Page 56
They went upstairs and into Dorian’s room. Quietly, Patience took a basin, poured in fresh water from the carafe standing by its side, and brought it to Dorian.
She had learned a little of tending wounds by watching her mama take care of her siblings and herself whenever anyone was injured. They didn’t have money to spend on a real physician, so the mending of wounds and treatment of illnesses and such was in their own hands.
Dorian sat on his bed, propped by his pillows. Patience put the basin on the night table and opened the box. There were different instruments. Tweezers, a hooked needle, catgut thread, fresh and clean bandages, some salves, and bottles of what must have been used to clean wounds, as well.
“Are you certain you want to do this?” he asked. “I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself. I usually do. Mrs. Knight and the housekeeper in my London house, Mrs. MacAllister, only help in the worst cases, though both are trained to deliver urgent aid.”
She looked at him, and there was a knot in her stomach again at the sight of his beautiful face, so wounded.
Because of her. He’d lashed out because of her.
“Of course I’m certain I want to take care of you. You could have seriously hurt yourself,” she said as she picked up the tweezers.
“I don’t care about that. I could have hurt you,” he said. “And that, I couldn’t bear.”
She carefully picked the glass out of his skin. He didn’t even flinch. The shard was small and came out all bloodied. A thin streak of blood oozed out when she removed it but thankfully only a small one.
“I was far enough away,” she said softly. “I was scared for you.”
His face went slack as he stared at her. “Scared for me?”
“Of course.” She dipped a fresh cloth into the water and sat on the edge of the bed by his side. Softly, she patted the small scratches of blood over his forehead.
“You said you were scared,” he chuckled. “That’s a bad emotion. Wouldn’t you like to lock it away?”
“I will,” she said as she moved to the scratch on his nose. She was very aware of his big and vulnerable sky-blue eyes on her. He looked completely defenseless. “But you should know what effect your outbursts have on people.”
He swallowed. “I have my suspicions.”
“Then why do it? Aren’t you a well-bred man? Aren’t you supposed to be all cold and collected and not show any emotion at all?”
She cleaned the cloth in the water and wetted a fresh, untouched side of it and moved to the biggest scratch. He hissed slightly as she patted it.
“I am supposed to, yes,” he said simply.
“Pray, what troubles you?”
Blood was still oozing from the cut, although not as much anymore. She didn’t think he needed stitches, but it might leave a scar.
Another one.
“A great deal troubles me,” he murmured. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
“But I’d like to,” she whispered as her hand froze on the side of his face.
Their eyes locked. His anger was spent, his defenses down. And she could truly see him, all the pain and desperation that raged in his soul.
“I’d very much like to,” she repeated.
“I—” he began and stopped. “I—I’m not worth it, Patience.”
“What are you talking about?” she said and chuckled. “Of course you are.”
He shook his head. “I’m really not.”
But to her surprise, he leaned towards her across the few inches that separated them and very gently kissed her. The taste of his lips, the touch of his body against hers soothed an ache she hadn’t known she had.
She moaned right into his face as she opened her lips and let him in. He caressed her tongue, and she his. The kiss grew more desperate, needier. Heat coursed through her, her body aching, throbbing for his touch, yearning for him.
