The Unexpected Duchess (Playful Brides #1)(44)

“That was dangerous and stupid,” she said. But she couldn’t help but glance at the deep V of skin exposed from where his cravat had been. She swallowed. Hard.

“Nah, it was fun,” he declared, still grinning. “If not proper.” He slurred the last word and said it as if he hated it. What was his preoccupation with the word proper tonight?

“You could have died. You still might. Come away from that window,” Lucy said.

He stood up and lurched toward her. “Your hair is down,” he whispered in an awed voice.

Lucy self-consciously pushed a hand into her curls. Oh, this was inappropriate for about two dozen reasons.

“It’s beautiful,” he whispered next. Her stomach flipped. Beautiful? He lifted his fingers to touch her hair and Lucy’s eyes riveted to the bright red on his hand, bleeding through the makeshift tourniquet. “Your hand. Let me see.”

He turned away from her and took two steps toward the chair near her writing desk before he crumpled. She rushed forward and wrapped her arm around his waist. He leaned heavily against her and slipped his arm around her shoulder. He smelled like brandy and fresh grass and something else that made her want to bury her nose in his half-open shirt. Trying to rid her head of that unhelpful thought, she helped him over to the chair, where he nearly collapsed.

Lucy knelt on the floor in front of him and quickly unwrapped the cravat from his injured hand.

“Ouch.” He winced. “That hurts.”

“Come now, you big baby. How did you survive the war?” Lucy gasped when she pulled the bloodied cravat away and saw the extent of his injuries. “Oh, my! Your knuckles are scraped clean of skin and they are full of dirt.”

“It’s nothing. Just a flesh wound.” He grinned at her.

“A flesh wound that may well become infected. Stay here. Don’t move. And for heaven’s sake, keep quiet.”

She left him sitting haphazardly in the chair while she rushed from the room, through the corridor, down two sets of stairs, and around to the kitchen pantry. She quickly gathered some clean bits of linen, a bowl that she filled with fresh water, and some spices and supplies to make a poultice. She hurried back up to her bedchamber.

When she entered the room, she let out her pent-up breath. Thankfully, Derek was asleep. He was slumped over in the chair. Snoring. Loudly.

At least it was better than him wandering around the upstairs of the household singing or telling bawdy jokes or something.

She hurried to his side and unwrapped his hand again. Apparently, he’d managed to wrap it back up while she’d been gone. The moment she immersed his fingers in the water bowl, he woke up and nearly howled. She clapped her palm over his mouth. The feel of his hot breath against her skin made her belly jerk. When she realized he remembered where he was and nodded, she removed her hand.

“I’m cleaning this out and making a poultice,” she announced, already busily setting to work.

He raised his brows. “Didn’t know a lady like you knew how to make a poultice.”

“I know how to do a great many things,” she responded. “I had several animals when I was a child. I took excellent care of them. I learned how to make this particular poultice for my horse.”

“You’re putting a horse poultice on me?” he nearly shouted.

She clamped her hand back over his mouth again. “Shh. And yes. It works for humans, too. I made it for Garrett once when he and the neighbor boy got into a fight.”

Derek smiled against her palm and her belly fluttered again. She jerked her hand away. “Who won?” he asked.

“Who won?” She shook her head at him. “What does that matter? It was probably ten years ago.”

“I bet Upton remembers who won.”

She smiled at that. “You’re such a male. Very well. I remember. Garrett won. But his hand was a mess for days. This poultice helped.”

“Whatever you say, my lady.” He leered at her.

Lucy made quick work of the poultice. She mixed the ingredients she’d brought with the remaining water in the bowl and stirred and packed it together until it made a fine paste. Then she grabbed Derek’s wrist.

“This may hurt,” she announced.

“I’ve been shot, I doubt—Owww!”

She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. She’d always given her animals a bit of a relaxing balm before applying this poultice, but Derek deserved a bit of a sting for coming here tonight and making a scene, the drunken lout. Not to mention he’d scared her half to death by climbing that tree and swinging into her window. How would she have ever explained a duke’s dead body in the backyard?

He clenched his teeth. “This had better work.”

“Don’t be so childish.” She pressed the poultice against his hand a bit too firmly. “Now, do you care to tell me why you got into a fight with an inanimate object?”

Derek sucked in his breath through clenched teeth and winced. “I didn’t intend to get into a fight with a tree.”

She pressed her lips together. “Oh, of course. I’m certain no one does. Jumped out at you, did it? Frightened you?”

He gave her a long-suffering look. “No, actually. I thought it was a man.”

“A man? What man?”

“Berkeley.”