“It’s true,” Helen said.
It was rare to see Devon, who’d become accustomed to frequent surprises over the past year—caught so entirely off guard. But his jaw sagged like the lid of an unlatched valise as he stared at her.
“I’ve been ruined,” Helen added, perhaps a bit too cheerfully. But after twenty-one years of being shy and predictable and sitting quietly in corners, she had discovered an untoward enjoyment in shocking people.
In the stunned silence that followed, she turned back to Rhys and began to unknot his silk necktie.
Rhys reached up to stop her, but flinched in agony. “Cariad,” he said gruffly, “what are you doing?”
She pushed back the lapels of his coat. “Having a look at your shoulder.”
“Not here. I’ll have a doctor see to it later.”
Helen understood his desire for privacy. But there was no way that she could allow him to leave Ravenel House while he was injured and in pain. “We must find out whether it has been dislocated again.”
“It’s sound.” But he grunted in pain as she pulled the coat carefully off his shoulder.
Immediately Kathleen came to help, kneeling by his other side. “Don’t move,” she cautioned. “Let us do the work.”
They began to divest him of the garment. Rhys steeled himself, but as they tugged at the coat, he shoved them back. “Argghh!”
Helen paused and looked at Kathleen in worry. “We’ll have to cut it off.”
Rhys was trembling, his eyes closed.
“The devil you will,” he muttered. “I’ve already had a shirt cut off me this morning. Let it be.”
Kathleen cast an imploring glance at her husband.
With an explosive sigh, Devon went to pick up something from the library table, and returned to the group on the floor. As he approached, he flicked open a silver folding knife with a long gleaming blade.
The sound, quiet as it was, caused Rhys to flinch reflexively, his eyes flying open. He moved to confront the threat, and cursed with pain, sitting down hard on his rump.
“Easy, arsewit,” Devon said acidly, sinking to his haunches beside him. “I’m not going to kill you. Your valet will do that for me when he realizes you’ve ruined two bespoke shirts and a coat in one day.”
“I don’t—”
“Winterborne,” Devon warned softly, “you’ve insulted my wife, debauched my cousin, and now you’re delaying my dinner. This would be an excellent time to keep your mouth shut.”
Rhys scowled and held still while Devon employed the blade with meticulous skill. The knife slid along the seams of the garments until they began to peel from his body like bark from a silver birch. “My lady,” he said to Kathleen, and paused, his breath hissing between his clenched teeth. “I apologize. For how I behaved that day. For what I said. I”—a groan escaped him as Kathleen gently pulled the sleeve from his aching arm—“have no excuse.”
“I’m equally to blame,” Kathleen said, folding the coat and setting it aside. Meeting Rhys’s surprised gaze, she continued resolutely. “I acted on impulse, and created a difficult situation for everyone. I knew better than to go to a gentleman’s house alone, but in my worry over Helen, I made a mistake. I accept your apology, Mr. Winterborne, if you’ll accept mine.”
“It was my fault,” he insisted. “I shouldn’t have insulted you. I didn’t mean a word of it.”
“I know,” Kathleen assured him.
“I’ve never been attracted to you. I couldn’t desire a woman less.”
Kathleen’s lips quivered with a repressed laugh. “The repulsion is quite mutual, Mr. Winterborne. Shall we cry pax and start over?”
“What about what he’s done to Helen?” Devon asked in outrage.
Rhys watched warily as the knife sliced through his shirt.
“That was my fault,” Helen said hastily. “I went uninvited to the store yesterday and demanded to see Mr. Winterborne. I told him that I still wanted to marry him, and I made him exchange my ring for a new one, and then I—I had my way with him.” She paused, realizing how that sounded. “Not in the store, of course.”
Straight-faced, Kathleen said, “Dear me, I hope he didn’t put up a struggle.”
Devon gave his wife a sardonic glance. “Kathleen, if you would be so kind, have Sutton fetch one of my shirts. One of the looser-fitting ones.”
“Yes, my lord.” Kathleen rose to her feet. “Perhaps he should also bring—” She broke off as the shirt fell away, revealing the broad expanse of Rhys’s bare chest, and the violently discolored shoulder. It looked intensely painful, the muscles visibly knotted beneath the flesh.
Helen was silent with anguish at the sight. She let her fingers curl gently over the knob of his wrist, and felt the subtle inclination of his body toward her, as if he were trying to absorb her touch.
“What caused this?” Devon asked curtly, nudging Rhys to lean forward so he could glance at his back, where several more black bruises marked the smooth amber skin.
“I went with Severin to look at a block of property near King’s Cross,” Rhys muttered. “Some debris fell from a condemned building.”
Devon’s scowl deepened. “When did you become so damned accident-prone?”
“Since I began spending more time with my friends,” Rhys said acidly.
“I suppose it’s too much to hope that debris fell on Severin as well?” Devon asked.