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Her lips flattened with concern. “What is that?”
“I wager my nose is broken.”
She came close to inspect it, turning to the tub where a towel had been forgotten after his bath, which felt like it had taken place weeks ago. Dipping a bit of the fabric into the now-cool water, she dabbed at the blood on his face, and he winced.
“You’ve a wicked bruise blooming,” she said softly. “More than one.”
He nodded. “My face will finally have character.”
Her smile was as soft as her touch. As her teasing. “At last, something worth looking at.”
“You’re going to tell me about Havistock,” he said. “There’s more going on here than an outraged father trying to stop an unsuitable wedding.”
She hesitated.
Trust me, Adelaide. Trust me to help.
He didn’t say it, knowing she wouldn’t listen.
She met his eyes, searching long enough that he hoped she would find what she was looking for. The truth. That he was an ally. Finally, she nodded. “When we’re safe.”
It would have to be enough, he told himself as hesearched her in return, needing to make sure she was unharmed. He did not have to search far. “You’re bleeding.”
She put a hand to her neck. “A scratch.”
He took the towel from her. Repeated her movements. Cleaned the spot where the knife had punctured skin. “I want to tear him apart again. For every drop of blood.”
She shook her head. “Not tonight.” She was right. Though he did his best not to show it, the battle had taken a toll on his already bruised body. “We’re going to do him one worse,” she added.
His brows rose. “What’s that?”
“We’re sending him back to The Bully Boys... hogtied to take his punishment for losing. No one punishes a thug for a loss like one of their own.”
“I should like to try,” he said before swaying and catching himself on the rim of the bathtub, hoping she did not notice.
She noticed. Of course she did. “Clayborn?”
The title, back on her tongue. He wanted to tell her to call him Henry, as the moonlight streamed through the window, casting silver shadows over the skin she swiftly covered. Had she always been so beautiful?
Always.
He sucked in a breath, ignoring the sharp pain that flashed in his side. He needed a bed. A decent sleep. There wasn’t time for that—they had to get to Helene and Jack.
“You should have been wearing clothes. Then he wouldn’t have been able to hurt you.”
She moved toward him, his shirt in hand, her brow furrowed. “Would you believe I didn’t have time to lace a corset when the criminals broke down the door?” She pressed the ball of fabric to his chest, and he rocked back at the touch.
“What is—” The end of the question caught in her throat as she directed her attention down over his body, her hands following her concerned gaze in the darkness.
“Adelaide, as much as I enjoy your—”
“Oh, do shut up,” she interrupted him.
“I beg your pardon—”Pain.His hand flew to hers at his side. “Christ!”
“Shit.”Her exclamation was more colorful. “You need a doctor.” She looked up at him. “Can you walk?”
“Of course I can!” he insisted, offended. “But I’m perfectly fine. I don’t need a doctor.” He looked down to discover a neat slice in his side. “Billy must have landed one.”
