Page 27 of How Not to Marry a Duke

Hasmik glowered. “That isn’t what I meant, and you know it. Either it’s uncommon for the Duke of Warwick to have female visitors, or it’s too common.”

Adeline didn’t want to think about the duke’s dearth of women, or their abundance. The less she thought about his personal relationships the better. Meanwhile, she was here today to treat his injury, nothing more.

Booted heels sounded on the marble vestibule. Adeline set down her teacup on the saucer just as Warwick appeared in the doorway. Awareness rushed through her, and her pulse leaped in her chest at the sight of him. Dressed in a navy coat of superfine, a waistcoat, snowy cravat, and buckskin breeches with shiny Hessians, he cut a striking figure. He looked very much like…like a duke.

A strikingly handsome one.

Despite her efforts not to think about his private life, she wondered how he hadn’t married. Surely women threw themselves at him.

Then she remembered his peccadilloes. He preferred to put off his duties to the dukedom not because he wanted to indulge in gaming, drinking, or ladybirds at bordellos, but because he wanted to finish his work. She still wasn’t certain exactly what work that was.

He bowed. “Lady Adeline and Miss Hasmik. Thank you for coming.”

It wasn’t just his dress that impressed. His manners were much improved from their first encounter. He wasn’t yelling or throwing accusations, and her pig was nowhere in sight.

Adeline stood and curtsied. Proper manners were also second nature. “How is your arm, Your Grace?”

“Your treatment is better than the flour.”

She pursed her lips. “Anything is better than the flour.”

“My butler, Nelson, didn’t approve at first.”

“Why?”

“He has been applying the flour from the London physician. Only after I received some relief from your initial treatment has he reconsidered.”

“It’s good to know I’ve somehow proved myself to Nelson.” She reached for her medicine bag. “Your wound needs to be tended to and dressed.”

“Here?”

“It would be inappropriate for me to visit your bedchamber, Your Grace.” Her cheeks flushed. What made her even mention his bedchamber? And why would she care? She’d treated men before without this tingling in the bottom of her stomach.

Because none had looked like him.

Meanwhile, he appeared entirely unaffected.

He slipped off his coat and tossed it across one of the chairs. His shoulders were broad and, clearly, his tailor didn’t need to pad his coat to enhance his frame. He rolled up his shirtsleeves to reveal the wrapped bandage. Even his forearm was muscular with fine golden hairs.

“I will search for Mrs. Posner to see about more clean cloths,” Hasmik said.

Adeline’s eyebrows drew together. They always brought along their own dressings that they’d boiled and dried, but Hasmik sailed out of the drawing room and shut the door before Adeline could argue.

“Where shall I sit?” Warwick asked.

Adeline turned to face him. “The chair is fine.” He pulled the chair close to the settee so that she could sit and tend him at the same time. At this proximity, his cologne filled her senses, a tantalizing sandalwood and cloves. As she unwrapped bandages, she made the mistake of glancing into his eyes. They were a mesmerizing green like a roiling ocean on a windswept day. Her already warm cheeks grew hotter. What was wrong with her? She needed to calm her rapid heartbeat and focus on the task at hand. She cleared her throat. “The blisters are looking a bit better, but the skin will take time to heal.”

“You brought more of your salve?”

“I made it in advance.” She was aware of him leaning down as she gently applied the fragrant salve to the angry burn. She hadn’t lied; it would take numerous treatments before the wound healed. She couldn’t hold her tongue at the incompetency of the prior treatment.

“Who was the London physician?”

“Why?”

“I should like to know his name to warn any future patients away from the man.”

“He came highly regarded.”