“I’m not bleeding on purpose.” I wriggled my toes, igniting stitches of pain. “I didn’t see the spike and—”

“It wasn’t your fault.” He set me on the dining table. “Lie back.”

Outside the open window, the rain came down hard, flickering with lightning and flooding the planks inside the cabin.

He lifted my legs to the table and wedged a cushion beneath my knees. I lowered to my back, astonished by how he could be so attentive and aloof at the same time.

“Have you been thinking about me?” I brushed wet hair from my face and neck, shivering in the soaked gown.

His gaze narrowed on my prickling flesh. “Shift to your side.”

He rolled me where he wanted, and his fingers tackled the laces on my spine. Moments later, the gown loosened. He dragged it down and off my body.

I bit my lip, captivated. What was motivating him to do this? Was he concerned the wet clothing would ruin the furniture? Or make me ill? Or was something else going on?

His hands returned to my torso. Quick caresses of his fingers here and there straightened Priest’s shirt beneath the stays and down my legs. Once he confirmed the undergarments were dry and in order, he positioned me to lie face-up.

His wet frock, waistcoat, and cravat came off next. Everything went on hooks to dry. Then he strode toward the windows to shut out the rain.

“Have you imagined my lips wrapped around your cock?” I asked softly.

The glass rattled beneath his hand, slamming harder than necessary. He disappeared through the day cabin. The balcony door closed with a whoosh, followed by the sound of his returning footfalls. He didn’t show it in his features, but his steps landed harder, more agitated than usual.

I stifled a smile. “I’m crawling underneath that steel mask of yours and—”

“Stow it, Bennett.”

“I scare you.”

“You pester me.” His stern, sculpted face appeared upside down above mine, his hands braced on either side of my head. “Always talking and making trouble and…” His gaze slid down my body. “Bleeding all over my table. Where the devil is that surgeon?”

“Here, my lord.” Lieutenant Flemming swept in, adjusting his cravat as if it had been haphazardly thrown on.

“She stepped on a spike.” Ashley shifted to stand beside me, resting a proprietary hand on my knee.

Flemming sank into a chair near my feet and opened his medicine chest. As he went to work on my wound, Ashley kept the linen shirt tucked around my legs, protecting my modesty as if I possessed such a quality.

“How’s the pain?” He focused on the doctor wearing a strange expression. Like he was troubled by my injury.

“I’m not going to bleed to death, my lord.”

He didn’t glance at me.