“All right.” Her hands slid down to tug nervously at his coat, drawing the edges together to hide the white lushness of her breasts. The breasts Filey had mauled. Matthew bit back another surge of anger. Filey had trespassed fatally this afternoon. There would be a reckoning before this sweet spring turned into full summer.
“I won’t be long.” He leaned forward and kissed her mercifully unbruised forehead.
He headed into the kitchen to heat some water. Then he gathered what he needed from the shelves in the garden room. He didn’t want to leave her alone long. He hadn’t missed the flash of panic in her lovely eyes when he’d told her he was going, even if only into the next room.
Grace was sitting up, still clutching at the ruined gown under his coat, when he returned. No disguising her relief when he appeared in the doorway.
He laid out his supplies on a small table. He was deliberately methodical. It helped soothe the raging beast within that yowled to smash and rampage. “Tell me where you hurt.”
“Everywhere.” She tried to smile, but her swollen lip defeated her.
She was so brave, it cut him to the heart. Concern for her swamped even his titanic rage, although rage seethed, ready to ignite at the first spark.
He knelt beside the couch for better access. Tenderly, he smoothed bedraggled hair from her brow. “Filey didn’t get what he wanted. And he won’t. You have my word.”
Her eyes were wide with dread. “Your uncle may retaliate.”
“My uncle doesn’t hold all the trumps in this game,” he said with calm certainty. “You’re safe.”
After a long pause, she nodded.
He sucked in a relieved breath and gently pulled his coat from her shoulders. He bent to slide her slippers from her feet then roll down her tattered stockings. Finally, he unhooked the rigid fingers that curled into her bodice.
“Let me see, Grace,” he murmured when she didn’t immediately relinquish her deathly grip.
“No.” She pressed against the back of the sofa.
Oh, God, she was frightened. Of him.
Filey would rot in hell.
“I’d never hurt you, Grace. You know that,” Matthew said in the crooning voice he used when he treated an injured bird or animal. “You’re safe with me.”
Some of the tension drained from her face. Or what he could see of her face under the bruises. She relaxed her hold and the dirty yellow dress fell away. As he brushed the fabric aside, she whimpered and hunched her slender shoulders.
What was she hiding? He shifted to see but she wrapped her arms across her chest in a protective gesture.
“Grace?” he asked softly, carefully parting her entwined arms.
Then he saw her naked breast.
Filey’s teeth marks stood out clearly, rimmed in purple and grazed red where he’d broken the skin.
Apart from that foul bite, bruises covered the pale skin on chest and ribs. The violence Matthew struggled to control swelled to choke him.
“Christ,” he breathed, balling his fists.
Shame reddened her cheeks. “I couldn’t stop him.”
“No, but I will,” he grated out, unable to tear his eyes from the signs of Filey’s abuse.
She must have read murder in his face because she stretched out a shaking hand to clasp his wrist. “It’s too late.”
“Jesus, how can you say that?” Taking a deep breath to calm the crashing thunder in his blood, he slid her long sleeves down. Her arms were bruised and finger marks circled her wrists, mute testimony to how roughly Filey had handled her. The demon inside him jerked at its leash.
“I’m sorry, my darling.” He noticed how she flinched with each movement. “You’ll feel better out of this dress.”
Surprisingly, her mouth quirked in a shadow of her usual smile. “I’m sure you’re not the first young man to use that line.”