“I should just leave you to shiver.” She dreaded removing the remainder of his clothes, but couldn’t leave him in sodden clothing any more than she could leave him on the cold, hard floor. Already his lips were turning blue and his skin was rippled with goose bumps. She didn’t want to wake up in the morning to find she had a dead body in the house, especially after everything she had done to get him there.
With a shudder, she squared her shoulders and untied the laces down the front of his shirt, grumbling softly as her fingers brushed against his frozen flesh. Easing the sodden strips of material apart, she pushed and shoved him until he rolled over enough for her to tug the shirt off his back. A careful survey of the muscled flesh on his back revealed plenty of grazes and cuts, but no visible bones or deep cuts requiring stitches. Relieved, she carefully eased him back down with a frown.
“You need to help me.” She leant down and roughly shook his shoulder. Through the gloom of the candlelight she could see the darkening bruises covering his chest, ribs and stomach. She hated to move him, but to leave him on the cold floor in his sodden condition could kill him.
When he remained unresponsive, she pushed again. “Please, you need to help me get you up.” Grasping hold of his arm, she tugged hard on it and was rewarded when he awkwardly pushed himself up, lurching to his feet.
“Sit,” she ordered softly, aware of the solid wall of his chest mere inches from her nose as she guided him down onto the bed. He was so tall against her not inconsequential height, she felt almost feminine against him. She tried hard to ignore the crinkling of his chest hair against her fingers, as she pushed gently on his chest until he sat down on the bed with a thump. She guided his shoulders backwards until he was lying down, having succumbed to unconsciousness once again.
Aware he was already unconscious; Amelia reluctantly eyed his wet breeches. If he had any chance of recovering and leaving her house, he had to get warm and dry. This meant removing all of his clothing.
Amelia frowned down at him in consternation. Could she do it? Should she? Or should she pretend she hadn’t the strength to wrestle them off, and leave him to take his chances? She knew she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t leave him in wet clothing. She had gotten this far. It wasn’t fair on him to leave him to die of cold to preserve her blushes. After all, it wasn’t as if he was watching her.
If he woke up then he could take them off himself. But as it was, he was out cold. So it looked like it was down to her.
She really did try to keep her eyes off him as she removed his breeches. Her gaze remained locked on his face for the most part. She only peeked, with one eye, to make certain she had hold of the cloth as she undid the front placket, and loosened them enough to tug them off. Eventually though, feminine curiosity won the battle, and she found herself studying his stunningly masculine physique with something akin to awe.
It was the first time in her life she had seen a man in all of his naked glory, and it was enough to send her pulse pounding.
Colour rose within her cheeks as she tried to keep her eyes from the soft length of his manhood nestled within the dark thatch of curls at the apex of his thighs. A brief glance at his face revealed not a flicker of movement. Amelia coughed uncomfortably and looked away. Despite the fact she was on her own, her cheeks still flushed with embarrassment. She could only be fervently glad that he hadn’t suddenly woken up to find her staring at his private, manly parts.
Carefully averting her gaze, she let her eyes travel curiously over the dips and hollows of his wide, muscled chest. He was definitely Ton. His elegantly cut hair was well groomed. The clothes and boots she had just removed were made from the finest materials, and probably cost an entire ten years’ worth of Amelia’s wages.
She studied the myriad of multi-coloured flesh covering his ribs. Whatever had happened to him had be
en brutal, and had taken place recently. She had received her own share of bruising since working as a housekeeper, and knew they only turned the colour of his when they were relatively new. Unfortunately, there was no way of knowing what was going on underneath the damaged flesh. Amelia could only pray that nothing severe was happening that could take his life.
Shaking her head, she carefully covered him in sheets and blankets before turning to the rhythmic clanking of the water pot on the hearth.
Several moments later she had gathered everything she needed, and quietly set about bathing the mud and grime off him, before tending to his battered flesh as best she could, given her own lack of supplies.
It took longer than she thought and was late when she finally stood up and arched her aching back. At last, he was clean and dry. All of his wounds were now washed and, where necessary, bound with strips of what had been her only petticoat. He seemed to be resting comfortably and more importantly, warming up.
Wearily she added more wood to the fire before easing herself into the chair beside the bed. Of larger than average size, it had been left behind by the cottage’s previous owner and was the only one she had. Its solid bulk seemed to envelope her as she settled back into its embracing comfort. Tugging the tattered edges of the last blanket she possessed around her, Amelia rested her head against the chair’s back and within seconds fell asleep.
It had been a long time since Sebastian had felt such contentment. He was blessedly warm and relaxed, lying on the softest bed he could ever remember having slept in. The sheets were luxuriously soft beneath his skin, and smelled faintly of roses. They reminded him of the many summers he spent as a young boy, rollicking around in his mother’s rose garden with his brothers.
Keeping his eyes closed, he listened to the myriad of gentle noises around him as full consciousness returned. The steady crackling of wood in the fireplace was interspersed with the rapid drumming of rain on the roof over his head. Ferocious winds howled and rattled against the window panes, searching for the smallest sign of weakness to gain entry.
A small frown began to mar his brow as dark thoughts suddenly encroached on his pleasure. Swirling, confusing snatches of memory surfaced briefly enough to give him a glimpse of something he felt it was important to remember, only for his brain to suddenly head in another, more confusing direction.
Dragging in a deep breath, he immediately groaned as pain unlike any he had ever known lanced down his side. Stars danced before his eyes, and bile rose in his throat. Despite the instinctive reluctance to do so, he had to draw another breath, and was unsurprised when even the smallest breath increased the pain further.
“There now, everything will be alright.” The soft, melodic voice was accompanied by gentle hands that tenderly smoothed the puckered flesh of his brow. It took every ounce of energy he had to open his heavy eyelids, and look for the source of the comfort.
Stunned, he gazed at the most surprisingly beautiful face he had ever seen in his life. Long, curly auburn tresses were haphazardly tied back, leaving loose strands to curl lovingly on smooth alabaster cheeks. His eyes met and held her mossy green gaze, and he felt something deep within his chest break free and begin to warm. Instinctively, he was drawn towards this woman of such tenderness, and he knew nothing in his life would ever be quite the same.
“Hello,” Amelia whispered softly. Her heart thumped heavily in her chest as she looked into his sleepy gaze. His eyes were the most alluring dark blue and framed with wonderfully thick, dark lashes. She knew she should be backing away, but the blatant masculinity staring back at her held her mesmerised.
“Who are you?” His husky question sent ripples of awareness down her spine.
Amelia found herself fighting the shocking urge to lay her head down next to his, and tell him everything. Blanking out that particular wayward thought, she shook her head slightly.
“My name is Amelia,” she replied, ingrained politeness overriding her wariness. “What’s yours?” She found herself unable to break the invisible hold he had on her.
“Sebastian.” His gruff reply was instantaneous, leaving Amelia in no doubt as to his honesty. His gaze was steady as it held hers unrelentingly.
“Sebastian what?” She knew she should have asked for his title, but something within her didn’t wish to know. She suddenly didn’t want him to confirm he was one of them. The Ton.