Hunters

XVII. Lullaby

XVII. Lullaby

Lecia couldn’t stand on her own. Luckily Izzy was still filling the bath when Vaughan arrived with the Duchess in his arms; the maid helped him to undress her.

“I think I can manage from here, Izzy,” he said. “Thank you.”

The quiet young maid left, closing the bath chamber’s door as she left.

Lecia kept completely still as Vaughan lowered her into the tub. The water soaked his sleeves as his wife’s body displaced it. It wasn’t overly full, so he felt comfortable to step back and shrug off his coat and roll up his sleeves. Deciding she needed fresh air as well, he quickly opened the windows, and a morning breeze filtered in. He grabbed some soaps and towels before returning to kneel outside the tub.

She had slipped down into the water, her chin breeching the surface. Perhaps it wasn’t that full, but Vaughan hadn’t considered how large the bathtub was; he’d had to replace it so he could stretch out his legs to wash. Lecia’s weren’t even close to capable of bracing her body against sinking. He should have realized.

“Damn,” he sighed, tugging her up by the shoulders so she wouldn’t drown. “I know you can keep yourself up,” he said quietly, dunking a washcloth into the warm water. “I can’t do it all at once.” He really didn’t want to have to call Izzy back because he didn’t want to have to allow the staff to recognize how dismal the situation was. It would be a bit humiliating for his wife when she recovered. No one needed to have that burden. Sure, he’d retched on the floor at Zeke’s, but he’d lived through far, far worse than that.

“All right, cariad, we need to get your hair,” he told her.

She looked at him then, blinking dumbly, and found the control to lower herself underwater and back up for air. All the while, Vaughan’s hands hovered over her to pull her out if he needed to. Now that her hair was wet, he massaged in some lemon juice. The fresh citrus tingled Lecia’s scalp, she was on the cusp of alertness from the bright scent. As her husband used the cloth to spread soap across the rest of her skin, it was as if a layer of filth was being washed away. She had to close her eyes again, though. Her head was heavy and with every minute movement she wanted to heave.

Vaughan was gentle as he bathed her; her fair skin was translucent and gaunt from the dehydration, but the water and the lather had started to revive it. He tried not to focus on how magnificent she was, even as a foxed and nearly unconscious version of herself, but he suffered from an innate hunger. His admiration of her slender legs and statuesque nudity was unavoidable, though he’d been careful to hang her long curls over her chest. She could have been buxom as the Duchess of Swynwick—who was notoriously plump—and Vaughan would have still loved her just the same. After all, he hadn’t cared for her in a romantic way until they had become friends, but, admittedly, his attraction was fostered by her outward allure.

Once she was rinsed off, the Duke pulled her to her feet and wrapped her in a soft towel. He was nimble when he lifted Lecia into his arms again and carried her to his bed; she fell to her side when he let go, but at least she couldn’t drown in fabric. He left her for a few minutes to retrieve a nightgown; for some time he’d been an advocate of silk trousers and sleep shirts, but he was sure his closet had an old white gown he could put her in. He’d forgotten to have one of hers brought over, but they were the same thing; it was only for a night, and she was too distressed to care.

When he returned to her, she was asleep. From experience, he knew that it was a useless slumber, but she would at least be at ease for a bit. He dressed her in the nightgown and dried out her hair as best he could before tucking her into bed. She smelled better now, at least. Confident she would be still for a minute or two, he went to call for fresh water to be put in the tub and a maid to keep an eye on her while he bathed himself. He had hurried home without even tending to the bile stain on his shirt.