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“We shall stick with ice and tea I think. I cannot see how you getting drunk will help the matter.”
“It will help the pain.”
“You said you do not need laudanum.”
“I do not. The last thing I want is to be out of my senses, especially when—”
“When?”
He sighed. “Nothing.”
“I am sorry this happened.”
She seated herself next to him and gently loosened his neck cloth. Red blotches marred the skin of his neck. She had seen the size of the man and could only imagine how hard the man had squeezed his neck. When she touched a finger to his skin, he released a hiss of pain.
Mrs. Lamb entered the room with a tray of ice, cloths and a pot of tea. She set it down on the table in front of them. “If it’s a head wound, he might need stitches, my lady. Should I send for the doctor?”
Luke shook his head. “It’s a mere scratch.”
Cassie shared a look with Mrs. Lamb. The housekeeper gave a little nod of understanding as she left the room swiftly and with any luck would return with a doctor before long.
“You do not need to act brave. That man was twice the size of you.”
“Maybe three times.”
“Why are men always prone to exaggeration on the size of things?”
“Believe me, I have never exaggerated the size of anything in my life.”
***
THE PUCKERING OF her brow indicated Luke’s poor attempt at humor had gone entirely amiss. He groaned when she pressed a damp cloth to the back of his head and it had little to do with the pain her ministrations caused and everything to do with her proximity.
She kneeled beside him to get nearer and coaxed him to tilt his head for better access. Her breasts were a mere head twist away. Her knees pressed into his thigh. He bunched his hands and pressed his knuckles into the forgiving fabric of the sofa and eyed the delicate damask pattern.
All he needed to do was sit here, not think of Cassie’s breasts or lips or even her damned knees—who the hell knew knees could cause such discomfort in a man?—and remind himself precisely who she was.
And who he was.
A man entirely not worthy of her.
Her fingers sifted through his hair, the touch not entirely unpleasant considering the sharp pain in his skull.
“It is not as bad as it looks,” she murmured.
He twisted his head to eye her on instinct and regretted it. She stilled when she met his gaze and he saw her pupils darken. Why could she not loathe the very ground he walked on? Why had he not been able to push her away with his roguish manners? Cassie was no fool and she knew better than he that she deserved someone of equal rank with a far better history than he.
So why did she have to torture him with parted lips and wide eyes?
Her throat bobbed and she turned, dropped the bloodied cloth on the tray and retrieved a clean, dry one, then raised up a little on her knees and pressed it against the wound. “I do not think you need stitches.”
He inhaled a breath through his teeth.
“Forgive me.”
He was the one who needed forgiveness. Especially when he failed to draw his gaze from her, allowing it to linger over her gentle curves. Grinding his teeth together, he fought for control when she shifted slightly closer. It wouldn’t take much, and he’d be buried in her body, kissing her neck, her décolletage.
Luke reached up and snatched her wrist. “Enough,” he bit out.
