His kiss gentled, his thumb tracing the edge of her ear as he murmured her name over and over into her mouth. She sighed into him and rolled to the bed. “You’re still wearing too many clothes.”
Pushing herself up on her elbow she unbuttoned his waistcoat. His chest moved slightly faster than normal as his breathing regulated. She opened the waistcoat and pressed her hand beneath the garment against his shirt.
She felt something wet. “What’s—” Investigating the dampness, she shot straight up, gasping. “Is that blood?”
He lazily opened his eyes and blinked, lifting his head slightly off the pillow. “That? Oh, yes.” His lips spread in a satisfied grin as his lids drifted closed once more. “Last night, I was stabbed.”
Chapter 16
Anne leapt out of the bed and lit the candle on the side table. Holding it over him, she stared down at the slowly spreading dark red stain. “Why on earth were you stabbed?”
“Knife fight. You should have seen my opponent. He fared much worse.”
Blowing out an agitated breath, Anne set the candle down and went to fetch the pitcher of water, basin, and a cloth.
She poured the water into the basin and wet the cloth. “You’re going to bleed all over my bed.”
“Damn, you’re right.” He opened his eyes again—finally—and sat up. “It’s not that bad.” He looked down and winced. “It really isn’t, I promise.”
“Take off your waistcoat and give me your shirt.” She put her hand out as he divested himself of the garments. The waistcoat went onto the floor, and he delivered the shirt into her grasp. “This is probably ruined.”
“I’d ruin a thousand of them if it meant I could have tonight. With you.”
A flush of heat raced through her as he scooted closer to the edge of the bed. She gently pressed the damp cloth on the cut, dabbing up the blood. Pulling the cloth back to find a clean area, she pressed down on him again, drawing a soft gasp from his lips.
“Do you need stitches?” she asked.
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“You asked me. Why would you think I’d know?”
She looked at the many scars marking his chest, shoulders, and arms until settling on the scar cutting through his chin and lower lip. “This was not your first knife fight.”
“No.”
“Why?” She held the cloth against his wound and with her other hand, ran her thumb over a scar on his left shoulder, then another on the front of his upper arm. That one was long, maybe four inches.
“When I was young, it was how we gained respect and exerted our dominance. Proving your strength was critical to survival. Not just for me, but for Selina. Before I sent her away to school.”
“You sent her away.”
He nodded. “She would have been raped and forced into prostitution if I didn’t.”
Anne swallowed. She couldn’t imagine such a life. “How old were you?”
“Fourteen. She was eleven. I’d saved enough by then to pay for her school, and I kept moving up in the ranks. By then, I was running one of Partridge’s receiver shops.”
“What’s that?”
“A place where we fenced stolen goods. The gangs of thieves would steal the items, and I would sell them. I ran several of them by the time I was sixteen. Partridge trusted me. He liked me.”
“Who is Partridge?”
Rafe’s features hardened. “Was. He was the man who purchased me and Selina from our ‘uncle’—the man who kidnapped us from Stonehaven. He was a footman there, and his sister was our nurse.”
Anne fought against the tide of emotion welling up within her. Lifting the cloth, she studied the gash. Perhaps two inches wide with neat edges, the damage didn’t look great, especially since the bleeding had stopped. “You need a bandage.”
She started to turn, but he gripped her upper arm. His eyes were dark and intense, the fiery orange spot burning with promise. “It will be fine. For now.” He took the cloth from her fingers and scooted toward the center of the bed before adjusting the pillows and settling back against the headboard. “Sit with me.”
Anne climbed onto the bed and sat next to him. She laid her head on his shoulder.
“You are the loveliest nursemaid.” He put his arm around her and draped the cloth over his cut.
“Why did you get into a knife fight last night?”
He exhaled, his fingertips stroking her arm. “After the dinner, I found myself going to the only place I truly know, the only place where I belong. Or used to, anyway.”
She angled her head so she could see his face. “The men there fight with knives like the children do?”
“Mostly for money, but also for the other reasons I mentioned before. I thought it would make me feel…not better, but more like myself.”
“And did it?”
He shook his head.
She traced the scar on his chin, starting at the base and slowly moving up to his lip. “And this was from a fight?”
“A particularly fierce one. I was seventeen. The other lad wanted to kill me.”
She tensed, lowering her hand to his chest. “Did you—”
“No, but Partridge had it done. He didn’t want anyone to question my authority again. That was the last time I fought, until last night.”
“That you managed to survive your childhood is astonishing.” Anne’s throat tightened. “Not only that, but look at what you’ve built, what you’ve become. And I don’t mean an earl. Even if you weren’t going to be ennobled, you’ve accomplished so much. You seem destined to be great.”
“It never felt like that. Every day was a struggle.”
“Even the days with your wife?” she asked softly. When he stiffened in response, she blurted, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you about her.”
He pulled the cloth away from his chest and tossed it to the side of the bed. “I’m glad you did. I won’t keep anything from you. Not anymore.” He turned, and she lifted her head from his shoulder. “What I
