Page 80 of Duke of Rath

Almost anything.

He still couldn’t tell her about the duel.

He marveled at how calm he could be, while one part of him was furious with her and another was so terrified he felt cold.

“Have you had anything to drink today?” he asked as the blessed coolness of the house’s interior wrapped around them.

“A cup of tea,” she replied. “At breakfast.”

“It’s almost five o’clock,” he growled. “You must have lost a lot of fluid, working in the sun all day.”

“And my corset,” she breathed out. “It’s my own fault. I let Mademoiselle Antoinette lace it so tightly. She said that’s how duchesses are supposed to wear them. I should have told her I wasn’t a duchess today but a mere gardener.”

“You should have,” he agreed as he took the steps upstairs.

Having her cradled in his arms felt like the rightest thing in the world.

As he laid her on the bed, Mrs. Knight hurried in with a tray bearing a carafe of water, a teapot, and biscuits. Behind his housekeeper’s usual cool and collected face, he could see traces of worry.

“Here you go, Your Grace,” she said to Patience.

Dorian had already taken out his medical emergency basket. For the first time ever, it was going to be used for someone other than him. While Mrs. Knight poured water and added sugar, he looked at the cut on Patience’s ankle.

It was not deep, thankfully, and had already started to clot at the sides. That was a relief.

He was not going to let anything else happen to her.

Chastity had told him about one of her medical experiments, which involved cleansing wounds to avoid infection. She assured him that wounds should be cleaned with spirits, or if that was not available, soap and water or vinegar. And she’d said that it was important to boil water before treating wounds with it. She insisted that every medical basket he had included a small bottle of spirits. As Chastity had showed him, he poured a small amount of the spirits on a clean cloth.

Patience took a few sips of water and put the glass on the night table.

“This is going to sting,” he warned her.

“Oh.”

With his right hand holding her ankle in place, he gently rubbed the cloth down her cut with his left hand. She yelped. The sight of her hurt made his gut twist. It was his fault, too. If he had stayed, she’d have slept in his bed and wouldn’t be so tired.

“Sorry, love,” he said.

The cut was long, extending from the bone at the juncture of the foot and ankle to the middle of her ankle, but thankfully, it didn’t look deep.

“Can I do anything else?” asked Mrs. Knight.

“You can untie my corset,” complained Patience, who was removing her bonnet.

“I’ll do that,” said Dorian.

It came out more gruffly than he liked, but the thought of anyone else touching Patience was unbearable. Knowing in theory that her lady’s maid helped her dress and undress was one thing; witnessing it was quite another.

It was possessive of him, he knew, but he wanted to be the only one who saw his wife in such moments.

“Of course, Your Grace,” said Mrs. Knight. “May I suggest asking the cook to prepare some chicken soup for Your Grace? Perhaps I’m speaking out of place, but my mother always said chicken soup will cure anything.”

“That would be lovely,” said Patience. “Thank you.”

As Mrs. Knight retreated from the room, Dorian secured a fresh, clean bandage to Patience’s ankle.

“Now the corset?” asked Patience. “Please do unlace it. You were completely right. I couldn’t breathe right all day long working in the garden, and I should have drunk more water. It was a surprisingly warm day.”