By Love Unveiled Read Online Free PDF Page A

deadened to the outrage of being attacked near his own home. For a manas young as he appeared, he must have seen a great deal of death.
    And how much of that death had he caused? She shuddered to think of the men he must have killed, even if it had been in battle.
    She’d finally washed away enough blood to see what she had to work with. Thank heaven the wound looked better already. With some stitching and a healing poultice, his lordship would be moving about in a few days.
    Her gaze trailed idly up his hairy thigh, and with a sudden absurd horror she realized how naked he was. A blush heated her face beneath her mask. She had worked beside Father when he’d toiled over many naked men, but this was no dirty and coarse soldier.
    Even with his wound, he emanated strength, reminding her of a leashed lightning bolt, waiting to destroy anything that crossed him. Though pale from loss of blood, his thigh was thickly muscled. Her gaze moved farther up to where the sheet just missed covering the patch of hair that surrounded his—
    Good Lord, what was she doing, gawking at him? Worse yet, he’d noticed, for his gaze now seemed to see right through to her embarrassing thoughts.
    “Well?” he asked dryly. “Can you save it?”
    For half a second, she thought he referred to something other than his leg. Then she chided herself. She was being a complete dolt about his nakedness. “Yes, but I’ll need your man to fetch some things from the apothecary’s shop.”
    “What if he’s still not there?” William asked.
    “The servant can give you what I need—a jar of wolfs-bane ointment. And have the servant send a message to my aunt that I’ll be late.”
    “If you just tell me where you live,” William said, “I’ll deliver the message myself.”
    “No!”
    When both men shot her searching glances, she forced some nonchalance into her voice. “No need for you to trouble yourself. Just send the message. And don’t . . . ah . . . mention whom I’m tending. Simply tell the servant to say I’ll return soon. Aunt Tamara’s accustomed to my late hours, so she’ll understand.”
    After William left, Marianne released a sigh. Aunt Tamara would be alarmed over this. She’d repeatedly stressed the importance of Marianne’s remaining unnoticed by the new earl.
    “Why shouldn’t Will mention that you’re tending me?” Lord Falkham asked, his gray eyes keen with interest.
    Trying to hide her agitation, Marianne withdrew a heavy needle and some thick black thread from her leather pouch. “Begging your pardon, my lord, but my aunt doesn’t trust men of rank.” That was partly true, for Father had been the only nobleman Aunt Tamara could ever stomach.
    Lord Falkham surprised her by laughing. “She finds her gypsy kinsmen more trustworthy?”
    “Than some of your kind, yes,” Marianne retorted. “You should be able to understand that, given your anger toward your uncle.”
    He sobered. “Excellent point. But not all men of rank are like my uncle.”
    True. Mother had once hinted that a man of rank had broken Aunt Tamara’s heart, which was why she scorned nobles, but it was more than that. Her aunt considered most lords to be weak, spineless fops.
    Marianne glanced at Lord Falkham, whose stoic expression belied the pain he must be feeling. He certainly defied those prejudices. More was the pity, since it made her situation all the more precarious. Her plan to stay out of harm’s way was rapidly falling apart.
    At least he was wounded, so he couldn’t come after her if she should need to flee. Yet she had the distinct impression that if he wanted to follow her, he would, wound or no.
    She looked at the needle she’d just threaded. Well, after she was done here, he’d never wish to be within a mile of her again anyway. And that was for the best.
    To remind herself of all that stood between them, she glanced around the room he’d appropriated for himself, which had once belonged to her parents. Her father’s