Passion and Propriety (Hearts of Honour Book 1) by Elise de Sallier Page A

worked for ’is father, and I’ve ’eard some dreadful stories. She was real upset when she ’eard I got this job. Said it weren’t safe.”
    “You have nothing to worry about,” Hannah assured her. “This particular Lord Blackthorn is a gentleman, through and through.”
    “But isn’t ’e fearfully scarred and wild-lookin’? Lucy in the kitchen overheard Mrs Potts talkin’ with Trevor and—”
    “Enough, Bess.” Hannah’s tone was gentle but her expression firm. “The viscount was severely wounded in service to the King and quite understandably dishevelled when he arrived after a harrowing journey. However, he is perfectly acceptable in both appearance and manner. There’s no need to be afraid, and I’m trusting you not to frighten the other girls by spreading gossip.”
    “Yes, miss.” Bess curtsied and hurried away, leaving Hannah to hope the girl was both subdued by the scolding and comforted by the reassurances she’d been given.
    Finding William dressed in a clean, loose-sleeved nightshirt, and with his hair neatly brushed and tied back in a queue, she couldn’t help thinking the young maid had nothing to fear . . . other than the possibility of developing a tendresse for her surprisingly handsome new master.
    “Feeling better for a rest?” she asked, her smile fading at his answering scowl.
    “I’d feel better if this blasted arm would stop itching.” Making a claw with his good hand, he looked as if he would like to tear the bandage away.
    “It sounds as if the stitches are pulling.” Hannah moved to his side, slipped the loose nightshirt off his shoulder, and began to unwrap the bandage.
    He winced. “How am I supposed to use my arm again if I can barely stand the slightest jostling?”  
    “Give it time, my lord. You were at death’s door mere days ago and must exercise patience. I suspect you’ve used up your quota of miracles for a while.”
    “You believe I’m the recipient of a miracle?”
    “How else would you explain your recovery? Grace’s skills are impressive, but they only extend so far. There’s been no lack of prayers sent up on your behalf.”
    William harrumphed, and Hannah fell quiet while wiping away the remaining unguent from his arm.  
    “These need to come out.” She lifted her eyes to meet his gaze. “But Grace sent word this morning she won’t be able to visit for at least a day or two. There was another cottage fire, I’m afraid. The occupants are badly burned.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that.” William frowned before his expression turned pleading. “Can you not do it?”
    “I could, I suppose, but I’ve only observed the procedure.”
    “I trust you.”
    Hannah’s eyes widened, a pleased smile teasing her lips. “Very well, then. The wound is all but healed, and you’ll feel much better when the stitches aren’t tugging. My sewing scissors should do the trick.” She gestured to where they lay beside the embroidery hoop that was sitting on a side table. “I’ll just take them down to the kitchen and give them a thorough clean.”
    “Is that necessary?” William’s brows rose.
    “Grace certainly thinks so, and I trust her .”
    She returned as quickly as she could and set to work. William grimaced but remained silent. It was pleasing to know he could refrain from uttering profanities if required, not that she’d have thought too badly of him if he’d slipped. Removing the catgut stitches wasn’t easy, tugging each one free requiring some force. The poor man was shaking by the time she had finished.
    “Better?”
    He shrugged his good shoulder while inspecting the violent-looking wound that wrapped around his upper left arm.
    “I should have let them take it off. I’m unlikely to regain full use, and the damned . . . darned ”—he shot her an apologetic look—“thing is ugly as sin.”
    “It’s not that bad.” Hannah tried to sound encouraging, but it did look rather frightful. “The colour will fade, and it’s