“I do need to see him. I must check the swelling.”
Mr. Roberts opened the door and let her inside. Once inside, she handed a small bag to him. “This is for your wife.”
“Thank you, miss. She’s feeling completely well now.”
“Tell her to take it in a cup of tea once a week.”
“I will. Now, just let me see if His Grace is receiving callers.”
“Nonsense,” she replied, walking down the long corridor. “I shall announce myself.”
“That’s highly improper, miss.” Mr. Roberts whispered, “He’ll hate that.”
She smiled back at the butler. “I know.”
Selina tiptoed to the threshold of the study. Glancing inside the room, she noticed the duke sitting at his desk with his foot propped on a stack of books. At least he’d listened to her about elevating his foot.
She hesitated at the door, watching as he read a piece of correspondence. His black brows drew into a deep frown and he muttered something she couldn’t hear. He was truly one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. His broad shoulders filled the chair. She bit down on her lower lip, remembering the sensation of her fingers on his bare leg yesterday. He was all muscle and strength. It was a pity he was betrothed. He would have made a wonderful lover.
She smiled at the thought. Being a wise woman, no one cared if she married or had a child without the bonds of matrimony. The only priority was bearing a child . . . not just a child, a daughter to teach the ways of the healers.
While she hadn’t taken a man to her bed yet, she thought the duke might not be a bad first choice. But she would never do such a thing with a married man or even an engaged one. Pity that. She had a feeling he would be rather fine in bed.
“Is there some reason you are here today?” the duke asked roughly.
Selina blinked and heat crossed her cheeks. “I apologize, Your Grace. I was woolgathering.”
“Indeed? Or attempting to determine the best way to announce yourself?”
“A little of both,” she said and then walked directly into the room. Putting aside her mad desire for a man she could never have, she placed her wool satchel on the desk. “I am here to check on the progress of your foot.”
“And if I say no?” He stared up at her with those icy blue eyes.
His intense look almost intimidated her . . . almost. “Then I would have to take your foot like this,” she said, lifting his foot into the air and then placing it against her belly, “and unwrap your ankle with no assistance from you.”
She could have sworn she heard a low growl from his throat. Ignoring the sensation of his bare foot on her stomach, she focused her attention on his ankle. “The swelling is down from yesterday.”
“I am quite well.”
“How many times have you sprained this ankle?”
“At least five,” he replied. “The first time I was twelve when I fell out of a tree.”
Selina shook her head. “It must never have healed properly. Who wrapped it then?” She felt him tense under her fingers.
“Your mother,” he said in a low voice.
“Oh.” Selina said nothing else. Thinking back, she realized that was about the time her father had died. Mother never completely recovered from his death. It was not long after her father’s death that the drinking began.
“Perhaps there was nothing else she could do,” she finally whispered.
“Or perhaps my stepmother should have called a physician to wrap it correctly,” he retorted.
She remained silent and pulled out fresh linen from her satchel. After binding his foot again, she gently placed it back on the stack of books. “Do keep ice on it again today.”
“I know what to do for my foot, Miss White.”
“Excuse me, Your Grace,” Mr. Roberts said from the threshold. “Miss White, Mrs. Graham asked that you attend to her mother as quickly as possible.”