Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
“It’s nothing,” the Duke said, his voice raspy and tired. He glanced at her quickly but generally did not want to meet her eyes.
Daphne should have been frightened for him, with the bruises and the blood, but a different feeling kept on interrupting her common sense.
A baser instinct. Desire.
Even when battered, the man before her was a specimen of a man, towering and beautiful. Half-naked but also in need of urgent help. The answers to some of her questions stood before her, making her mouth water.
No.
She chided herself at the way her mind swerved back to her physical response to the man before him. Still, she could not help the primal awareness she had at the sight of him. Her mouth, initially dry watered. She did not know what kind of reaction that was. She fought it, shaking the haze away.
“Your Grace, this needs tending to, immediately,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
What replaced the desire was a feeling of helplessness at the sight of him.
Who hurt him? How could they do this?
“Go to bed, Duchess. I will take care of it,” he said, his voice soft. Almost pleading. The man would rather die than have her find out what he had been going through, what dangers he was in.
“No, I cannot leave you on your own with your injury. You have suffered greatly and there will be bruising,” she insisted, as she felt her voice gaining strength.
Daphne believed in what she was saying. She could not leave him like this, not just because she made vows to be there for him at times like this. She moved closer, ignoring the sense of danger his body seemed to continuously emanate.
She placed a gentle hand on his forearm, careful how she touched it since she could not see what the remaining cloth covered.
“You were in a fight, or you were attacked. You do not have to give me the details. All I know is that your energy has been spent and you lack the strength to clean your own wounds. You must come to my chambers. I will take care of you.”
His eyes were on her, intensely assessing. She knew what he was thinking. Having him enter her room to be taken care of would be a slight breach of their marital arrangement. It was a practical one.
The Duke of Wolfcrest smirked when he asked, “Is this what I had to do, Duchess, for you to allow me into your bedroom? Must I get into more brawls, then?”
Daphne merely rolled her eyes, giving her head a dismissive shake.
She gripped his arm as they ascended the stairs.
Thank goodness he was not crippled because he would be too heavy to assist. He did allow her to lead, not because he could not walk upstairs, and she felt the silent concession thoroughly.
Daphne’s chambers might be next door to the Duke’s, but they had mostly lived separate lives. When they had first arrived at the townhouse, she had thought the space was rather large, but now it felt intimate and warm. She motioned for him to head for the chaise.
“Sit,” she ordered. “I will fetch a basin with water.”
“Call for a maid,” he grunted, even as he obeyed.
“No. I can handle this. Just remain seated,” she said.
The Duke settled himself. Daphne could feel him watching her as she moved. He had completely stripped his torn shirt at this point and had balled it and thrown it on the floor. He wore his trousers, still, but it did not change the fact that he was making her unsettled.
When she returned, she saw that he was still there, waiting.
His chest rose and fell rhythmically, almost as if he were asleep but his eyes were wide open.
She did not just come back with a small basin of water but also with medicinal spirits and a few pieces of clean linen cloth.
She placed the basin on a table right next to where she had stacked some books.
Daphne dipped a cloth into the warm water and wrung out the excess. Then she began to work. For someone who had defied him time and again, her touch was unexpectedly gentle but also firm. There were no smart quips or interrogation. She was focused on her task.
Adrian had commanded gaming hells and other activities that could only be done in the dark in London. He had intimidated many men, even those who worked in the same circles, but he found himself completely at Daphne’s mercy.
He leaned back to feel the soft cushions support his weary back. He even closed his eyes at some point.
Trust.
Comfort.
She was able to evoke the first in him and provide the other.
Tension slowly but certainly drained from his shoulders as she continued to clean his wounds.
She worked on the graze above his temple, wiping the blood that oozed from there and trickling down his cheeks.
Then, she almost reverently wiped his jaw and knuckles.
Her touch felt good. Too good.
“You are surprisingly adept at cleaning wounds and wiping bruises, Duchess,” Adrian murmured, even as he kept his eyes closed.
He let her work her calming wonder over him.
“You have a gentle, steady hand. Fit for a surgeon.”
Daphne pressed the cloth lightly against his ribcage. He felt her still there, and knew that if he opened his eyes, he would see horror in hers. He could almost hear her intake of breath. He knew then that the bruises might turn purple the next day.
“I have watched the maids tend to Daniel and Marianne,” she confessed.
That made Adrian open his eyes. He could sense the darkness in those words. Daniel, he could understand.
Boys could get into trouble. Brawls. Adventures.
“Marianne?”
“Oh. So, you do not know it all, then. You have met my father, but you don’t know how cruel he truly was.
The maids tended to Daniel whenever Father was displeased with him.
I assume you know that my brother had a different mother.
I mean… I know I already told you as much, but it is vital that you understand why my father resented Daniel.
His first wife died giving birth to her baby boy, and our father blamed him for her death,” Daphne explained, even though her eyes remained on what she was doing.
“Meanwhile, Marianne often defended us. She even took most of the blows from Father’s cane so that we didn’t have to hurt.
I had to know how to clean wounds in case he still ended up hitting the other girls.
Lizzie was too meek. Mina was too intellectual.
Vicky was too rebellious. Each of them would inevitably offend Father in some way. ”
Adrian hissed sharply, and it was not because of his wounds. Yes, they stung. However, her story had made things hurt even more. She was trying to tend to his wounds, while she told her about her invisible ones. He reached for the hand that was tending to him and gently squeezed it.
“Look at me, Duchess.”
She reluctantly met his gaze.
“I know what you needed the first time I heard about your plight, standing outside the door of the Reverend’s house,” he said, the words tearing from him painfully.
“I will never let anyone hurt you. Never. If Briarwood or even the Devil himself comes for you, he will answer to me first. You are protected here. I will not break this promise.”
“I don’t want to be treated like I’m made of porcelain, Your Grace,” she protested.”
Adrian shook his head slowly, barely even feeling his wounds and bruises at this point as he made himself invested in her own. “I do not believe you are made of porcelain, Duchess. If you were, with all that you have gone through, you would have shattered years ago.”
He leaned back after letting go of her hand, giving her space. Daphne took it as a cue to work on him again. It was almost as if the task provided her with balance. This time, she wiped on his knuckles.
“Why did you come home wounded?” she asked, turning back the focus on him, using the word he hated.
Adrian never liked it whenever anyone called him wounded or hurt. “I merely got scrapes, Duchess. Nothing more.”
“You are minimalizing the situation,” she complained.
Adrian sighed. He knew that she would not stop until she got an answer from him. “Someone forgot their manners and needed to be given a reminder. That is all.”
“You do business with men like that?” she asked incredulously, but her eyes revealed that she believed it. Very much so.
The Duke simply nodded at that, keeping their gazes locked. At that moment, he acknowledged the truth of his secret, dangerous world.
“That is reckless,” Daphne scolded. This time, he heard more of her concern than anything else. “You could have been seriously hurt. It seems that the risk outweighs any benefit that you may be getting from your business.”
Adrian silently disagreed. So, he let a small predatory smile touch his lips. He needed to show her that he was more dangerous than the other men out there. That he could handle himself.
He reached out to capture her chin with his thumb and forefinger.
She was so beautiful. So innocent.
“If I will have you fussing over me like this, Duchess, in your own bedchambers, I would not mind getting hurt again.”
“Adrian,” she protested.
Her eyes widened when she realized that she had let his Christian name slip out of her mouth before she could stop it. It was the first time his duchess had called him anything but “Duke” or “Your Grace”.
The effect was profound.
It was swift.
Adrian’s smile vanished, not because he was displeased. No. It was something else entirely. His gaze burned into hers as his thumb stroked her jawline. She didn’t budge.
“Say it again, Daphne,” he commanded, with an urgency he had not felt even in his type of business.
She had turned bright red now, from her cheeks to her collarbone. There was a shift in the room that neither could deny.
“Daphne,” he urged.
She shivered. This time, she was no longer hiding her reactions to his voice.
“Adrian,” she breathed out.