The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2(9)

Her face fell. "Oh dear, and here I am standing here wittering on, when all you want is to get clean and lie down in a nice soft bed." She moved toward the door.



"No, wait," he said, reached out for her, and brushing her petal-soft cheek by accident. He let his hand drop to her shoulder. "The bath would be pleasant. But I like your company as well. It's been anything but dull. I'm afraid I've not got much to say for myself these days. I'll do my best to be entertaining in return for your hospitality."



"Don't worry about that. How's your headache?"



"Easing a bit."



"Good. Let me know if you want some medicine."



"I shall, I promise."



When the water in the tub looked a reasonable level, she added some cold, and helped her companion unfasten his stock and the front of his shirt.



He didn't exactly fumble over the chores, but she thought being sighted was a distinct advantage when it came to the various buttons and fastenings.



Again, Sarah was shocked at how bold she was being with a stranger. It was almost as though something were compelling her to touch him, help him, be near him.



In all fairness to the man, he was certainly not doing anything which could be construed as taking advantage even in such confined quarters as the bathing chamber. It would be all to easy to do in such a tight space, but he seemed simply to accept her help as he would any other nurse's, male or female.



"Can you manage the rest yourself?"



"Oh, yes. Thank you. I shouldn't trouble you in such a manner. I do hope no one here is inconvenienced by me more than they have to be," he said tightly, the contact stirring parts of him which he had thought incapable of revival.



"Oh, not at all. Caleb will be happy to help you with the rest," she said quickly. "And we shall give these to Jenny to try to clean. But they really are fairly shabby. It's nothing to be ashamed of, though, so you needn't blush so furiously. Please, take whatever you need from my brother's wardrobe. He's almost your size."



"You're too kind, and have helped me enough," he said in crisp tones.



She realized she had shamed him inadvertently, and stepped away. "It's the least I can do. I'll leave you to your bath before I embarrass you further."



She tried to get a peep at the bare flesh of his chest to see if he had a telltale tattoo such as the other Rakehells had worn. But short of tugging his shirt right open to look, she would just have to content herself with asking Caleb.



Caleb was standing outside waiting, a look of mild concern on his face.



"Just giving him a tour of the bathroom. It helps if you put his hands on things to show him where they are."



The old man's brows lifted, but he said nothing, though Sarah acknowledged with a blush that her words could be interpreted in a rather risque manner.



"It will be good to help him try to become more self-sufficient and not suffocate him with attention if he doesn't wish for it."



"Blind, is he?"



She nodded. "Yes."



"I'm sure the hospitals he's been in have left him very much on his own," Caleb said with a shake of his head. "So many injured young men. Dreadful, so it is."



"I know, Caleb. But we have a chance to help one of them now, eh?"



"Aye, Miss. That we do."



He didn't sound too pleased about it, however, and she wondered if she was perhaps letting her kind heart completely overrule her common sense. After all, what did she really know about the man?



She had allowed a stranger into her home, and partially undressed him within scarcely an hour of meeting him. And they were unchaperoned apart from the servants, who would be going home as soon as they completed their chores. She was about to be left alone to spend the night with a person who had appeared on her doorstep with nothing more than the clothes on his back and a silly joke upon his lips about being Jonathan Deveril.



She stared at the shut door pensively, reasoning out her predicament as logically as she could. He was injured, blind. She had a lock on her bedroom door, and they would be sleeping at opposite ends of the corridor. He was gentlemanly, with good manners and a refined accent, sober, intelligent.



He had had ample opportunity in the confined space of the bathing chamber to touch her, especially when she had been helping him disrobe. Many men would have taken advantage of her touches. They would have held her hand, attempted a kiss, cupped her rump, or bosom. He had kept his hands to himself.



Many men would also have taken advantage of her holding his hand as a prelude to something more. Taken liberties, made suggestive remarks at the very least. He had done none of these things.