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He was standing in the middle of the room and attempting to staunch the bleeding in his left hand with his cravat. Instantly, the blood receded from her face, and she rushed over to him. “You’re hurt!”
“I’m fine,” he practically growled, but she ignored him as she hastily made her way to the washstand and dipped a nearby strip of linen in the warm water.
She walked back to him and removed the strip of neckcloth that was starting to turn red with his blood. She saw the gash on the side of his palm and said, “Hold still. This might sting.” She pressed the warm cloth against the wound, and he hissed through his teeth.
He grumbled under his breath, but didn’t move as she attended to him, pressing down firmly on his hand.
“Once we get the bleeding to stop, it might not hurt to add a stitch or two,” she noted quietly. “It looks pretty deep.”
“Blasted pitcher,” he muttered.
She glanced to the offending object where it sat beside the water bowl on the washstand with a jagged crack right down the center. “What happened?”
His dark gaze searched hers. “I suppose I set it down a bit too roughly.”
She nodded, but didn’t reply, for she understood quite clearly what had remained unsaid. She was the reason for his upset, but she intended to make it right.
She continued to inspect the cut and when she was satisfied that most of the bleeding had ceased, she said, “Make sure to keep it elevated. I will return in a moment with my sewing kit.”
Olivia quit the room and hastily made her way to her chamber. Thankfully, her maid always kept a small bit of thread and a needle in a convenient box on Olivia’s dressing table for emergencies, like a loose hem, so she was able to grab it quickly and return to attend Mr. Stone. Since her maid was still in London, it wasn’t as if she would be in need of it for some time anyway.
He was still standing where she’d left him, so she urged him to sit down in the wingback chair by the fireplace where the light would be best. She threaded her needle and was grateful that she had actually cared about embroidery, whereas someone like her sister, Calliope, would be in a terrible state at this moment, for she had never had the patience to learn the talent.
Olivia sat down on the footstool in front of Mr. Stone, but before she pierced his skin, she paused. “Perhaps a bit of brandy might help to ease the discomfort.”
He snorted and pulled down the gaping collar of his shirt to show her the large scar that ran along the entire length of his neck. “I think if I can manage to survive something as damning as this without even a single drop of laudanum or spirits, I can make it through a stitch or two in my hand.”
She swallowed but didn’t argue. “Very well.” She took a deep breath to steady herself and concentrated on the task.
He didn’t flinch when she made the first stitch and continued to remain still and silent until she was done. At the end, she snipped the thread and tied a knot to secure it. He brought his hand up to inspect her work and lifted a brow. “Very good, my lady. I’m impressed. You would have been rather convenient to have on the battlefield with such a precise hand.”
She shrugged. “I’m not sure about that, Mr. Stone. I merely enjoy a bit of embroidery now and then.” She glanced downward, taking special care to put away her needle and shut the lid of the small wooden box. “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to cause you such… upset.”
He sighed heavily. “It was my fault for overreacting to the situation when you were merely being inquisitive.” He paused. “But you should know that there are certain parts of my life I wish to remain buried in the past. To allow them to surface again would merely cause me further anguish when I have just managed to breathe steadily through the pain.”
She lifted her gaze to his once more. “After everything you’ve done for me, it was wrong of me to ask you to reveal something so personal. While I should like to imagine that we are friends, the truth is that we are merely friendly acquaintances. We might have shared a few intimate moments together, but it is hardly enough for such a deep confidence.” As Olivia looked at him, she suddenly took into account his state of casual dress. He had already discarded his formal dining attire and sat before her in his shirt and trousers—and nothing else. Even his feet were bare. It was entirely too intimate, especially after what had happened in the library earlier that day. Her cheeks burned at the torrid memory. “I… I should be going. I shall see you in the morning, Mr. Stone.”
She started to rise but paused when her wrist was encircled by his uninjured hand. “Thank you for your kind consideration, Lady Olivia.” His dark eyes caught the light from the fire and practically glittered. “It shall not be forgotten.”
She thought it was a rather strange thing for him to say, but she merely nodded as she quickly took her leave, though she was tempted to remain.
* * *
Miles lookedat his reflection in the mirror before he headed downstairs the next morning. He was wearing the same buff breeches from the day before, as well as the same black jacket, but he had changed his waistcoat to one with gold braiding and a fresh linen shirt and cravat. Unfortunately, the strip of cloth was in a rather pitiful state without the services of his valet, who was likely on his way to Gravesend Manor, believing that his master had returned home, rather than veering off course in the opposite direction. Not just that, but the clothes Miles had packed for his journey were starting to dwindle and if he hoped to keep up proper appearances, he would have to speak with the butler about acquiring some more clothes. Unfortunately, he hadn’t anticipated entertaining a guest when he arrived, so he hadn’t planned ahead.
Nevertheless, even if he was forced to wear the same thing for days, he would ensure that they were clean, and that he would be comporting himself as a model gentleman from now on. He would keep his hands firmly to himself and not even engage in a bit of mild flirtation. The ‘incident’ in the library would not be repeating itself, for last night had reminded him of his failings, whereas Lady Olivia had proven her worth.
While he was still withholding his true identity from her, she had been warm and caring the night before. It had been a long time since someone had saw to his needs, and although he knew she had been feeling directly responsible for his upset, she could have retired rather than choosing to ensure to his wellbeing.
He’d tossed and turned in bed as his own guilt had assailed him. He had nearly told her his true identity last night, but as before, something had given him pause. He knew it was apprehension that she wouldn’t accept the reason for his deceit, and his chest ached with the thought that she wouldn’t forgive him. Even the reasons that had seemed so important at the beginning now faded with the fact he had allowed the artifice to last for too long, that he had dug a hole for himself that he might never be able to dig out of.
Granted, whenever he passed the housekeeper in the hallway, the lady was quick to give him a stern appraisal, which didn’t help matters at all. It was almost ironic that a man who had faced down an enemy’s sword might be afraid of a slip of a woman like Lady Olivia. But then, that fear had a purpose—it was very likely that he could lose her if she uncovered his secret before he had a foolproof explanation at the ready. And since he hadn’t yet come up with anything to say that would take the sting out of the fact he was her father’s heir, the reason she had been forced to give up her beloved home, he continued to remain silent. He wasn’t naïve enough to believe that the truth wouldn’t be revealed at some point. He just hoped that Lady Olivia respected him enough by then that she would understand.
Smoothing his jacket in place, Miles left his chamber and headed down the stairs to break his fast. When he walked into the dining hall, he spied Lady Olivia at the sideboard, filling her plate from the selection that had been laid out. The food tempted his grumbling stomach, but it was the lady that turned at his entrance that made him nearly forget his vow to keep his distance.
Lovelydidn’t even describe Lady Olivia. It wasn’t a strong enough word for the fresh-faced woman in the cheery, orange velvet gown. He certainly hadn’t witnessed many who could pull off such a bold color, but it complimented her light hair and those sparkling, green eyes to perfection. And it more than hinted at the curves that he knew were beneath all those layers, just waiting to be peeled back and revealed to his hungry gaze…
“My lady.” He inclined his head in a civil manner, so that it softened his gruff tone.
