you, if you’d like, and then we can go to bed and try for sleep.”Try.Precious little would come tonight for either of them.

“In my experience,” she said, forcing a thin smile, “going to bed precipitates the undoing.”

He knew she was aiming for the same flirtatious sassiness she’d engaged in with him at Barton’s, but the attempt fell flat. Still, she was trying, and he took hope in that. Perhaps her grief wouldn’t overwhelm her after all, no matter what Lucien and Chase learned about the explosion or whose lives it had claimed.

“And inmyexperience,” he returned, matching her attempt at playfulness, “an undoing doesn’t require a bed at all.”

She tossed back the rest of the brandy and held the empty glass out to him. “Then you shouldn’t mind at all if I take the bed while you spend the night on the floor.” She turned her back to him and warned over her shoulder as she gestured at her bodice, “Don’t stretch the fabric.”

With a chuckle, he set the glass aside. He slowly unfastened the short row of buttons until her bodice sagged over her breasts. His fingers brushed over her bare skin as he pushed her capped sleeves off her shoulders and down her arms, and her dresspuddled at her feet, leaving her in her shift and stays. Removing her dress should have been difficult, far too much of a wanton temptation to strip her completely bare and have his way with her. But he managed to hang on to his control…until he dared to remove her hair pins and take down her hair. When he brushed his fingers through her dark tresses until they hung loose around her slender shoulders, the sweet torture of touching her nearly undid him.

He pulled in a deep and silent breath to steady his hands as he unlaced her short corset, slowly loosening it one long pull at a time. Whenever his knuckles caressed the thin shift and felt the warmth of her skin beneath, he had to fight the urge to place his mouth against her nape and lick his way down her spine, to peel away every layer of clothing until she was breathtakingly naked before his eyes, quivering with desire—

Christ.He was losing his mind.

The corset dropped away, and he stepped back to snatch up the glass and pour himself a very full drink. Of course, it didn’t help that her warm curves were covered only by a thin shift and stockings. For the first time, he thanked God that the room had a dark stove instead of a fireplace that would have silhouetted her curves through the thin cotton as if she wore nothing at all.

“Your arm.” Her soft voice curled around him like a ribbon. “You hurt it.”

He glanced down at his torn and bloodied sleeve, then took a long swallow of liquor and welcomed the burn down his throat. “It’s nothing.”

“Liar.” She waved her hand at him. “Take off that jacket so I can look at it.”

“It’s only a scratch.” Yet he shrugged off the tiger’s poorly fitting jacket he still wore from their visit to St Giles and dropped it to the floor. “It doesn’t need nursing.”

She said nothing, but determination flickered in her eyes. He was thrilled to see it instead of the grief she’d been wearing for the past hour. Yet his breath strangled in his throat when she reached to unbutton his waistcoat.

He took her wrists and stilled her hands. “What are you doing?”

“Undressing you so I can look at your arm for myself.” She tsked her tongue. “Surely, Devlin Raines doesn’t mind being undressed by a woman.”

“Well then.” He held his arms out wide and gave her his best rakish grin. “Who am I to stop you?”

She slid him a cutting look, yet she carefully removed his waistcoat and only lightly scraped his wounded arm as she slid it off his shoulders and onto the floor. Truthfully, though, the dull throbbing in his arm was nothing compared to the throbbing at his crotch.

She untied his cravat and slipped it off his neck, then turned away and crossed the room to the wash basin near the stove. “Take off your shirt.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned to himself as he pulled down his braces to let them dangle around his hips. The shirt slipped over his head and off. With his left arm completely bare, he could see the wound now and assess it for himself. Perhaps it was more than a mere scratch. So for a better view, he turned toward the dim light of the candle burning on the bedside table next to the bottle of cognac.

“Do you think we should send for a surgeon?” She frowned into the water pitcher and set it back down. “Empty.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “I can go upstairs for water unless you…”

Her voice trailed off as she stared at him, eyes wide and stunned.

He froze. He didn’t have to look over his shoulder to see what had startled her. He knew.Christ.For the first time in his life, he hadn’t remembered to hide his back, too caught up in the sweet temptation of her nearness. Shame and humiliation pulsed through him.

“Dear God,” she whispered, her eyes scouring over the rough scars on his back. “What on earth happened to you?”

Chapter Thirteen

Peyton was barelyable to keep hold of her breath as she stared at Devlin. The lines across his back and shoulders, crisscrossing unevenly at angry angles…Good Lord.She’d never seen so many scars on one man before, except for a soldier she’d met in France who had been whipped for deserting his regiment. That man had received two hundred lashes and barely survived.

Had Devlin been…whipped?

Her heart lurched into her throat. “Devlin…?”

He shrugged as if it were nothing more troubling than a sunburn and turned his back away from her as he refilled his glass, the loose braces bumping dismissingly against his hips. “It’s nothing to be concerned about.”