Page 57 of Again, Scoundrel

He used his fingertips to massage the back of her neck until the soothing gesture lulled her to sleep again. She’d been awake and working for nearly twenty-four hours and was so exhausted that she barely roused as they traversed London.

She didn’t even wake when she was carried inside. She only felt vague sensations of her clothes being removed and her hair being gently washed and dried, before she was placed in a large, warm bed that enveloped her. It was bliss, and she was back asleep in seconds.

Alistair decided to give Williams a raise just as soon as he was able to afford it. His valet barely raised an eyebrow as the two carriagefuls of dirty, sleeping guests were loaded into the townhouse.

Williams undertook the care of Davy, who, in the light of day, seemed to be covered in more layers of grime than clothes. Alistair and the footman carried the sleeping Jess into the house as gently as they were able. Now that he could see her clearly, her small, fragile body and her face that was more child than not, his heart constricted in his chest. It was a miracle she had survived the night.

No, not a miracle.

Violet had saved her, as she had so many patients. He’d been wrong before when he’d asked Pembrooke to call for the surgeon. He’d seen the proof of Violet’s ability with his own eyes these last twenty-four hours, and as soon as she awoke, he’d tell her so.

In the meantime, Alistair asked the maid to tend to Jess, making sure the girl was thoroughly cleaned and laid in a bed made with freshly boiled linens. And then he turned his attention to Violet.

He knew she would be embarrassed in the morning to learn that it was he who had bathed her and undressed her, but there wasn’t much choice. He kept only a skeletal staff, and they were busy with the siblings.

So, it was Alistair who carefully plucked out each hair pin. Alistair who unlaced her shoes and unrolled her stockings. And Alistair who slipped her carefully into the bath of warm water to clean her body and hair as dispassionately as he could.

And then he removed her sleeping form from the tub and laid her underneath the covers to sleep. He’d have dressed her again if he could, but he had no women’s clothes laying around his townhome. It was only a rented place, and he’d never brought a woman here before.

He sat in the chair in the bedroom for a long while and watched over Violet while she slept. It was humbling to find someone who inspired him, who made him want to do and be more than he ever had before. And it was new to him, this enjoyment of her intellect and admiration for her capabilities, as much as he admired her generous, lush curves tucked into—well. He hated that dress and wasn’t a bit sorry it was ruined.

Part of him wanted to ravish her right then and there, but he didn’t. She was exhausted, and, if she was anything like him, stunned by the raw reality of what they had seen that day. What she needed was rest and care, not debauching. So that was what he gave her, watching over her while she slept in his bedchamber. In his bed.

Where she belongs.

He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead before he retired to his own desperately needed bath.

Chapter

23

Violet slept on and off before awaking with a start in the dark room. She sat up, groggy and puzzled, before the events of the last day and night came rushing back to her.

Then she collapsed back down on the mattress. She’d lost the child. Saved the mother but lost the child. She knew there was every chance that the babe had died hours before she’d arrived, but still, the loss hurt.

She slipped her feet out of the warm blankets and onto the cold floor. She should find Jess and check on her. The girl was still very much at risk; if she developed a fever now, she would be too weak to fight it.

The chill that rushed up her legs from her bare feet startled her, and she looked down to discover she was unclothed. She supposed that should not surprise her. Her clothes would have been filthy, covered in dirt and blood and bodily fluid and who only knew what else from her day’s labor.

A maid must have undressed her and taken them away to launder. She looked around quickly for a robe or a night rail to don but found nothing suitable. Wherever she was, the wardrobe was somewhere else. She pulled a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around herself to explore her surroundings.

There was a thin, wavering light emitting from the next chamber, so Violet made her way to it and knocked quietly on the closed door. When there was no answer, she tried again, louder. When all was still quiet, she pushed open the door and entered what turned out to be the bath chamber.

Violet smiled to herself. She couldn’t help it. There was Alistair Crawford, sound asleep and snoring slightly in a tub full of water that had surely grown cold.

“Hello,” she called to him softly.

He snorted slightly but didn’t wake.

She approached his sleeping form, knowing she should not stare at him. She should lower her eyes and give the man some privacy. But she didn’t.

Violet drank him in. She’d never seen a man arrayed before her as nature had intended. He was magnificent, and she would be damned if she wasn’t going to take the opportunity to examine him.

She’d seen renderings of male organs in the course of her studies and male flesh during her work, but never like this. Alistair had broad shoulders, still sun kissed from his last voyage, and the hard arms and shoulders of a man who worked for a living. Her eyes traced down his body to muscular thighs and calves, dusted with dark hair, and, of course, his member. She’d definitely never seen one of those in person before.

She leaned forward for a better view and then, before she could stop herself, she giggled. She’d expected something… different than what she saw. When she’d felt him before, through his small clothes and trouser flap, he’d been hard and long. Now he looked soft. Unintimidating.

Violet knew the mechanics but was intrigued by the reality. She leaned in further still for a better look, and then, before her eyes, his cock began to grow.