was keeping you occupied and deaf to my troubles," Colin said.
Aubrey sat back on his heels. "One man did this to you?"
Groaning softly, Colin slowly unfolded himself. His arms and legs began to tingle as circulation was restored. "Almost right," he said. "One woman."
The possibility had never occurred to Aubrey. "You mean the skinny wench of no consequence?" he asked. He caught Colin's sharp look and shrugged. "Molly's description, not mine. I didn't think her story was worth investigating."
"It wasn't," Colin said. "At least not the first time." Sitting up, he rubbed his wrists carefully, then his ankles. The return of feeling to his limbs was prickly and painful.
"What do you mean, not the first time?" Aubrey asked, studying the stockings. "Are these hers?"
"They're sure as hell not mine," Colin muttered. "What time is it?"
"Time for you to be up and moving if we're going to make it to Weybourne Park." He stood and pulled Colin to his feet. "What do you mean, not the first time?" he asked again.
Colin's fingertips were engaged in the ginger exploration of his left temple. "Later," he said, steadying himself against the end of the bed.
Aubrey held up three fingers directly in front of Colin's aquiline nose. "How many?"
Colin pushed them aside. "Not now. Get my clothes out while I wash. I don't believe the earl's expecting us any longer. All the more reason not to be late."
Bemusement sat comically on Aubrey's broad masculine features. His dark red brows were raised a notch, furrowing his forehead, and his green eyes widened but remained slightly vacant. In the end, rather than ask another question which would be summarily dismissed, Aubrey shrugged philosophically. He lifted Colin's valise to the bed and began to remove his captain's clothing. "You have a bit of blood on your face," he said.
Colin turned away from the basin. "What?"
Aubrey tapped his temple. "Here," he said. "Blood."
"Oh." Colin dampened a wash cloth and began to scrub. "Better?"
"Well, the blood's gone."
It was the best Colin thought he could hope for. He lifted the small hand mirror and examined the injury. The corner of the drawer had struck him hard. A stitch or two wouldn't come amiss. "Damn her," he said softly.
"What's that?" Aubrey asked.
"Nothing." Colin set the mirror aside and finished washing. He shaved with less care than he normally used, adding another drop of blood to his chin. Cursing, he stopped the bleeding with a bit of alum while Aubrey chuckled. "Check the weapons," Colin said.
"Any particular reason?" Aubrey asked as he removed the lacquered box.
"She might have tampered with them."
Aubrey examined the outside of the box first:. "Does she have dainty hands?"
Colin was studying the wound on his shoulder where Mercedes had tried to plunge her knife. She might have done serious damage had she been able to drive it deeper. "I don't know that I'd call them dainty," he said, stripping out of his shirt. "Capable, perhaps. Certainly strong." He recalled those hands on his chest and shoulders and arms. She'd had a light touch. Gentle but insistent. Colin grabbed a clean shirt. "What sort of question is that anyway?"
"You're missing my point," said Aubrey. He held the box up to the light coming from the bedside lamp. As he turned it this way and that the lacquered surface could be seen to be smudged with prints from careless handling. "I polished this box before I packed your bags. There was nary a fingerprint on the lacquer when I was through. These prints are too small to be yours, so I'd say they belong to Molly or your other guest."
"They're not Molly's."
"Then Miss-Dainty-Hands was all over it."
Colin fastened his shirt, slipped on clean trousers, and sat on the bed to put on his socks. He glanced toward the foot of the bed where Aubrey was carefully going over the weapons. "Miss-Dainty-Hands has a name," he said.
Aubrey didn't pause in his inspection. "I'm sure she does," he said. "I wonder if you'll get around
Aubrey sat back on his heels. "One man did this to you?"
Groaning softly, Colin slowly unfolded himself. His arms and legs began to tingle as circulation was restored. "Almost right," he said. "One woman."
The possibility had never occurred to Aubrey. "You mean the skinny wench of no consequence?" he asked. He caught Colin's sharp look and shrugged. "Molly's description, not mine. I didn't think her story was worth investigating."
"It wasn't," Colin said. "At least not the first time." Sitting up, he rubbed his wrists carefully, then his ankles. The return of feeling to his limbs was prickly and painful.
"What do you mean, not the first time?" Aubrey asked, studying the stockings. "Are these hers?"
"They're sure as hell not mine," Colin muttered. "What time is it?"
"Time for you to be up and moving if we're going to make it to Weybourne Park." He stood and pulled Colin to his feet. "What do you mean, not the first time?" he asked again.
Colin's fingertips were engaged in the ginger exploration of his left temple. "Later," he said, steadying himself against the end of the bed.
Aubrey held up three fingers directly in front of Colin's aquiline nose. "How many?"
Colin pushed them aside. "Not now. Get my clothes out while I wash. I don't believe the earl's expecting us any longer. All the more reason not to be late."
Bemusement sat comically on Aubrey's broad masculine features. His dark red brows were raised a notch, furrowing his forehead, and his green eyes widened but remained slightly vacant. In the end, rather than ask another question which would be summarily dismissed, Aubrey shrugged philosophically. He lifted Colin's valise to the bed and began to remove his captain's clothing. "You have a bit of blood on your face," he said.
Colin turned away from the basin. "What?"
Aubrey tapped his temple. "Here," he said. "Blood."
"Oh." Colin dampened a wash cloth and began to scrub. "Better?"
"Well, the blood's gone."
It was the best Colin thought he could hope for. He lifted the small hand mirror and examined the injury. The corner of the drawer had struck him hard. A stitch or two wouldn't come amiss. "Damn her," he said softly.
"What's that?" Aubrey asked.
"Nothing." Colin set the mirror aside and finished washing. He shaved with less care than he normally used, adding another drop of blood to his chin. Cursing, he stopped the bleeding with a bit of alum while Aubrey chuckled. "Check the weapons," Colin said.
"Any particular reason?" Aubrey asked as he removed the lacquered box.
"She might have tampered with them."
Aubrey examined the outside of the box first:. "Does she have dainty hands?"
Colin was studying the wound on his shoulder where Mercedes had tried to plunge her knife. She might have done serious damage had she been able to drive it deeper. "I don't know that I'd call them dainty," he said, stripping out of his shirt. "Capable, perhaps. Certainly strong." He recalled those hands on his chest and shoulders and arms. She'd had a light touch. Gentle but insistent. Colin grabbed a clean shirt. "What sort of question is that anyway?"
"You're missing my point," said Aubrey. He held the box up to the light coming from the bedside lamp. As he turned it this way and that the lacquered surface could be seen to be smudged with prints from careless handling. "I polished this box before I packed your bags. There was nary a fingerprint on the lacquer when I was through. These prints are too small to be yours, so I'd say they belong to Molly or your other guest."
"They're not Molly's."
"Then Miss-Dainty-Hands was all over it."
Colin fastened his shirt, slipped on clean trousers, and sat on the bed to put on his socks. He glanced toward the foot of the bed where Aubrey was carefully going over the weapons. "Miss-Dainty-Hands has a name," he said.
Aubrey didn't pause in his inspection. "I'm sure she does," he said. "I wonder if you'll get around
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