I’m afraid I might fall over if you do not help me to the bed.”
Camille quickly stepped forward, and just as quickly came to an abrupt halt.
“Come now. You do not truly think I am in any position to molest you?”
She shook her head. But he stood so tall, his broad shoulders barely fitting through the doorway, or so it seemed to her. He exuded that masculine aura of strength and dominance, and despite the blood seeping between his fingers where he clutched his arm, that well-earned knot of warning rose to strangle her.
The frown of pain etched on his mouth gentled into a half smile. “I understand it will be an odious chore to touch me. I fear you shall have to bear it.”
Camille’s aversion to men mostly extended to soldiers, for the other men she met usually just ignored her. This man fit neither mold. Still, he had the look of a warrior, and she could feel he wanted her, but chose to deny himself.
She had thought him a puzzle. Now, she feared to solve it.
He cocked a brow. “Will you truly stand there and allow me to bleed to death?”
“No, I…” Camille stepped forward, held out her hands. He did not reach out to her in any way, just stood there, waiting. She closed the distance between them and grasped his uninjured arm, allowing him to lean on her as she led him forward.
“You may not have any magic,” he said, “but you have the elven strength in plenty.” He sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at her. “And the grace, and more than the fair share of beauty.”
Camille flushed. No one had ever called her beautiful, not with her odd eyes that seemed to take up most of her face. The compliment made her feel even more peculiar, so she chose to ignore it. “How do you know I haven’t any magic?”
“My dear, you would have used it to save yourself last night.”
“Of course.”
“Can you help me off with my coat? I shall have to release my hold on the wound, which means it will spout more blood, so you shall have to try to be quick in the removal of it.”
“I understand.”
“Jolly good then. On three. One, two, three.”
He let go of his wound and Camille tugged the coat over his shoulders. It had not been her imagination. He had very broad shoulders. She thought of the blood gushing down his arm, heard him mutter a curse beneath his breath, and quickly jumped on the bed behind him, yanking at the collar, pulling the coat down his back.
Lord Hawkes quickly grabbed his injury again.
“Camille?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“The room is spinning.”
She scrambled off the bed, tugged off his boots. Folded his ruined coat with the wet part inside and placed it on the bed. She would not allow his bedding to be ruined two nights in a row. He started to fall over sideways, so she picked up his legs and heaved, allowing him to collapse on his back.
Camille leaned over and positioned the coat a bit more securely beneath his injured arm. It brought her too close to him. She could feel his heat, smell the spicy scent of his skin, and wondered what cologne he wore.
He inhaled deeply, echoing her thoughts. “You smell wonderful, Camille. Like sweet wine… and something else. It is a vast improvement over the scent you wore last night.”
He made her smile. And she did not feel afraid to be this near to him, even though she could tell he desired her, injury notwithstanding. His voice had such a deep, tender quality to it, a teasing note she could not take umbrage to.
She pulled away, stared into those faceted golden brown eyes, and then blinked. “I shall fetch some soap and water.” With a swirl of her borrowed skirts she ran from the room, returning with a bucket she had noticed in the wash closet, and cloths and soap.
Lord Hawkes captured her with his gaze yet again. “I am afraid I cannot let go of the gash in my skin. Parts of me will be liable to spill out. If you would grant me the boon of washing the rest of the blood off of me, Camille, I would consider it a personal
Camille quickly stepped forward, and just as quickly came to an abrupt halt.
“Come now. You do not truly think I am in any position to molest you?”
She shook her head. But he stood so tall, his broad shoulders barely fitting through the doorway, or so it seemed to her. He exuded that masculine aura of strength and dominance, and despite the blood seeping between his fingers where he clutched his arm, that well-earned knot of warning rose to strangle her.
The frown of pain etched on his mouth gentled into a half smile. “I understand it will be an odious chore to touch me. I fear you shall have to bear it.”
Camille’s aversion to men mostly extended to soldiers, for the other men she met usually just ignored her. This man fit neither mold. Still, he had the look of a warrior, and she could feel he wanted her, but chose to deny himself.
She had thought him a puzzle. Now, she feared to solve it.
He cocked a brow. “Will you truly stand there and allow me to bleed to death?”
“No, I…” Camille stepped forward, held out her hands. He did not reach out to her in any way, just stood there, waiting. She closed the distance between them and grasped his uninjured arm, allowing him to lean on her as she led him forward.
“You may not have any magic,” he said, “but you have the elven strength in plenty.” He sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at her. “And the grace, and more than the fair share of beauty.”
Camille flushed. No one had ever called her beautiful, not with her odd eyes that seemed to take up most of her face. The compliment made her feel even more peculiar, so she chose to ignore it. “How do you know I haven’t any magic?”
“My dear, you would have used it to save yourself last night.”
“Of course.”
“Can you help me off with my coat? I shall have to release my hold on the wound, which means it will spout more blood, so you shall have to try to be quick in the removal of it.”
“I understand.”
“Jolly good then. On three. One, two, three.”
He let go of his wound and Camille tugged the coat over his shoulders. It had not been her imagination. He had very broad shoulders. She thought of the blood gushing down his arm, heard him mutter a curse beneath his breath, and quickly jumped on the bed behind him, yanking at the collar, pulling the coat down his back.
Lord Hawkes quickly grabbed his injury again.
“Camille?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“The room is spinning.”
She scrambled off the bed, tugged off his boots. Folded his ruined coat with the wet part inside and placed it on the bed. She would not allow his bedding to be ruined two nights in a row. He started to fall over sideways, so she picked up his legs and heaved, allowing him to collapse on his back.
Camille leaned over and positioned the coat a bit more securely beneath his injured arm. It brought her too close to him. She could feel his heat, smell the spicy scent of his skin, and wondered what cologne he wore.
He inhaled deeply, echoing her thoughts. “You smell wonderful, Camille. Like sweet wine… and something else. It is a vast improvement over the scent you wore last night.”
He made her smile. And she did not feel afraid to be this near to him, even though she could tell he desired her, injury notwithstanding. His voice had such a deep, tender quality to it, a teasing note she could not take umbrage to.
She pulled away, stared into those faceted golden brown eyes, and then blinked. “I shall fetch some soap and water.” With a swirl of her borrowed skirts she ran from the room, returning with a bucket she had noticed in the wash closet, and cloths and soap.
Lord Hawkes captured her with his gaze yet again. “I am afraid I cannot let go of the gash in my skin. Parts of me will be liable to spill out. If you would grant me the boon of washing the rest of the blood off of me, Camille, I would consider it a personal
Similar Books
