Page 35 of Lady Petra and the Wolf

“I believe I will need to suture this wound as well, my lord, in order to protect your privacy. While I admire what you were trying to do, you might not wish for a doctor to learn of…your social experiment, let alone spread the word. I assure you, my needlework—”

“Is beyond compare.”

“How would you know that?” She finally dared to look at him.

“I have watched you for many years, Petra,” he said softly. Not Lady P, not Pet. No, she thought back, he had never called her that horrid diminutive of her father’s before. Only that one time.

“I remember seeing a rose you once stitched. On the outside it appeared the perfect English rose, clean lines, beautiful. Simple.” She glanced at him warily. “But then you would hold it to the light, and the rose became so much more. Darker, more dangerous. More interesting. Like you. It is the secret symbol of your sanctuary, is it not?”

“It is a rose on a shield, with a sword behind it,” Petra murmured. She gave a small smile, delight unfurling like a petal in her chest that he had figured it out. “I can admit to being the shield behind the rose. But not yet the sword.”

He wore an odd expression as he regarded her once more, one she couldn’t quite place, though the intensity of it made her want to look anywhere but at him.

“I think you are all three, Lady Petra. In different ways.”

That locked door inside her rattled and she finally glanced away, turning to prepare the bandage.

She had seen far too much of the man to be proper, even if she was working as something of a healer. However, she had no immediate plans to attempt to return to Polite Society, so she brushed the compulsory shame she was meant to feel aside and considered Lord Wolfridge’s injury, taking in the torn flesh of his muscled back. A rather fine back at that–

Blinking, she next attempted to push away her awareness of his nakedness. She was trying to help him, she had no business taking in the state of his form.

And yet from the way he glanced at her over his shoulder, she sensed he would welcome her gaze.

You cannot trust this man, Petra. While he may not be a monster like Papa, there is no guarantee he is a good man. Not after what he did.

Petra paused in her ministrations as another voice spoke inside of her. Lust did not require trust.

“Lady Petra?” There was a growl in Wolf’s voice which made the hairs on the back of Petra’s neck stand to attention and she acknowledged to herself for the first time since his betrayal that she was still deeply attracted to the man.

“Just woolgathering I’m afraid.” She hummed as she cleaned his wound and applied the bandage. The cut on his back was not so bad that it required her stitching. Stepping back to admire her work, she went on. “I will go retrieve the clothes that I can, my lord. I will be back shortly.”

Excavating the bowels of the theatre for suitable attire for a gentleman, Petra reasoned with herself. She was far beyond society’s gaze and strictures, with no wish to return to that den of vipers over which her father ruled. The secrecy of her sanctuary filled her with a never before known sense of freedom that her behavior was not being watched and judged. She was far beyond the scolding eyes of the ton, and her actions did not need to consider Polite Society at all.

With this knowledge, she weighed her attraction to Wolf. Could she…explore this lust? Yes, she did not completely trust him, but somehow his presence today endeared him to her in a way that rattled the profound distrust he had sown. She was not going to hand over her heart to him on a platter, but her body…that was another story altogether.

But how to approach this proposition? How to explain that this was completely different from what they had done in the Stillwell library? Because this was in her domain and it would be on her terms.

Content at last with the assortment of garments she had gathered, Petra arranged them in a stack so voluminous that they rose to meet her chin, nearly blotting out the way before her. This precarious bundle rendered her attempt to open the door a most difficult undertaking, whereupon she heard Wolf’s call of concern from within, offering his assistance.

“I have–”

Wolf struggled to maneuver the door, or at least she believed he did from the sound of his voice, yet at that precise instant, she stumbled over the threshold and, still unable to see, tumbled backward.

“Petra!” At Wolf’s concerned voice, his hand grasped her forearm as he sought to catch her. The clothes tumbled from her arms, but thankfully Wolf was able to save Petra from the hard floor. The linen he had wrapped around himself was not so lucky and in his chivalry, the cloth fell to the ground, leaving him bare again. From the angle at which he caught her, Petra’s vision was full of the man’s torso, covered in a light trail of hair that led down to…Petra exhaled and forced herself not to act missish by looking away. The modesty demanded of her by Polite Society had no place here.

Inclining her head with a slow deliberation to search the landscape of his features, Petra became cognizant of the frantic thrumming at the hollow of Wolf’s throat, where his pulse leapt with a visible urgency.

“Wolf?” She choked out.

Something like disappointment flashed across his face but the next moment she glanced up at him, the expression was gone.

“Yes?”

“I could reach down and–”

“Yes?” He repeated, his voice much gruffer this time.

“Pick up the linen for you.” Petra finished, then summoning her courage, she went on. “Or…”