Forever My Love (Berkeley-Faulkner #2)(23)

“Bath and food when I wake up. Right now I couldn’t move to save my life.”

“However many of them you have left,” Walter added dryly, leaving the room.

In the lamplit stillness, nothing moved except the shadow of a moth fluttering against the window. Alec yawned and closed his eyes, the warm yellow light spreading over him like a soothing balm. Sleep stole over him and his body went lax.

Mira arrived at Alec’s door and stopped in front of it abruptly, her heart pounding. She was almost afraid to find out if he was the one who had been hurt, for she knew the kinds of accidents that invariably happened on the hunting field—anything from being pep-pered with shot to blowing off a hand or foot; powder flasks were likely to explode like small bombs, sometimes just because of faulty spring-catches on the lids. Please don’t let it be serious. The small prayer ran through her mind, and she knocked on the door with trepidation. There was no answer. Apprehensively she turned the knob and looked inside, biting her lip as she saw him stretched out on the bed. She had not realized that the sight of him hurt would affect her so.

“Lord Falkner?” she whispered, slipping through the door and rushing to him. He looked younger than he did when awake, his relaxed face erased of its habitual cynicism, his firm, straight mouth gentled, his black eyelashes fanning the ruthlessly drawn lines of his cheekbones. The acrid smell of gunpowder and smoke clung to him, faint black smudges marring his copper skin. Mira could not see any blood or bandages —did that mean the damage might be internal? She realized that she, who never allowed herself to cry, was on the verge of tears. Drinking in the sight of him with haunted eyes, Mira rested a hip on the edge of the bed and leaned over the large masculine form. In the yellow light she could not see if his color was normal or not. If they’ve bled him I’ll find some way to kill that drunkard of a physician! she thought grimly, reaching out anxiously to examine the side of his neck.

Alec stirred at her touch, a sleepy sound escaping him. Slowly his eyes squinted open, his wide shoulders tensing in a stretch.

“Mira?”

She pressed her cool fingers over his forehead, measuring his temperature.

“I heard you were in an accident today,” she murmured. “Why isn’t anyone with you?” Her autumn-shaded eyes were filled with concern, her touch so gentle as she stroked the ruffled waves of hair off his forehead that Alec’s first inclination was to believehe was still asleep, in the middle of yet another dream.

“Me?” he asked groggily. “Who told you—?”

“How have you been hurt?”

Despite his sleepy state of mind, it did not take long for Alec to conclude it would be worth any number of agonizing wounds to have her coddle and caress him. The pity of it was that he had nary a scratch to offer for her ministrations.

The enticing scent of her drifted to his appreciative nostrils, and he inhaled deeply. Very carefully he shifted his hand to where the end of her braid rested on the counterpane and inserted his fingers into the heavy plait. “Lord Falkner? Do you have any pain?” she prompted, her eyes fixed on his face.

“Yes… God, yes.”

“Where?”

“I’m not sure exactly where…”

“Has the physician seen to you yet?”

“No.”

“Ah… then there’s still hope for you,” she said, concealing her worry with gentle humor. Alec smiled slightly.

“I gather you don’t think highly of him?”

“His treatment of his patients is criminal… don’t let him do anything to you, do you understand?”

“Then unless you care to let my wounds fester and my injuries go unattended, you’d better take care of them,” he said, making a move to unbutton his shirt. After fumbling with the first button, he fell back with a perfectly timed wince and let his hand drop to the pillow.

“Here, don’t move,” Mira soothed, her heart skipping a beat as she witnessed his pain. She would have given up a king’s ransom for the right to hold and comfort him, kiss his brow and smooth his tumbled hair. Deftly she unfastened each button of his shirt and spread the edges of it open. vThe sight that greeted her eyes was not what she had so fearfully expected. No shotholes or cuts… no burns… not even any dirt! The wide expanse was clean and brown, magnificently trim, the stomach hammered with washboard muscles, his chest lightly furred with coal-black hair. In the course of tending countless wounds she had seen many men’s bare chests, but nothing quite so physically superb as this. No man had a right to be so healthy! She lifted her face to look into his bright eyes, which were regarding her with mocking laughter.

“Name of Satan!” she exclaimed in a burst of fury, beating on that invulnerable chest. “You prankish blackguard! You’re not hurt at all—you ought to be shot!”

Like a lazy cat sprung into action, Alec caught hold of her rampaging fists and rolled over, pinning her beneath him. She continued to berate him with a flood of the saltiest language he had ever heard from a woman, consigning certain portions of his anatomy to a painful fate… swearing at him until they both were choking, she from anger, he from laughter.

“I couldn’t help it,” Alec said, gasping with amusement as he pinned her hands on either side of her head and tried to still her violent thrashing. “I just couldn’t… Mira… just wait… you don’t really blame me, admit it.”