The Notorious Nobleman Read Free

of those ghastly freckles that were the bane of a
redhead’s existence. The green of her riding habit matched the
green of her eyes; and she gazed back up at him with a look of calm
purpose.
    “ Please take off your coat,” she said
again. “I will help you.”
    “ I don’t need your help,” he said,
ungraciously, as he released his hold of her. “I just need that
bottle.”
    “ You may have a drink from it but you
may not have the entire bottle.”
    “ Why not?”
    “ I might have to use some of the
spirits to clean your wound. But I cannot know that until you take
off your coat.”
    He cast one last malevolent look at her
before he silently leaned and began to shrug his arms out of his
sleeves.
    Julia didn’t try to help him. A duke he may
be, she thought, but he had no grace and fewer manners. Even now,
as he shifted his weight to work his arms out of his coat, his feet
scuffled slightly and one muddy boot left a footprint where the
skirt of her riding habit had billowed out on the floor. Julia
yanked the precious velvet skirt out from under his feet, but it
was too late; the damage had been done. He muttered something but
she thought it sounded more like a curse than an apology; and when
he leaned a bit closer to her, she could smell the odor of old
spirits on his breath.
    Her husband, when he was alive, had smelled
the same way; of brandy and tobacco and, sometimes, of other
women’s perfume. An old, forgotten feeling of disgust swept over
her as she realized that the Duke appeared to be the kind of man
she most disliked—the kind of man who valued horses and sport and
drink above all else; the kind of man her husband had been.
    Gavin gave one final, thorough curse as he
tugged his wounded arm from his coat and Julia saw that his entire
shirt sleeve was covered with blood. Over his sleeve, a wad of
cloth had been pressed against the wound and inexpertly tied in
place with a length of material that had probably once been a most
immaculate cravat.
    “ You bandaged this yourself, didn’t
you?” she asked, studying the makeshift dressing. When he didn’t
answer, she poured a small amount of bourbon into a chipped teacup
and handed it to him. “Drink this.”
    He didn’t need to be asked a second time. He
threw back the bourbon in one swift motion and held the cup out for
more.
    “ I cannot like the thought of speeding
a man toward inebriation,” Julia said, casting him a doubtful look,
“but I suppose you shall need something to lessen the
pain.”
    He lifted one dark brow. “Worried? Afraid too
much bourbon might make me behave as less than a gentleman?”
    “ I believe you have already proved
yourself to be less than gentlemanly.”
    “ A few rude words  Is that your idea of ungentleman-like behavior?
You are a prim little
thing!”
    A rush of angry heat covered her cheeks but
she decided it best not to answer his taunts. Instead, she refilled
the cup and handed it to him, and watched as again he downed its
contents in a single swallow.
    The next time he thrust the chipped cup at
her, she took it from him and put it down on the table; then she
set about carefully untying the cloth on his arm. When she slowly
lifted away one corner of the bandage, he winced.
    “ I’m sorry. I shall try not to hurt
you.”
    “ You didn’t hurt me,” he retorted, but
the white lines about his mouth told her otherwise.
    She stood up, relieved by the chance to put
some distance between them. “I’ve set a bowl outside to catch some
rain water. I’ll use it to cleanse the wound. But first, you shall
need to take your shirt off, too.”
    She didn’t wait for him to reply but went to
the door and darted out into the storm to fetch the full bowl of
water. By the time she turned back into the room, he had shrugged
out of his shirt.
    Julia pushed a rain-soaked strand of hair
back from her forehead and tried to keep her attention focused on
his wounded arm. Too often, though, she found her gaze straying
toward the