The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2(327)
Whatever happened, Blake had to be grateful Arabella was still alive.
Though once she came to and recalled what had happened to her, she might wish she wasn't.
As soon as Blake had finished sewing up the two gashes in Arabella's head, he cleaned up her face tenderly, and began to apply cream to her bruises, now a livid purple. Her mouth and chest were mottled and swollen, and he feared her ribs had been injured again.
He stroked the cloth down her, removing all traces of blood and applying cream, until he got to her waist. His chest felt as though an iron band had been wrapped around it, and his hands began to shake.
He steeled himself, and slipped the covers lower, parting her thighs. She was bleeding badly, but he could not see any sign of anything other than blood and dirt. He prayed she had been spared, but only time would tell. Once she came to-
And if she was with child? He could never blame or reproach her, and it would certainly not be the child's fault if it was the product of a mindless act of violence.
Still, the thought of her having to carry another man's child, her rapist's child, was just too awful for him to even contemplate. How could the poor girl ever--
She gasped and stirred as he touched her, a strident, "No!" coming from her parted lips.
"It's all right, I'm here. I'm trying to help. You're badly injured."
Her thighs were black and blue, and she was bleeding very heavily. He had no idea what was normal for her in terms of monthlies--was it possible that it was this? Or some internal injury?
He forced himself to look, though he felt like he could barely think straight. For once in his life he hated being a doctor. Maybe he should send for--
But no. The fewer people who knew about this the better. He didn't want this one foul act of violence to ruin her entire reputation in the district.
They had been so happy here thus far. He had thought he would hate life in the country, but his wife had blossomed there. He had felt youthful and carefree despite the huge responsibility that he knew he would inherit one day.
One day long into the future, he prayed, for he was extremely fond of Mr. Jerome, well, the whole family, really. Not to mention all of the fine new friends they had found. But now Arabella might hate and loathe the place where she had been attacked.
They were supposed to have gone on their wedding trip tomorrow. She was not fit to travel far, that was obvious. But nor could she stay here with her face all battered.
What really decided Blake upon his course of action though, was the thought that her assailant night still be out there just waiting for an opportunity to harm her again.
He finished cleaning her from head to toe. Pulling the sheet back up over her, he moved away from the bed he began to gather some warm clothing from her drawers and wardrobe. He found her linen and padded between her thighs before dressing the lower half of her body. He got a chemise over her head, and a dark green woollen gown.
He brushed out her hair carefully, freeing it of the elaborate braids and twists she had allowed her abigail Betsey to create for her wedding coiffure, which were now tangled and matted with leaves, twigs, dirt and blood.
He pulled it back into a simple tail with a matching ribbon, and checked her head. The sutures were still seeping, but he dabbed at them and found a lace cap and bonnet for her. The bonnet was concealing enough to cover the bruises on her chin if no one looked at her too closely.
He wrapped her cloak around her tenderly, and laid her on the chaise longue at the foot of the bed while he stripped it. He burnt the blood-stained sheets and towels, and finally, tearfully, her lovely white and gold wedding dress.
He got out a spare set of sheets and remade the bed. Once he was certain that the room looked in proper order, he took a last look in each of the bags which had already been packed and were sitting waiting by the window for their honeymoon departure.
He was surprised at his own clarity of thought. His emotions were in such turmoil his hands were shaking. He could barely fasten the clasps on the valises as he finished his hasty inspection. When he was finished he rang for Timothy the valet.
"Tell them to bring the carriage around. We're going to Bath," he said through a tiny crack in the door.
"Very good, sir."
He took her down the back stairs and around the side of the house, and got her into the carriage. He propped Arabella up in the corner, moving her head a few times until he was certain that it was at a more normal-looking angle.
Then he went in to say goodbye to his guests, hoping he looked for all the world like a happy bridegroom without a care in the world. He checked his appearance in the mirror and threw on his cloak over his suit to cover the worst of the dirt and blood he had been bemired with.