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Andrew Lord of Despair(77)

By:Grace Burrowes


“Shall we consign this to the ragman?” Andrew asked, tossing her dress across a chair.

“The maids might want it.”

Andrew’s eyes were tired and not only in a physical sense. When had that happened? And he did not argue with her, though Astrid suspected he’d have the dress burned.

He untied the ribbons on her chemise, one by one, and she made no move to stop him as his strong, graceful fingers unraveled bow after bow.

“I don’t deserve the privilege of assisting you, Wife, but if you will allow it, I would be appreciative.”

He would not plead with her. She didn’t want him pleading with her, for that matter, so she remained silent as Andrew finished with his task.

Which left her naked before him for the first time in weeks.

His gaze traveled over her, pausing at an angry contusion at her shoulder. He stepped around her and ran his fingers over the darkening flesh.

“You have a terrific bruise coming up here,” he said, stroking gently. “Another one here.” He trailed a finger from the bottom of her back over her right hip. “A quite respectable, though slightly smaller one here.” He brushed fingers down the back of her right thigh. He touched several more before coming around to her front.

“All in all, you are going to be more than a little uncomfortable for at least a few days. Shall I have Gwen send up some laudanum?”

“No, thank you,” Astrid said, taking her naked self over to the tub. He’d looked at her bruises; he hadn’t looked at her—and how symbolic was that?

Andrew was beside her in an instant. “Let’s prop the arm on towels and let the rest of you soak.”

She lowered herself carefully into the delicious, soothing heat of the water, as Andrew held her bandaged arm aloft. He arranged towels so she could prop her arm on the rim of the tub, and then stepped back, his expression hooded.

“You are comfortable?” He looked like he wanted to kick something. “Stupid question. Is there anything I can do to make you less uncomfortable?”

“You offered to wash my hair.” She wouldn’t ask either, and a lump in her throat joined her other aches. Delayed reaction, no doubt.

“I did offer.” He dragged a stool over to the tub and settled himself on it. “Would you like to soak a bit first, or shall I be about my appointed labors?” His voice wasn’t flirtatious, not for Andrew, but it wasn’t combative either.

“Soak.” He could not walk away, not with her injured and unable to dress herself, so Astrid seized the initiative. “And talk.”

“What shall we talk about?”

“About this attempt on my life?” Astrid suggested pleasantly. She picked up the soap in her left hand and realized one needed two hands to raise a lather. One needed two hands for many worthwhile undertakings.

“Let me.” Andrew came off his stool to kneel by the tub. He took the soap from her, and was soon sliding his lathered palms over Astrid’s uninjured arm. His touch, while far from lover-like, was gentle and soothing. He attended her arm, back, neck, legs, and feet, but avoided her breasts and genitals. With her belly, which protruded noticeably, he was particularly tender.

And while he bathed her, they did talk—or their version of it.

“I wish I could argue with you,” Andrew said as he lathered her hair some minutes later. “I wish I could assure you this was simply an accident, an unfortunate mishap, but I suspect otherwise.”

Astrid closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of Andrew’s fingers massaging her scalp. “I am the only person who uses that platform as a balcony,” she said. Used it as often as she could, because watching him ride was one way she could be with her husband. “I sit up there almost every morning you work the horses, not just every once in a while.”

His dug his fingers into the muscles of her neck and applied a luscious pressure. “Why do you do it?”

“I love to watch you doing what you love. To work with a beast who does not particularly choose to work with you can be frustrating, I know, but you win them over, Andrew, and the results can be beautiful. Look at your gallant steed, and how he behaved today. Gareth despaired of that horse ever being safe under saddle.”

“Thank you. Your words mean… a lot.”

They weren’t words about horses, but Astrid doubted Andrew grasped that.

He rinsed her hair, wrapped a towel around the heavy, wet mass, then knelt beside the tub, crossed his arms on the rim, and rested his chin on his wrist.

“Astrid, would you consider traveling with me to the Continent?”

“To hide me from this menace?”

“Yes. I have failed to keep you safe, even here, on our own property. That platform was built to hold great quantities of hay, as well as the weight of a grown man. I know it’s as old as the rest of the barn, but I am sure I will find that a saw was taken to the supports. I don’t know how on earth you survived the fall, as well as the weight of all the lumber that landed on you.”