Suddenly You(25)

“Miss Briars?” The manager threw a bewildered glance at Amanda, who was standing over Tirwitt’s crumpled body. “You don’t mean to say that she…?”

“Bashed his brains out,” Devlin said, and suddenly the corners of his mouth twitched with irrepressible amusement.

“Before you continue to entertain yourself at my expense,” Amanda said, “you might take care of that wound, Mr. Devlin, before you bleed to death in front of us.”

“Good God!” Fretwell exclaimed, realizing that a patch of blood was spreading across Devlin’s gray-striped vest. “I’ll send for a doctor. I didn’t realize that this madman had wounded you, sir.”

“It’s just a scratch,” Devlin said matter-of-factly. “I don’t need a doctor.”

“I think you do.” Fretwell’s face turned a ghastly shade of gray as he stared at Devlin’s crimson-soaked garments.

“I’ll have a look at the injury,” Amanda said firmly. After all her years in the sickroom, she was unfazed by the sight of blood. “Mr. Fretwell, you shall supervise the removal of Lord Tirwitt from the office, while I will tend to the wound.” She looked into Devlin’s indigo eyes. “Remove your coat, please, and sit down.”

Devlin complied, wincing as he eased his arms from the sleeves of his coat. Amanda moved to help him, guessing that by now the slash on his side was beginning to burn like fire. Even if it were merely a scratch, it would have to be cleaned. Heaven knew what other uses the spear-tipped cane had been put to before today.

Amanda received the coat from him and draped it neatly over the back of a nearby chair. The wool still carried the heat and scent of his body. The fragrance was inexplicably alluring, almost narcotic in its effect, and for one irrational moment Amanda was tempted to bury her face in the intoxicating folds of fabric.

Devlin’s attention was focused on the stockroom boys as they labored to carry Lord Tirwitt’s inert body from the office. The man groaned in protest, and Devlin’s face wore a look of evil satisfaction. “I hope that bastard awakens with a headache from hell,” he muttered. “I hope he—”

“Mr. Devlin,” Amanda interrupted, pushing him backward until he sat on the edge of the mahogany desk, “control yourself. No doubt you possess an impressive array of foul words, but I have no wish to hear them.”

Devlin’s white teeth gleamed in a quick grin. He sat very still as she moved to untie his gray silk cravat, her small fingers tugging at the simple knot. As she drew the length of warm silk away from his throat and began on the buttons of his shirt, Amanda was uncomfortably aware of the way he stared at her. His blue eyes were filled with warmth and mockery, leaving no question that he was enjoying the situation immensely.

He waited until Fretwell and the stockroom boys were out of the room before he spoke. “You seem to have a penchant for undressing me, Amanda.”

Amanda paused on the third button of his shirt. Her cheeks flamed as she forced herself to meet his gaze directly. “Do not mistake my compassion for injured creatures as any kind of personal interest, Mr. Devlin. I once bandaged the paw of a stray dog I found in the village. I would place you in the same category as he.”

“My angel of mercy,” Devlin murmured, amusement dancing in his eyes, and he fell obligingly silent as she continued to unfasten his shirt.

Amanda had helped her ailing father to dress and undress many times, and she was hardly missish about such matters. However, it was one thing to help an invalid relative. It was an entirely different matter to remove the clothing of a young, healthy male.

She helped him off with his bloodstained vest, and finished the row of buttons on his shirt until the garment gaped wide open. With each inch of skin revealed, Amanda felt her face burning hotter.

“I’ll do it,” Devlin said, turning unexpectedly gruff when she reached for the cuffs of his shirt. He unfastened them deftly, but it was clear that the wound was making him uncomfortable. “Damn Tirwitt,” he growled. “If this thing festers, I’m going to find him and—”

“It will not fester,” Amanda said. “I shall clean it thoroughly and bandage it, and in a day or two you’ll be back to your usual pursuits.” Gently she tugged the shirt from his broad shoulders, the golden skin gleaming in the firelight. She wadded up the stained garment, using it to blot the wound. It was a slash perhaps six inches long, located just beneath the left side of his rib cage. As Devlin had said, it was indeed only a scratch, though a rather nasty one. Amanda pressed the soft mass of the shirt firmly against the slash and held it there.

“Careful,” Devlin said softly. “You’ll ruin your gown.”

“It will wash,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Mr. Devlin, do you keep some kind of spirits about the place? Brandy, perhaps?”

“Whiskey. In the small cabinet by the bookshelf. Why, Miss Briars? Are you feeling the need to fortify yourself at the sight of my na**d body?”

“Insufferable coxcomb,” Amanda said, although she couldn’t repress a sudden smile as she stared into his teasing eyes. “No, I intend to use it to clean the wound.”

She continued to hold the wadded-up shirt against his midriff, standing so close that his left knee was lost somewhere amid the rustling mass of her skirts. Devlin was motionless, making no effort to touch her, merely remaining in his half-seated posture. The gray wool trousers stretched snugly over his thighs, following the hard outlines of muscle. As if to demonstrate that he was no threat to her, he leaned back slightly, his large hands lightly gripping the edge of the desk, his body relaxed and still.