“Yes, well, it wasn’t long ago that we arrived, and you fainted on the stairs. I’d rather not watch you tumble down a flight and break your neck. Lady Keating’s servants will not appreciate the extra chore of cleaning up your broken body.”
“Your concern overwhelms me. I won’t faint. In fact, it’s widely known that men never faint.”
Belle eyed him over the rim of her tea. “It looked like fainting to me.”
“I lost consciousness. That is what men do. When you looked at my wound the other day, and I asked if you could sew, that was fainting.”
“That was lack of sleep and nourishment. I’m much stronger now.” She did not like the look in his eyes.
“If that’s true, then help me with this bandage. I want to see the wound.”
“Why?” She hadn’t meant it to come out quite so forcefully, but the last thing she wanted to do was see that wound. She wouldn’t mind seeing his chest again, but she’d forego the pleasure if it meant not having to see those awful stitches.
“I’d like to see if it looks as good as it feels. It still hurts like the devil, but the hurt is different, if that makes sense. Help me remove my shirt.”
“Sir!”
“Don’t go all missish on me now. You’ve seen me without my shirt. If it offends you, don’t look.”
“That’s not it. Before—and now—” She watched in horror as he pushed the covers back again. “And you haven’t any trousers on.”
He looked down. “I see your objection there. I’ll wrap the sheet about my waist.” He began to rise to do just that, but Belle waved him down.
“Give me a moment.” She set down her tea and went to the wardrobe. She pulled it open and found his trousers, cleaned and pressed, inside. “Here you are.”
She carried them back to the bed and handed them to him. “Will you be able to don them on your own?” Apparently, he would not be swayed from the idea of getting out of bed. Belle knew a lost cause when she met it.
“Of course.” He took the trousers and gestured for her to turn around. She gave him her back and heard him rustling about. She stared at the wall, her gaze fixed hard on the pale green vines of the paper on the other side of the room. Belle tried desperately not to think about what Arundel was doing in that moment.
And then his hand came down hard on her shoulder, pulling her back and off balance. “Oh!”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Bit of dizziness.”
She swung around, grasping his arm and holding him tightly. “Get back into bed, Mr. Arundel. I told you I didn’t want you to faint.”
“Men don’t—”
“Very well. I don’t want you to lose consciousness.”
“I’m fine.” He gave her a direct look, and his gaze was clear. “I stood too quickly, and since I haven’t had anything but broth, I lost my balance. I’ll be better once I have that toast. You can turn back around.”
Belle wanted nothing more than to turn her back to him again, but if she took her eyes off him, would he fall over? “If you still insist on doing this, I’d better help you.”
“But your delicate sensibilities.”
He was definitely teasing her now. “I promise nothing you have will interest those delicate sensibilities.” This was an outright lie. Her heart was already pounding just from touching his arm. She did not dare think about the fact that he stood beside her in nothing more than a longish shirt.
“You’re in no danger from fainting at the sight of my bare calf then?”
“It would take more than one of your puny legs to make me faint, sir.” But she’d made the mistake of looking down at his legs, and they were not puny. In fact, he had nicely shaped calves, covered with fine dark fair. Then came rounded knees and a good portion of thigh. Thick thighs that seemed corded with muscle.
Her gaze shot back to his. “Let’s get this over with.” She didn’t wait for him to answer, but snatched the trousers from his hands, knelt before him, and gestured to one of his bare feet. He had rather large feet, but they were narrow and finely boned. Apparently, nobs even had expensive-looking toes. He didn’t offer one of those feet right away, and she looked up at him. Too late, she realized she was kneeling at the level of his waist. Well, just below his waist. Apparently, this fact hasn’t escaped him.
Belle was not an experienced spinster. She hadn’t had love affairs and romantic rendezvous. She’d either been too busy in the shop or too wary of men who professed an interest in her. She’d learned early that men might say sweet words to her face and mock that same face behind her back. When she’d been about sixteen, she’d been wooed by a boy of about the same age who worked at one of the tea warehouses. He’d flirted and given her small gifts and made a point to speak to her whenever she came to the warehouses. She’d made excuses to go more often, and he’d taken the liberty of kissing her once and hinted he’d like to do so again—perhaps do more than kiss her.
Belle had been curious and flattered by the attention. She’d returned to the warehouse the next day, even though a new shipment of tea was not expected for another week or so. She’d wanted to surprise the boy. She remembered his name perfectly, but chose never to use it, much less think it. She’d surprised him. She’d come upon him talking to his friends. They hadn’t seen her, and she’d overheard their conversation.
“A face like that would make my prick shrivel up,” one of the men was saying.
“I just turn the ugly side away and I can stomach it alright,” the boy had answered.
Heat had flamed in her cheeks because she’d known they were speaking of her.
“Besides, once I have her skirt tossed up, I don’t need to look at her face.”
“Ye can toss it over her face!” one of the men said to raucous laughter.
Belle had sidled away, shame and humiliation washing over her. She’d never felt so ugly or so much the fool. She’d never spoken to the boy again, though she’d had to go back to that warehouse again. And because the docks were full of sailors, who inevitably attracted prostitutes, over the years, Belle saw plenty of what men and women did with a woman’s skirts tossed up. Once she’d even seen a woman on her knees, her mouth engaged in pleasuring a man. Belle had been so surprised to come across the scene that she hadn’t realized, until the man met her gaze and smiled, that the prostitute’s client was none other than the boy.
And now, here she was, in that same position as the prostitute.
Arundel offered her his hand. “Stand up, Miss Howard. I can manage.”
Belle had the urge to push him over so that he fell on the bed, but this was not that boy. This was Hew Arundel, and he’d done nothing to her. Well, nothing she hadn’t wanted. He’d been nothing but respectful and kind, even in his most delirious moments. She supposed in one of those moments he had been less than respectful, but she could hardly blame a man who was out of his head with pain and fever. And because he was out of his head, she could have stopped it. He hadn’t forced his attentions on her.
And he wasn’t forcing them on her now. She looked at his outstretched hand then shook out the trousers in her hands. “Give me your foot, Mr. Arundel.” Belle would not let that stupid boy from the past affect her now. This moment had nothing to do with anything from before.