She's had enough misery, don’t you think?”
“She has, and I’ll not add to it.”
“Good. Then let me attend to you.” “I thank you for your concern, but I’ll manage on my own.”
Juleah's face flushed with frustration “You cannot dress a wound on your own, Mr. Braxton.”
Seth lifted a brow. “I cannot debate you there, Miss Fallowes.”
“No, you cannot.” She gave him a satisfied look from under her lashes. Through the candlelit room, her eyes were dark as moon-drenched jasper. She ran her finger over the edge of the table. “I hope you left the men who attacked you with morepains than what their plans for you were worth.” She walked over to the bowl and pitcher on a nightstand and poured the water into the bowl. “I doubt they were highwaymen. Highwaymen usually work alone and are not so violent. They demand money or jewels. These men wanted to hurt you.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “One has a bullet in his shoulder.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Juleah said. “He deserved it.”
Claire entered the room and set down the tray of supplies. She wrung out a cloth and handed it to Juleah.
“Thank you, Claire. You may sit with Caroline. She's asleep but if she wakes say nothing of this to her,” Juleah said.
“How is my sister?” he asked, once Claire had gone.
“Asleep.” Juleah's touch was gentle as she dabbed the cloth across the scratch. “She is trying to accept her grief, but the pain will be with her a very long time. How can it be otherwise for a woman in her situation? ”
He winced in pain, both from Juleah's words and from the wound at his side. With gentle hands, she loosened the neckcloth around his throat. He studied her face, as his eyes followed the soft line of her jaw. He considered the lids of her eyes, how they were formed, how her dark lashes enhanced the shape, how the brows were evenly arched. She was even more attractive tonight with the way she wore her hair long and over her shoulders in a braid. She was close and her skin smelled of lavender and rosewater.
Her touch caused Seth to feel uncomfortable. She stood in front of him, he with his knees apart, feeling the whisper of her frock caress the fabric of his breeches. The urge to pull her against him grew strong.
Juleah picked up a jar of salve, opened it, and gathered up some of the ointment. With deft fingers, she applied it to thewound on his throat. Feeling the oval outline of her finger caress his skin, her hand near his face, Seth's pulse raced.
“It is not deep. But you may have a scar.” She glanced into his eyes. “Let me dress the wound on your side.”
“A flesh wound,” he said. “Lucky for me, it was no more than that.”
She stood back, glared at him with a plea. “Please, let me look.”
Convinced by the expression she gave him that she would not relent, he lifted his shirt and she bent her head to see the wound.
“You’re right. The blade grazed you.” She pressed her fingertips over his skin and he winced again. “It struck a rib. You’re fortunate. You could have been killed.” She placed a piece of lint against the gash and lowered his shirt over it. “The bleeding has stopped.”
She placed the lid back on the jar and set it down. She moved away. Seth cupped his hand at her waist and drew her close. He brought forward a loose strand of her hair, ran it between his fingers, and brought his mouth within a whisper of hers. He touched her lips tenderly with his. She trembled, and the thunder in his heart pulsated against the palm of her hand.
Wind stirred the trees outside, whispered down the flue of the chimney, and drifted through the open window. Juleah pulled away. “The room grows cold with that wind.” Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips parted to take in a breath. She crossed the room, drew the window closed, and dragged the drapes over it. “I’ll send Claire to build up the fire. I suppose we shall have more rain tonight and …”
Seth
“She has, and I’ll not add to it.”
“Good. Then let me attend to you.” “I thank you for your concern, but I’ll manage on my own.”
Juleah's face flushed with frustration “You cannot dress a wound on your own, Mr. Braxton.”
Seth lifted a brow. “I cannot debate you there, Miss Fallowes.”
“No, you cannot.” She gave him a satisfied look from under her lashes. Through the candlelit room, her eyes were dark as moon-drenched jasper. She ran her finger over the edge of the table. “I hope you left the men who attacked you with morepains than what their plans for you were worth.” She walked over to the bowl and pitcher on a nightstand and poured the water into the bowl. “I doubt they were highwaymen. Highwaymen usually work alone and are not so violent. They demand money or jewels. These men wanted to hurt you.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “One has a bullet in his shoulder.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Juleah said. “He deserved it.”
Claire entered the room and set down the tray of supplies. She wrung out a cloth and handed it to Juleah.
“Thank you, Claire. You may sit with Caroline. She's asleep but if she wakes say nothing of this to her,” Juleah said.
“How is my sister?” he asked, once Claire had gone.
“Asleep.” Juleah's touch was gentle as she dabbed the cloth across the scratch. “She is trying to accept her grief, but the pain will be with her a very long time. How can it be otherwise for a woman in her situation? ”
He winced in pain, both from Juleah's words and from the wound at his side. With gentle hands, she loosened the neckcloth around his throat. He studied her face, as his eyes followed the soft line of her jaw. He considered the lids of her eyes, how they were formed, how her dark lashes enhanced the shape, how the brows were evenly arched. She was even more attractive tonight with the way she wore her hair long and over her shoulders in a braid. She was close and her skin smelled of lavender and rosewater.
Her touch caused Seth to feel uncomfortable. She stood in front of him, he with his knees apart, feeling the whisper of her frock caress the fabric of his breeches. The urge to pull her against him grew strong.
Juleah picked up a jar of salve, opened it, and gathered up some of the ointment. With deft fingers, she applied it to thewound on his throat. Feeling the oval outline of her finger caress his skin, her hand near his face, Seth's pulse raced.
“It is not deep. But you may have a scar.” She glanced into his eyes. “Let me dress the wound on your side.”
“A flesh wound,” he said. “Lucky for me, it was no more than that.”
She stood back, glared at him with a plea. “Please, let me look.”
Convinced by the expression she gave him that she would not relent, he lifted his shirt and she bent her head to see the wound.
“You’re right. The blade grazed you.” She pressed her fingertips over his skin and he winced again. “It struck a rib. You’re fortunate. You could have been killed.” She placed a piece of lint against the gash and lowered his shirt over it. “The bleeding has stopped.”
She placed the lid back on the jar and set it down. She moved away. Seth cupped his hand at her waist and drew her close. He brought forward a loose strand of her hair, ran it between his fingers, and brought his mouth within a whisper of hers. He touched her lips tenderly with his. She trembled, and the thunder in his heart pulsated against the palm of her hand.
Wind stirred the trees outside, whispered down the flue of the chimney, and drifted through the open window. Juleah pulled away. “The room grows cold with that wind.” Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips parted to take in a breath. She crossed the room, drew the window closed, and dragged the drapes over it. “I’ll send Claire to build up the fire. I suppose we shall have more rain tonight and …”
Seth
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