Addicted to the Duke (Imperfect Lords #1)(43)
He was lying on his back, eyes closed, sleeping soundly. If she thought him angelic looking when he was awake, nothing prepared her for the vision of his Greek god–like features so still against the pillow. His fair hair framed his face in complete serenity. His dark brown eyelashes were long against his pale cheeks. The stubble covering the narrow planes of his face made him look so much younger, his features open, soft, and vulnerable. Her heart clenched. It hurt to look at him, and the driving need to caress and hold him in her arms until he was better was painful.
Her body grew even warmer as she took in his bronzed torso, covered with bandages. She barely kept a small gasp from slipping out, and a tender smile broke on her lips at the sight of her shell, hanging about his neck on a strip of leather.
The fact he still wore it gave her hope.
She followed a path of golden hair down the hard planes of chest and stomach as far as the sheet would allow. It had slipped down his body to halt just above his groin, and his legs were spread wide underneath. Hestia almost forgot to breathe; it was obvious he was completely naked under the thin sheet. Hestia fought the inappropriate urge to let her fingers glide over his silky skin and draw the sheet away from the rest of his glorious body.
She fanned her face with her hand. It was stuffy in the cabin, so she limped toward the door to the balcony, opening it to allow fresh air to flow. Concentrating on her task, she recalled that she’d dreamed of being alone in his bedchamber, with him naked, for so long, but her lip quivered when she realized she’d never pictured Alex being hurt in order to achieve it. And she’d never forget this was her fault. For the hundredth time she wished she could swap places with him.
Mr. Foxhall looked up as she finished opening the door to the tiny balcony.
“Oh good, you’ve arrived. I have to see to the men and also place an order for more supplies. How is your ankle?”
“The pain is easing, thank you. You look exhausted, David. Try and get some sleep tonight. I’m perfectly capable of looking after him, and you are but a call away should I need you.” With a small smile Hestia added, “I’ll manage the night shift perfectly well.”
“Right, then. I’ve just inspected his wound and I have applied a clean dressing. It’s unlikely he’ll wake for the next few hours. Please try to keep him still.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” With worry in her voice she continued. “I’m not that strong.”
He snorted. “You won’t need strength. I’m giving him a small amount of laudanum to ensure he stays drowsy and immobile. I have left a bottle here for you in case he stirs. Make sure he has one drop, and I mean one drop only, in some brandy just before you change his dressing. That’s when he’ll be in the most pain.”
Hestia’s face paled. She almost dropped her head in her hands, the thought she might hurt him when she cleansed the wound too much to bear. God was punishing her for her wicked deed. He was making her suffer by seeing his pain.
Mr. Foxhall eyed her dubiously. “Have you tended the sick and injured before, Lady Hestia?”
Hestia hung her head. “Other than helping you on this voyage, no.”
“I see.” David briefly explained how to change Alex’s dressing. He demonstrated how to clean the wound and reapply the bandage. He also described the signs of infection—fever, redness around the wound, weeping.
And then he was gone. She was alone with Alex.
Her ankle still throbbed, but with the strapping David had applied to it earlier and the intimacy of Alex’s cabin, she all but forgot about it. The men had moved one of the leather armchairs from the stateroom into Alex’s cabin so she would be more comfortable. They had placed it across from the end of the bunk bed so she could prop her ankle on Alex’s clothes chest. She’d brought one of her small tapestries with her to keep her occupied so she wouldn’t fall asleep.
How ironic that on their previous sea adventure he’d nursed her; now she was looking after him. She could finally repay him for the kindness he’d shown her as a young girl.
She gazed adoringly at her patient. Her heart fluttered at his beauty, yet she paused in her contemplation. The trip home from Greece seemed so long ago, a different age. She’d grown up, and Alex, well, she arched an eyebrow. He’d turned out to be something of a conundrum.
Four years ago, once they’d arrived back on English soil, he’d been so different from the man he’d been on board.
Lord Pembroke had greeted Alex with a hero’s welcome. Alex stayed with the family for several weeks, and it was clear to Hestia that her father and Alex had formed a strong bond. The earl came to think of Alex as the son he’d never had.
Even though she was an only child, and rarely had her father’s attentions, she wasn’t at all jealous of the interest her father showered on Alex.
She encouraged it.
She’d hoped her father would come to love Alex as much as she did. Alex was, after all, a marquess and would become a duke; how could her father not approve of a match with him? Of course she was sixteen and too young to marry, but within two years she’d be eighteen and there’d be no impediment to their nuptials if her father agreed to the match.
Yes, she’d had it all planned out—the happily ever after. She’d fulfill her promise to her mother and marry for love.
Her whole body tightened from a shot of pain to her ankle as she remembered that back then, na?ve as she was, not for one moment had she considered Alex did not feel the same way or that her father would object.