Page 60 of Cloaked in Beauty

“Can you stand?” She reached for his arm as if ready to steady him if he couldn’t manage on his own.

Philip set his jaw. He wasn’t that far gone. “Yes.”

He wasn’t sure why she wanted him on his feet, but at this point, proving he wasn’t a complete invalid seemed more important than understanding her rationale. Ignoring her proffered hand, he gripped the chair arms and levered himself up to his full height.

His legs shook as he straightened, but they held. The blanket, on the other hand, slid right off his shoulders to pool atop his chair.

Letty’s indrawn breath echoed loudly in the quiet room, and Philip was sure he would have blushed had he had any warm blood available in his face or extremities.

Apparently, his brain was still operating at reduced capacity. Why else would it not have occurred to him to clasp the blanket before standing in the presence of a lady? Especially one who’d been completely sheltered from menfolk. His sister might have witnessed him and his father strip to the waist to wash at the pump after a long day in the fields, but Letty had practically been raised in a convent, isolated as she had been with only her grandmother for company. He’d likely shocked her speechless.

“Sorry,” he muttered as he turned to retrieve the blanket.

She grabbed his hand. “No. Wait. I, uh, need to see where you’re injured.”

Unlike his bloodless face, hers glowed like hot embers, yet her eyes glittered with a determination he appreciated. The woman might have grown up sheltered, but she was no hothouse flower. Her inner strength and practical nature stood ready to rise to any challenge. Including facing a half-naked man with gumption and kindness.

Philip straightened and did his best imitation of a statue while aiming his gaze over her head, an easy-enough task since the top of her head barely reached his chin.

He knew what she’d find during her inspection. Scrapes along his belly where he’d pulled himself out of the river and up onto the log. A slash down his bicep where a branch had jabbed him during his struggle with Rusty. A random smattering of claw marks where Rusty’s panicked scrambling had met his chest instead of the log. Everything was superficial. Including the teeth marks on his forearm. The ones that still shamed him. He’d practically attacked Letty in his delirium. Part of him wished the wolf’s teeth had driven deeper into his flesh. They’d barely broken the skin. As if Rusty had bitten more to bring Philip to his senses than to punish. The wolf had responded to Letty’s mercy—a mercy Philip hadn’t deserved, yet one that had been given without hesitation. A gift he’d do all in his power to keep her from regretting.

“I can clean these up myself,” he offered. The cut on his bicep was the only one that had bled significantly, but he was pretty sure it didn’t need stitches.

“But you won’t. I’m going to do it.” She had her bossy-britches voice turned back on.

Philip grinned. If she wanted to play nurse, who was he to argue? The way his hands shook, he’d probably spill half of their tincture of iodine anyway.

“You endured so much to save Rusty,” she said in a softer tone. “I’m so sorry.”

Her palm curved around his side, and the unexpected touch so startled Philip, every muscle from his abdomen to his sternum tightened. Her light, tender touch spawned a violent reaction inside him. His heart pummeled the wall of his chest with what felt like a dozen sledgehammers.

Suddenly unsteady, Philip pulled his feet out from under Rusty’s belly and widened his stance to keep from teetering. Cool air hit his feet and ankles as he pivoted to face her, sending a particularly large shiver coursing over him.

Her hand slid away from his skin. “We really need to do something about those shivers.”

Busy as he was trying to get his pulse under control, he paid little attention to her as she stretched around him to retrieve a blanket he no longer wanted. Who wanted a blanket when he could have her hands on his skin? Her touch did more to heat his blood than an entire stack of quilts. Wrangling his thoughts and desires, he stood still as she wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and tugged the opening closed beneath his chin. Just like a mother would do for a child. Not exactly the way he wanted her to perceive him. But then she stepped close and surrounded him with her arms. The side of her face pressed against his blanket-clad chest as she rubbed her arms up and down, her palms circling and creating a deliciously warm friction over his arms and back.

But, oh, how he wanted to hold her. To stretch wide arms currently trapped by her generosity, to open the blanket and welcome her inside. To snuggle her close until they both became so heated that the blanket was no longer needed.

She kept up her ministrations for a couple of minutes, her motions slowing as her arms tired, becoming more of a soothing rub than a frantic friction conductor. Philip’s eyes slid closed as he leaned against her and enjoyed each and every stroke. For the first time since the river, Philip felt his circulation begin to revive.

Eventually her motions stopped, and she squeezed his upper arms. Philip reluctantly opened his eyes and straightened. Glancing down, he caught a shy and utterly captivating smile stretch across her face.

“That’s better,” she said before dipping her chin and taking a step back to retrieve the medical kit.

Better seemed far too tame a description. Like calling a wild mustang a pony.

Letty picked up the medical kit and pried open the lid. “All right. Let’s take care of these scrapes, shall we?”

She tended to him with gentle persistence, scrubbing what needed to be scrubbed yet exerting great care to cause him the least discomfort possible. Not that the discomfort bothered him all that much. The iodine stung, and it didn’t feel great when Letty cleaned away the dried blood from the gouge on his arm, exposing the raw places underneath, but even that couldn’t dim the pleasure of having her fingers roam over his skin.

He was falling hard for this woman, and if he read her blushes and darting glances correctly, she might just be falling for him, too. The situation would be perfect if she were truly Letty Hood, small-town country girl who loved wolves and unrealistic fairy stories. He could craft a life with that woman. Leave the Pinkertons, buy some land, and build a house that they could fill with a passel of kids.

But Letty Hood didn’t exist. She was just a temporary persona created to protect the woman beneath the disguise—Scarlett Radcliffe. A woman destined to live a life of privilege and responsibility. Heir to the Radcliffe fortune. Expected to take her place at her mother’s side, running businesses and charities and socializing with the cream of society. Letty might be a free spirit and a country girl at heart, but she was also loyal, dedicated, and driven by duty. She’d not turn her back on family, and frankly, he wouldn’t want her to. She and her mother had been separated long enough. They deserved to rediscover each other and establish the kind of bond he enjoyed with his parents, even if that meant he had to step aside.

Becoming a Radcliffe would change her. Just like becoming a Pinkerton had changed him. He was still the same person at his core, he carried the same values and faith, but he’d been shaped by his experiences, just as she would be shaped by hers. He could visit the family farm, do the old chores, and resume the old routine, but it didn’t fit him the way it used to. He soon grew discontent and began looking to the horizon. If he and Letty were to have any kind of future, she’d have to fit with him not only as the Letty he knew now but as the Scarlett she would become. And his track record of fitting in with people of the Radcliffes’ ilk didn’t hold out a lot of hope for the happily-ever-after Letty warranted.

“There.” Her voice brought him out of his rather depressing cogitations.