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“Oh, would you?” Lord Anthony straightened.
“One more word from either of you,” Honoria said from between clenched teeth, “and I call the guard myself!”
Montagne held Lord Anthony’s gaze a moment longer, then shifted his gaze to Honoria. Finally, he shrugged and started for the stairs, presumably to return to his room. When he was out of sight, Honoria glowered at Lord Anthony. “You had better put this room to rights before Alex and Sir Andrew return.”
She stomped in the direction of the kitchen.
“Won’t you help?” he asked incredulously.
“No.”
As she walked away, she heard him mutter. “And I thought we’d finally found a sweet and docile female.”
***
THOUGH LAURENT HADbeen reluctant to walk away from the English brute, he had to admit his head was spinning. And his arm hurt like...well, like it had been rammed by an ox, which was more or less a perfect description for Dewhurst.
He groaned as he sat on his small bed, rotated his shoulder, and rolled his head from side to side. He didn’t have a mirror in his chamber, but he took a towel from the washstand and dabbed it on his face. It came away scarlet. He’d bled more than he had expected.
He’d go down and fetch water later—damn the lack of servants—but for now he would take the mademoiselle’s advice and close his eyes for a few minutes. God knew sleep would be better than this endless waiting.
When he opened them, she was bustling about his room, pouring water from a pitcher into the washbasin. She dipped a clean towel in the water, wrung it out, and advanced on him. He lifted a hand. “I can do it myself. I would have fetched the water as well.”
“But you are too used to being waited on.”
“I would take your advice and lie down for a moment.”
She sat on the edge of his bed, making his body roll toward her slightly. The heat from her body spread warmth into him immediately. “That is a new tactic. You actually listened to me?” She leaned forward and dabbed the wet cloth on his temple. He hadn’t even been aware it too was bleeding again. Perhaps that accounted for the dizziness. She dabbed again, and he winced.
“Does that pain you? Good.”
He let out an indignant laugh. “You should stick with forgery. Nursing is not your forte.”
“I am a perfectly adequate nurse,” she said, though he could tell from the tone of her voice she was not quite certain of that fact. “I grow annoyed when I must nurse foolish men.”
Men?Had she nursed the English ox as well? Had she touched him like this?
“Stop scowling,” she ordered. “The blood will dry in the creases.”
She wet the towel, dipping it in the basin on her lap, then began to clean his chin. When she touched his cheek, he gritted his teeth to keep from cursing. It wasn’t even bleeding, but it hurt like hell. His whole head hurt.
She set the basin on the floor, and lifted a clean towel, dabbing at the water and cleaning the wound. “I wish I had some sort of poultice or medicine to put on it.”
She reached over him, giving him a lovely view of the underside of her rounded breast. He clenched his hands. If she had done this for Dewhurst, Laurent would have to hit the man again.
“I am fine,” he said. “I feel much better.”
“Very well.” She ceased her ministrations, and he wished he’d kept his mouth shut.
“What about your arm?” she asked, reaching to touch it lightly.
Thank God—or the Supreme Being—or whomever they were praying to now. She was not finished touching him.
“It’s a strain. Nothing more.” Idiot!Why did he keep giving her reasons to leave?
With a nod, she began to rise. “I would not mind assistance removing my coat.”
“Of course.” She gestured for him to sit up, and he complied, attempting to remove the garment himself. This was easy enough on the arm that remained uninjured, but he bit back an oath when he tried to pry the other arm out.
