“Ferryman’s gang beat him up. Where is Joshua?”
Peggy appeared and supported King’s other side. “He’s not back yet.”
They led King to the back room, but when Peggy would have helped him down to the floor, Violet shook her head and motioned up the stairs. That was more trouble, but she didn’t want him on the floor. She led him to the small closet with her bed, and she and Peggy helped him down. Peggy left to warm some water and fetch clean linens, and Violet pulled off his boots and helped him shed his coat.
Finally, he lay back and sighed. “If I’d known this was all it took to get into your bed, I would have done it sooner,” he said.
“Hush. You’re not staying.” The words didn’t feel as true as they would have a day or two ago. King had dug his way into…if not her heart, close to it.
Peggy returned with the warm water, and Violet cleaned the blood on King’s face and hands. “We should see how bad the rest is,” she said. She leaned forward and unknotted his ridiculously intricate neckcloth and then unfastened the buttons of his shirt. “You’ll have to sit so I can pull the shirt over your head.”
She helped King sit, and he obediently lifted his arms so she could pull the garment off him. She tossed it aside and then glanced at his chest. Her breath caught in her throat, as it had that night she’d caught him bathing. Even with the splotches of red now going purple, he was a prime specimen. The muscles of his shoulders and arms strained as he lay back down, and she couldn’t stop herself from imagining how that belly ridged with muscles would feel under her fingertips.
“Georgie, come help me downstairs,” Peggy said.
“But I want to stay with Pa.”
“I need your help.”
Without looking away from King, Violet said, “Go with Peggy.”
“Aww!” But Georgie rose and followed the maid, slamming the door of the flat behind him.
“How bad is it?” King asked.
“I’ve seen worse.” She took a deep breath and ran her hands over his chest. It was indeed as nice as she thought it would be. She skated up to his broad shoulders and then down to his biceps.
He cleared his throat. “My arms don’t look injured.”
“Right.” She moved her hands to the bruised area on the right side of his chest and felt for broken ribs.
“Ow.”
“I don’t think they’re broken,” she said. “Maybe cracked.”
She moved her hands away, and he prodded the ribs himself, wincing. Her hands traveled down to the purpling skin to the right of his navel. It looked like the shape of a boot. She poked it, and he inhaled sharply.
“Careful now!”
She glanced up at his face and saw that the blood from the cut on his forehead was running down his temple again. Taking the clean linen, she sponged it off then took each hand and cleaned his bruised and cut knuckles. “At least you got in a few blows.”
“One or two of them will be feeling it tonight.”
“Not as much as you,” she said wryly.
“It was worth it. You’re worth it.”
Violet pulled back. “Aren’t you the charmer?”
“I can be,” he said. “But I mean it. I’ve never met a woman like you before. All the women I knew were peers’ daughters who had as much personality as clotted cream.”
“I thought men liked women who were pretty and sweet.”
“Not all men,” he said.
“Well, as much as I appreciate the compliments, let’s get one thing straight between us. I don’t need your protection. Your actions today only made things worse with Ferryman.”
“I apologize for that.”
