The Governess Game (Girl Meets Duke #2)(20)

She didn’t do as he asked, but approached him and had a look at his wound. “You can’t just smear plaster over this.”

“It’s a small wound.”

“But a deep one. It must be cleaned thoroughly.”

“It’s fine.”

“I’ve seen wounds like this one fester. Bigger and stronger men have succumbed to less.”

“It’s truly none of your concern,” he said, growing testy at the suggestion of her tending the wounds of bigger and stronger men.

“It is my concern. If you die of gangrene or lockjaw, I’ll never be paid.”

Fair enough. He offered her his hand for dressing.

She washed the wound thoroughly with boiled water from the kettle and strong lye scullery soap. He winced. Damn, bugger, blast.

Then she slipped the flask from his waistcoat pocket. “May I?” Having uncapped it, she lifted it to his lips. To his quizzical expression, she replied, “You’re going to want it. This will hurt.”

Chase took a sip. He wasn’t about to admit any pain, but he wouldn’t refuse a swallow of good brandy.

As he watched, she poured a stream of amber spirits directly into his wound, letting it trickle until it overflowed. Then she pressed the wound to purge more blood and did it again.

On the outside, Chase was determined to look manful and impervious to pain.

On the inside . . . Christ.

When she capped the brandy and set the flask aside, he exhaled with relief.

She turned to search the kitchen stores. “Now for some vinegar.”

Bloody hell.

He winced as she began her fresh round of torture. “How are the girls’ lessons coming along?”

“Slowly. I’ve been attempting to earn their confidence, but they have the sort of wounds that won’t be easily healed. How long ago did their parents die?”

“I’ve no idea,” he admitted. “I don’t even know if they’re orphans. They could be illegitimate.”

“They’re not . . . ?” She broke off, abandoning the query.

“Mine?” He shuddered at the suggestion. “I would still have been at school when Rosamund was born. It’s true that I possess a natural talent for seduction, but I wasn’t that precocious. All I know is that their father never claimed them, and the woman they called mother died three years ago, and they’ve been passed around relations and schools ever since.”

She clucked her tongue. “Despite all their mischief, I pity them.”

You ought to be pitying me, he thought.

Having a woman this enticing living under the same roof was a constant temptation. And Chase battled temptation with approximately the same success as a seagull battling the Royal Navy.

Out of sight was not out of mind. At night, he found himself thinking of her. Upstairs, alone, in the dark. But worse by far were the mornings. For God’s sake, he began each day holding her hand. That, and trying like hell to make her laugh. He hadn’t managed it quite yet, but most days he wrangled a reluctant smile. That alone was worth four flights of stairs.

Just yesterday, Rosamund had woken him with a single word: “Tapeworms.” He’d all but leapt to his feet with delight.

It wasn’t entirely desire, but it was partly desire. He knew an innocent outward appearance often concealed a tightly coiled spring waiting for release. In the dark of night, with that virginal shift unbuttoned and that plait of dark hair unbound, Alexandra Mountbatten might prove surprising.

No sooner had he conjured the image than she untied the strip of linen holding the end of her plait. As her hair came unbound and fell loose, he stared at a lock of black satin dipping to graze the slope of her neck.

She pursed her lips and blew over his wound to dry it.

God Almighty.

“There’s no doubt that they’re clever,” she went on, winding the strip of linen about his thumb, “but life’s taught them some difficult lessons. One only needs to look at Millicent to know Daisy’s hurting. It’s obvious from spending mere minutes with Rosamund that she’s learned to be wary. She won’t lower her guard easily. It will take time and patience to gain her trust.”

“You have until Michaelmas.”

“We have until Michaelmas.” She deftly tucked the strip of linen in on itself, securing the binding.

“Disciplining children is not among my talents. That’s why I hired you to take them in hand.”

She looked up at him. “Maybe they don’t need to be taken in hand, but taken into someone’s heart.”

Heart? He tugged his hand from hers. “Oh, no. Don’t get ideas.”

“Goodness. Heaven forbid that a woman have ideas.”

“Ideas are all well and good, but not those ideas. I know that look in a woman’s eye. I’ve seen it before, many times. You think you can convince me to settle down.”

“You don’t need to settle down. My father was a sea captain. I was raised on a ship, sailing the globe. We were the least settled family in the world, and yet I never doubted his love for me.”

“Wait. You were raised aboard a ship? Sailing the globe?”

She paused in the act of packing up the unused salves and plaster. “I probably shouldn’t have mentioned that.”

“No, I think you should have mentioned it. And long before now.”