To Want a Rogue

“Lord de Wolfe,” she murmured, testing his name, her lips plumping around the syllables. His vision blurred with the lust that now swept through his body.

“I should attend your brother’s wounds until the doctor arrives.” His voice came out rough and gravelly.

“Of course. I can help you.” she answered.

“No,” he answered rather too quickly. The thought of his grooms seeing her in these clinging wet clothes was rather more than he could tolerate. “You need to change out of those wet clothes. Jarvis can find something dry for you to put on. The last thing we need is for you to catch your death. One patient is all this house can stand.”

She gave a quick nod. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”

He turned his head toward the grand staircase. “Jarvis,” he called, rather louder than was necessary.

The butler immediately started up the steps. “Yes, my lord?”

“Find something for our guest to wear immediately.” Slowly, he slid his hands down her arms and then away from her body. His fingers itched to touch her again, but he took a step away, and then another. “Jarvis will see to your needs. I’ll check on you shortly.”

He turned and started back to the bedroom to tend to her brother. He wanted to smack his own face. Dahlia was likely an innocent woman with a chaperone who was injured in his home under his care. These feelings of lust that were encroaching upon him were completely unwelcome.

Not just for her, but for himself as well. He didn’t want to feel this for any woman and certainly not an innocent one. Of course, if she were experienced, that would be a different matter entirely.

But he doubted very much she was. She’d been ignorant of his reaction to her and she still looked young and fresh. Of all the women, why’d it have to be her? And why now? He rubbed his head. No, he couldn’t think on it at this moment. Her brother needed his full attention.

Gavin closed his eyes, pausing in the door of the room. He was all too familiar with how a wound that looked innocent enough could soon turn ugly. His wife, Amelia, had fallen from her horse. She’d appeared fine, except that her ribs had pained her.

The doctor had been called and he’d declared her fit. Perhaps some bruising. Two days later, she was gone. Just like that, ripped from his life.

His gut clenched. No matter what he owed to the title, he couldn’t go through something like that again. Amelia hadn’t been a love match. Their union had been arranged. A matter of selecting the woman with the best connections, the right family, the fullest dowry. But he’d still cared. And that caring had grown into a deep and binding love. One that still plagued him. She’d been his to protect and on that front he’d failed her. The loss and the loneliness that followed had been too much to handle. He could not open himself like that again.

“Dip two of the rags in the boiling water,” he ordered. Since Amelia, he’d read every medical journal he could find and ordered a great deal more. They differed, of course, but he had learned that cleaning a wound was critical to staving off infection and the hotter the water, the better. With that in mind, and knowing this was going to hurt like the bloody blue blazes, he started rolling up his sleeves.

“Sam,” he said, taking one hot rage and cleaning his hands. “I’m going to have to disinfect the wound.”

Sam nodded. “I understand.”

“It’s going to hurt,” Gavin tossed his rage aside. “Do you want something to bite down on?”

Sam shook his head. “No. I’ll be fine.”

“Clench your teeth, then.” Gavin slowly moved the injured leg off the bed and placed an empty bucket underneath it. The water wasn’t hot enough to burn his skin but it was going to be very uncomfortable.

“I’ll hold his hand,” Stanley, his groom, offered, dropping to his knees and locking hands with Sam.

“Good,” Gavin nodded, picking up the bucket of hot water. “It’s cooled enough that I won’t do more damage, but we have to clean the open skin.”

Sam nodded as he drew in a deep breath.

Gavin lifted the bucket and slowly began to dump the water over the open wound. Sam let out a low moan but he kept the water going, washing the dirt and debris from the slice on the man’s leg. Then he took the clean rag and dipped it in the remaining water, carefully using it to wipe anything away that hadn’t washed out.

He worked slowly and methodically, careful to not hurt the man more than was necessary. He didn’t think stitching would be required but it was difficult to tell with the swelling. Sam might have broken a bone, but if so, the break was minimal. The leg wasn’t at an odd angle. All good signs.

Finally, he used a clean, dry cloth to wipe off the excess water and Sam let out another loud groan. “Thank the saints that’s over,” he gritted out.

A feminine voice called from the door. “Sam? What’s happening? Are you all right? I can hear your cries of pain in the other room.”

Gavin looked up. Dahlia stood in the door, wearing a pair of groom’s pants and a shirt. Her feet were bare and her hair was still undone. Despite the clothes, she looked nothing like a boy. In fact, somehow, this ensemble was even more tempting to him than the wet dress had been. The pants hugged her curves and even from his angle, he could see the fullness of her derriere.

“Damnation,” he muttered again. The woman was going to drive him mad.

Chapter Three