reached for the tweezers from his shaving items. “I shall be a gentle as I can, but this shall cause you pain.” Again, he nodded, but he turned his head to look away. Others might believe Lord Godown wished to avoid looking upon her handiwork, but Grace knew he protected her. If she encountered the pure pain he controlled through a force of will, she might falter.
Grace concentrated hard on keeping her hand steady. She would love to have an extra pair of hands to blot the blood away, but she would manage. “I have the first one, my Lord.” She mopped the blood from his chest. “There are two more pieces.”
“Just do it,” he grunted.
“Very well. No more commentary,” she said with determination. She splashed a few drops of the brandy on the short blade knife and cut a deeper gash. With bloody fingers, she retrieved the second metallic sliver and deposited it into a small basin with the first. Sucking on her bottom lip, Grace returned to the task. “One more,” she whispered aloud as she fished for the tip of the third fragment. She caught it easily, but his muscle tissue held it tightly. Therefore, she cut another snippet to free it. Finally, she deposited the jagged metal tip in the bowl with a flourish. “We did it!” she said as she began to clean the newly opened wound. “It is done, my Lord!”
Yet, he no longer moved. Grace had not noticed when his muscles had abandoned the tension that had encased them. “My Lord,” she said in a panic, but the shallow rise and fall of his chest indicated he still breathed. “Thank God,” she said on a gasp. Tears misted her eyes. Immediately, she removed the strap from his relaxed jaw and began to pack his wound with clean strips from his shirt. She thought to sew the skin together as she heard of a true surgeon doing, but Lord Godown’s chest muscles sported a deep hole of some size. Instead, she placed a brandy-soaked cloth over the opening.
As His Lordship slept, she quickly threw the bloody cloths into the fireplace to rid the room of any evidence of Lord Godown’s injuries. She washed her hands before searching the marquis’s bag for a dressing gown. She would not bother his rest with dressing him in the garment, but she draped it across his body to disguise her handiwork. “It has nothing to do with the fine line of the man’s chest nor of his flat stomach,” she thought. Her eyes traced the line of his nipples and of the blonde hair that pointed to his breeches.
A twisted smile played across her lips, and a blush spread from her chest to her forehead. “A god in waiting,” she mused. “I shall rest in purgatory for my thoughts,” she chastised as she returned to his wound. She placed another folded strip over the first and pressed down with the heel of her hand. She would not consider how inappropriate were both her thoughts and the situation in which she freely participated. Grace Nelson, former governess for Viscount Averette, shared a room with the half naked Marquis of Godown. “How quickly things change…”
“Grace?” he moaned. She liked the sound of her name on his lips. His slight French accent laced the word with elegance and fluid motion.
She caught his free hand within her two. “I am here, my Lord. Rest. I shall not leave you.” Grace brushed his hair from his forehead.
Lord Godown did not open his eyes, but he said, “I have never…doubted you…my Dear.” He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze and drifted off to sleep.
How long she remained by his side, Grace could not say. The shadows had darkened the room. She enjoyed the tea and some bread and cheese. She placed the broth near the hearth to keep it warm. She was uncertain if he would be capable of swallowing a few mouthfuls when he awoke, but she wanted it available to him. She moved several pieces of furniture to further block his presence from prying eyes.
She heard footsteps in the hallway and asked a passing maid for a bowl of soup and more tea. Then, she
Grace concentrated hard on keeping her hand steady. She would love to have an extra pair of hands to blot the blood away, but she would manage. “I have the first one, my Lord.” She mopped the blood from his chest. “There are two more pieces.”
“Just do it,” he grunted.
“Very well. No more commentary,” she said with determination. She splashed a few drops of the brandy on the short blade knife and cut a deeper gash. With bloody fingers, she retrieved the second metallic sliver and deposited it into a small basin with the first. Sucking on her bottom lip, Grace returned to the task. “One more,” she whispered aloud as she fished for the tip of the third fragment. She caught it easily, but his muscle tissue held it tightly. Therefore, she cut another snippet to free it. Finally, she deposited the jagged metal tip in the bowl with a flourish. “We did it!” she said as she began to clean the newly opened wound. “It is done, my Lord!”
Yet, he no longer moved. Grace had not noticed when his muscles had abandoned the tension that had encased them. “My Lord,” she said in a panic, but the shallow rise and fall of his chest indicated he still breathed. “Thank God,” she said on a gasp. Tears misted her eyes. Immediately, she removed the strap from his relaxed jaw and began to pack his wound with clean strips from his shirt. She thought to sew the skin together as she heard of a true surgeon doing, but Lord Godown’s chest muscles sported a deep hole of some size. Instead, she placed a brandy-soaked cloth over the opening.
As His Lordship slept, she quickly threw the bloody cloths into the fireplace to rid the room of any evidence of Lord Godown’s injuries. She washed her hands before searching the marquis’s bag for a dressing gown. She would not bother his rest with dressing him in the garment, but she draped it across his body to disguise her handiwork. “It has nothing to do with the fine line of the man’s chest nor of his flat stomach,” she thought. Her eyes traced the line of his nipples and of the blonde hair that pointed to his breeches.
A twisted smile played across her lips, and a blush spread from her chest to her forehead. “A god in waiting,” she mused. “I shall rest in purgatory for my thoughts,” she chastised as she returned to his wound. She placed another folded strip over the first and pressed down with the heel of her hand. She would not consider how inappropriate were both her thoughts and the situation in which she freely participated. Grace Nelson, former governess for Viscount Averette, shared a room with the half naked Marquis of Godown. “How quickly things change…”
“Grace?” he moaned. She liked the sound of her name on his lips. His slight French accent laced the word with elegance and fluid motion.
She caught his free hand within her two. “I am here, my Lord. Rest. I shall not leave you.” Grace brushed his hair from his forehead.
Lord Godown did not open his eyes, but he said, “I have never…doubted you…my Dear.” He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze and drifted off to sleep.
How long she remained by his side, Grace could not say. The shadows had darkened the room. She enjoyed the tea and some bread and cheese. She placed the broth near the hearth to keep it warm. She was uncertain if he would be capable of swallowing a few mouthfuls when he awoke, but she wanted it available to him. She moved several pieces of furniture to further block his presence from prying eyes.
She heard footsteps in the hallway and asked a passing maid for a bowl of soup and more tea. Then, she
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