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“Come in,” he heard Enid say.

Cautiously he pushed his way inside and was confronted by a miasma of scents: blood, urine, carbolic soap, and vinegar. Wet, bloodstained linens and blankets were heaped in the corner. Enid had just changed Tuppence into a fresh nightgown and was plaiting her hair to hold it back from her face.

Tuppence lay half curled on her side on the bare mattress, facing away from him.

“Mr. Pembroke,” Enid said, appearing relieved to see him. “June is in your room, making up the bed with oilcloth under the sheets.”

“Good.” John took a step forward, and hesitated. “No sign of Maddock or the midwife yet?”

“No, sir. But I expect they’ll be here soon, and then we’ll be right as a trivet.” Despite her artificial cheer, Enid’s face was drawn with anxiety.

“Have you ever . . .” It was a situation for which John didn’t have the proper terminology. Childbearing was a female matter, rarely discussed around men. “Have you accompanied someone through this before?” he asked.

“Not really, sir. I sat with my sister-in-law for a few days after she came down with childbed fever. But I wasn’t there during the birthing.”

“Ah.” After an uncomfortable pause, John asked, “Your sister-in-law is well now, I take it?”

“She is indeed, sir,” Enid said quickly. But she shook her head slightly and sent him a meaningful glance.

Fuck.

John went around the bed to the other side and crouched until his face was level with Tuppence’s. “Mrs. Higget,” he said gently.

Tuppence looked at him dully, her mouth crumpled with pain. Her complexion was shiny with sweat and bone-white except for a banner of high color across her cheeks.

“Mrs. Higget, I’m here to help you to another room. Do you think you could walk?”

“No.”

“I’ll carry you, then.”

“No,” she croaked, shrinking away from him.

John stared down at her in concern. “I know you’re in pain. I’ll be careful not to—”

“I don’t want you to touch me.” Tuppence dampened her dry lips before continuing, “Ever since it happened . . . I can’t bear being touched by any man. I hate it.”

Feeling sick to his soul, John nodded slowly. How bloody easy it had been for a man to change her entire life with a single act. A destruction with consequences upon consequences.

“I don’t blame you,” he said gruffly. “I won’t do anything you don’t want. But the baby’s coming . . . and I think . . . it would be better for you to be in a bed that’s dry and clean. Can we find some way to do this? What if I wrap a blanket around you, so we won’t touch?”

Tuppence set her jaw, her chin quivering. “I would still feel your arms around me,” she whispered. “I can’t. I can’t.”

John was silent for a long time, staring into her wretched face. “When my mother fell ill,” he eventually said, “and was too weak to walk, I carried her outside when she wanted to feel the sun on her face, or to the chapel when she wanted to pray. If you could bring yourself to trust me . . . if there’s any way . . . I would be as careful with you as I was with her. Let me help you. Please.”

Tuppence closed her eyes as she thought it over, each breath shivering in her throat.

“Devil take the man who did this to you,” John heard himself say thickly. “Someday I’ll bind him neck and heels and drag him to hell myself. But for now . . . don’t let the memory of what he did stop you from accepting help when it’s needed. He doesn’t deserve to have that power over you.”

Tuppence’s wet lashes lifted. She studied him, bit her lip, and said, “If you put the blanket around me . . . I think I could tolerate it that way.”

“Aye, good,” John said, letting out a breath of relief. “We can do that.”

Enid brought a clean white blanket, and together they wrapped Tuppence in the light layer of cotton.

Before picking her up, John said, “I’ll be sliding one arm beneath your knees, the other around your back. Is that acceptable?”

“Yes.”