It was difficult not to be affected by it.
“Would you like me to assist you?” he asked.
Her blush deepened. “If you wouldn’t mind.”
“You’ll have to direct me.” He attempted to keep his voice light and failed miserably. It sounded as raspy as the devil. “I’m not accustomed to undressing fine ladies.”
She touched the front of her bodice with unsteady fingers. Her condition had already been weakened when they departed London, but after the rigors of their long journey, her remaining strength had faded to a shadow. She wouldn’t last much longer.
“There are interior hooks all the way down,” she said. “I can unfasten them myself, but—”
“Let me.” He gently brushed aside her hands. “It will be quicker.”
It wasn’t.
Indeed, it took him an abominable length of time. His large hands kept fumbling over the delicate little closures. He was distracted by the lushly feminine shape of her. By the way every unfastened hook spread the two violet-dyed halves of her bodice open a little further, revealing another glimpse of the voluptuous swell of her bosom, confined behind a lace-trimmed cambric chemise and matching corset cover.
By the time he finally finished, he was perspiring.
Good God. There was torture and there was torture.
He nevertheless soldiered on, slipping her bodice from her shoulders and tugging her sleeves down over her arms. It was then he saw them—the twin bandages wound tight around her forearms.
A rush of concern swept through him like wildfire, burning away every other emotion. It was accompanied by something very like rage.
She tucked her arms behind her back. “It isn’t as bad as it looks.”
“Let me see.” Jasper held out his hand. He was relieved when she took it, however reluctantly. “I won’t hurt you.”
“I know that.” She permitted him to draw her right arm out to inspect it. “But you needn’t fuss over me. I’d really rather you didn’t.”
“Naturally, I’m going to fuss over you. You’re my wife.” He examined her bandages. “What did the villain use? A lancet?”
“A scarificator.”
Jasper made a soft sound of disgust as he took her left arm. It was bandaged even more heavily than her right. He glanced up at her in question.
“It wouldn’t stop bleeding,” she said.
He clenched his jaw, so angry on her behalf he could scarcely get the words out without snarling them. “Where were your parents?”
“They’d gone to their rooms by then. It was only Mary and me. And Dr. Cordingley.”
Jasper couldn’t understand how her mother and father could have allowed her to be subjected to such an outrage. “You must have been very ill for them to summon the man.”
“I wasn’t ill,” Julia said quietly. It was the same thing she’d said in her bedroom at Belgrave Square.
He gave her a sharp look. “What?”
“I wasn’t ill. I only needed some time alone, by myself, with my books. The only way I’m permitted any privacy is if I’m in poor health. So . . . I said that I was. That’s why Dr. Cordingley was summoned.”
Understanding sank in. Jasper didn’t know if he should be amused or appalled. “You’ve done this before.”
“Sometimes.” Her color heightened. “Often,” she amended. “It isn’t as bad as it sounds.”
“You let him bleed you so you could stay in bed reading a novel?”
“You make it sound quite unreasonable.”
“Julia—” He broke off. “My God.”
She tugged her hand from his grasp. “And I don’t let Dr. Cordingley do anything. I never ask for him to come. My parents are the ones who summon him. It’s the price I must pay to be left alone. In the past, it’s seemed to be worth it.”
“Not today, obviously.”
“No. Not today.”
Jasper was poised to say more on the subject, but Julia was in no state to hear it. Her face, in the firelight, was as bloodless and pale as it had been when he’d called on her in Belgrave Square.
He came to an instant decision.
Sweeping her up in his arms, he carried her to the bed. She opened her mouth to object, but he silenced her with a look as he set her down on the edge of the mattress. “I should have known this would be too fatiguing for you. Had I been thinking clearly when we arrived, I’d have ordered you straight to bed.”
“Ordered me,” she scoffed. “Really, Jasper.”
He gave her a dark glance as he crouched down to untie her boots.
“My dear,” she said, correcting herself.
“That’s better.” He removed her boots, and then, reaching up beneath her skirts, he found the satin ribbon garter tied above her right knee.
Julia sucked in a scandalized breath. “What are you doing?”
“I’m removing your stockings.”
“You mustn’t.” She pushed against his shoulders. “I mean it. I can do that part myself.”
His fingers curved around the back of her silk-clad knee. “Let me,” he said. “Please.”
She held his gaze, brows knit in indecision. “Very well.” She lay back on the bed with a sigh of maidenly resignation. “If you insist.”
Jasper suppressed a smile. One might think he was on the verge of ravishing her.
It wasn’t at all the case.
He did want her. How he could not? She’d permitted him to kiss her—deeply, passionately—and she’d kissed him back in full measure. But it hadn’t changed the terms of their agreement.
He didn’t want her this way. Not when she was weak and vulnerable. Not when the whole of her life had been turned upside down. In this room, in this moment, she didn’t need him to seduce her. She needed him to be steady and reliable. She needed to know he was going to look after her.
“Tell me something,” he said as he rolled her stocking down her shapely right leg. “What did your lady’s maid do to help you each evening? Did she remove all your clothes?”
“Not all of them.” Julia’s voice quavered as he continued to undress her. “I can do most of it myself. Everything except the hard-to-reach buttons and hooks.”
“Not tonight you can’t.”
“No,” she acknowledged. “But most nights I can. Mary only helped with the difficult bits.”