Chapter Ten

" A re you ready?" Anthony asked, his voice wavering. He had placed a clean cloth beneath her leg, and the tweezers and smallest kitchen knife were laid out on the bed. He moved the candles on the bedside table closer to give himself more light. Idiot , he thought. Call a doctor, you idiot. You cannot do this without hurting her . Then again, he didn't want anyone but himself ever touching her again.

"I have been through war, my lord. I am ready for anything." She met his uncertain gaze with confidence, and clutched one of the cushions to her chest. "Do it quickly before I lose my nerve and allow you to call a doctor."

He stared down at her leg, at the pale skin, the red wound, the impatient muscles tensed in anticipation. He picked up the knife and took a deep breath, steeling his nerves. Bending his head over the wound, he used the flat of the knife to push aside the broken skin, searching for the bullet. Breath hissed between her teeth and her leg jerked slightly. He couldn't bring himself to look at her face, but asked, "Are you alright?"

"Hurry up," she answered. He could hear her grind her teeth together as he probed further. The point of the knife tapped against something hard. In the faint glow of the candles, he could just make out the dull round shine of the shot. Keeping the knife in place to hold her skin out of the way, he reached for the tweezers with his other hand and dug into the wound. A strangled whimper escaped from her throat. Christ, he was going to Hell for this. The tweezers slipped in the lesion, unable to gain purchase on the musket ball, and the blood pooling out onto the towel blocked his ability to see anything. He blindly pinched the tweezers down again and managed to catch the offending object. She cried out, the sound muffled into the pillow. Slowly, carefully, he pulled the musket ball free.

"It's done," he whispered, looking up at her. She had bit down on the pillow to stifle her cries, and her eyes were shut tightly, tears running down her cheeks. He dropped the knife and tweezers and cupped her face between his hands, willing her to look up at him, desperate to comfort her. She was trapped in her own vulnerability now, the same way she'd been when Captain Brinkley had re-opened her wound a few hours earlier. "Cecilia?" he asked. She whimpered again and looked up at him. "It's done. It's finished," he reassured her.

"I was wrong," she choked, the words half sob and half laugh. "This hurt just as much."

She smiled at him, a smile of gratitude and trust that warmed him all the way through to his selfish heart. She took his hand in her own and kissed his palm, her eyes never leaving his. "I am very, very glad you forced your way into my house tonight."

The blood from his hand glistened against her lips, dark and mesmerizing. He reached for the towel and wiped her face and his hands, lingering over her mouth. He brushed her lips again with his fingertips. So soft. How could anyone have ever thought she was a man? No man could have lips so soft.

She reached up and pulled his face down to hers, giving him no time to protest, stealing his willpower with her heat and softness before he could pull away. He kissed her gently, reverently, worshipping her mouth. Her tongue darted out and sought the place on his lower lip where she had bit him three nights before, exploring the dainty tooth marks.

Before he could break the kiss and insist that she rest, she sank back into the cushions, pulling him on top of her. She laced her fingers through his hair and held his mouth to hers. His body acted on instinct, crawling onto the bed and straddling her, keeping his lips locked with hers, his tongue exploring the soft feminine taste of her. She moaned low in her throat and his member began to swell at the sultry sound. He reached one hand up to her breasts, fingering her pert nipples through the silk of her gown. No stays, only a chemise, he realized with a quickening pulse as he massaged her through the thin fabric.

The thin bloody fabric. She purred, her lips forming into a smile against his and he groaned, pushing himself off her.

"We must stop," he gasped. His cock throbbed in his breeches. The need she incited in him was anguish, but he would not make love to her like this. He wouldn't risk causing her pain again. She sighed and nodded and reached out for his hand, lacing her fingers through his.

"But will you stay with me tonight?" she asked, her voice rough with want.

He squeezed her hand and lay back on the bed next to her. "Not even the Devil himself could tempt me away." He meant it. There was nothing he wanted more than to be next to her. Except to be inside of her. His whole body wanted that, wanted it to the point where his bones ached and his hands shook. But if he couldn't have that, he would settle for the next best thing. She smiled and closed her eyes. He took a deep breath, absorbing her scent: blood and sandalwood soap and graceful femininity and anguish and courage. Cecilia .

He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, still holding her hand.