Truly Yours by Bárbara Metzger Read Free Book Online

lady, which was far worse. Rex had never undressed a lady in his life, much less washed one. He looked at the bucket of water, which was cooling, and the towel on the washstand. “Miss Carville? Please, miss, please wake up.”
    She did not open her eyes. So much for swearing, praying, and begging.
    Rex took his coat off again, feeling perspiration dripping down his own back, but not from the heat of the room. He took a deep breath and straightened his spine. “Very well, please do not wake up then. That will be easier on both of us.”
    Like a general studying his maps and maneuvers, Rex planned his campaign. First he fetched a nightgown from the countess’s room and a bottle of brandy from the earl’s. Then he turned down the covers on the other side of Miss Carville’s bed so he’d have some place to roll the female onto when she was clean. He had a sip of brandy.
    He brought the water and towel closer, and had another swallow. He’d wipe her face and hands first. How bad could that be? The brandy was good.
    As gently as he could, Rex wiped at the dirt and scrapes, avoiding the swollen, discolored skin around the woman’s left eye and the bruise on her chin, her cut lips. The doctor would have to prescribe salve and ointments for those. Rex carefully cleaned her hands—how small they were in his—and marked the raw place where someone had pulled a ring off her finger, and the sores on her arms from what he assumed were manacles. Her wrists were so narrow he could reach around them with his fingers and still have room. Shackles on this wisp of a girl? The notion turned his stomach, or perhaps that was the brandy. No, he was queasy at his next job.
    Where the devil was Dodd and a decent woman?
    Rex took a long swallow and set the bottle aside. A man needed a clear head to face the enemy, and his demons.
    He raised Miss Carville and slipped the nightgown over her head, stuffing her arms into the sleeves, which were much too long. The countess was far larger, and far away, blast her.
    Rex’s strategy was to cut away the rags of Miss Carville’s gown, lowering the night rail as he went to preserve her modesty as much as possible. He’d leave the washing of her body to whatever woman Dodd found. He thought he could hear voices in the front hall, a door shutting, footsteps on the stairs. Reprieve! He reached for the brandy again.
    Of course that was when Miss Carville opened her eyes. And saw a rough-looking, long-haired man bending over her, a bottle in one hand, a knife in the other.
    She shrieked. What else could Amanda do, when she was too weak to raise her arms, and they seemed to be swathed with cloth bindings anyway, with more wrapped around her throat? There she’d been, safely cradled in her father’s arms, tenderly comforted by her mother’s cooling, soothing touch. Someone cared for her; someone loved her. How sweet her dreams. Then she awoke to yet another nightmare of stabbing, strangulation, torture. The loathsome demon’s eyes were wide with evil intent. An angry scar ran down his cheek and he stank of spirits. A guard? A prisoner? Amanda had no doubt he meant to rape her, then kill her. She shrieked again. No one was going to hear and help her, but what did she have to lose?
    Rex slapped his hand over her mouth. Then he apologized when she winced and tried to pull back. “Sorry. But think of your reputation.” No, that was so far blackened, she might as well be dipped in tar. “Think of mine.” Which was worse. Lud, her eyes were wide and terror-filled, except for the one that was half swollen shut. That was brown, but bloodshot. “Please do not be afraid. I am trying to help you.”
    She stayed rigid, gathering her breath for another scream, he thought. “Please. My . . . mother sent me to help.” The words were almost as painful as this little kitten’s fear of him. “I would not hurt you.”
    “J-Jordan?”
    He sighed in relief, that she was not out of her mind in a blind panic. A