Earl of Baxter (Lords of Scandal 8)
Page 30
He laughed at that. “Not that long.”
She drew in a deep breath. She supposed it didn’t matter. After rising, she poured a glass of water from the pitcher, and brought the glass to his lips.
He took a long drink. “I’d like to try and eat this morning too. Need to keep up my strength.”
She gave a tentative nod. “Should we change the bandages first?”
“Sounds good. Then I insist you go get ready. I’ll feed myself.” He winked as though he didn’t have a care in the world.
She scrunched her brow. “Your health is more important.”
He gave her an easy smile. “It will do my health good to see you looking beautiful for our wedding.”
She frowned, staring down at him. Their focus should be on his health, not on the wedding and certainly not on her appearance. “The wedding can wait. Breakfast first.”
He shook his head. “Clarissa.”
“You’re the patient,” she said as she swiped her hand across his forehead. “I am the caregiver. I insist.”
His eyes closed and he let out a long breath that sounded distinctly like a sigh. “How can I argue with that?”
“You can’t,” she replied, stroking his cheek. “Now let me change your bandages and assess the wound.”
He gave a slight nod and she pulled down the covers, then began to unwrap the white cloth. She frowned as she finished unwrapping him. He’d been able to lift up to help her, but the wound itself looked a bit red and raw.
“How do you feel?” she asked as she applied a salve on the skin.
“Fine.” He gave her another easy smile. “It’s just healing. That’s all.”
She rewrapped his midriff, then pulled the bell to have a tray delivered. She looked back at him, studying his face to see if he grimaced or gave some indication that he was in pain. But his smile was still there, his gaze achingly soft and decidedly sweet.
He seemed, for all the world, to be healing.
Mason felt like hell. But he’d been in a worse situation and he could fake it for at least the wedding.
And the consummation.
He needed to be with Clarissa once. Just in case…
He’d watched men with lesser wounds succumb to infection. As it was, he was young and strong and likely to live, but still. He wanted to touch her, feel her, and he couldn’t risk missing this chance. Somehow, all the time between his last injury and this, the years had felt like borrowed time. And that he’d been preparing for this very moment.
The one where he made certain that Clarissa lived a long and healthy life full of riches of every kind.
He supposed it didn’t matter if he lived or died.
Clarissa was all that mattered.
He drew in a shuddering breath. When he considered her living her life without him, with another man by her side he faltered. But he’d take what he could get. And he was grateful for whatever time he got with her.
Clarissa had left to dress and prepare for the wedding while he rested. Which mostly meant thinking. He grimaced. He wished she’d return. He didn’t want to miss a second with her.
A knock came out the door and he snapped his eyes open, hoping she’d returned.
But it was Logan who cracked open the door. “May I come in?”
He slumped back on the pillows. “Of course.”
“I thought you might appreciate some help dressing.”