Lady Ines Scandalous Hobby-Chapter 145 - Hundred And Forty Five

"Are you sure, My Lady?" Edith asked. "It will be a long night."

"I am sure," Ines said. She turned to Edith. "You should go back to sleep. You have done enough. You can come and check up on me in the morning."

Edith looked at her mistress. She saw the determination in Ines’s eyes.

"Very well," Edith said. She curtsied. "Keep the cloth cool, My Lady."

Edith turned to the door. She had her hand on the knob when Ines spoke again.

"Edith?"

Edith turned back.

"Thank you," Ines said. Her voice broke slightly. "Thank you for everything."

Edith smiled, a warm, genuine smile that crinkled the corners of her tired eyes. 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

"You are welcome, My Lady. Take care of him."

Edith slipped out of the room, closing the door with a soft click.

Ines was alone.

She took a deep breath and turned back to the bed.

"Alright, Carcel," she whispered. "Let’s get you comfortable."

She pulled the duvet down to his waist. He groaned at the loss of warmth, his teeth chattering.

"I know, I know," Ines shushed him gently. "But we have to get these dirty clothes off."

She started with his waistcoat. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons. They were slippery with mud and oil. She unbuttoned them one by one, peeling the heavy fabric away.

Then came the shirt. This was harder. The linen was stuck to his skin with sweat and grime. And he was heavy.

Ines sat on the edge of the bed. She slid her arm behind his neck, bracing his head against her shoulder.

"Sit up for me, just a little," she coaxed.

She pulled him forward. He was dead weight, but she gritted her teeth and heaved. She managed to peel the shirt off one shoulder, then the other. She winced when she saw the angry red scrape on his left shoulder, likely from hitting the ground or a wall during the fight.

She pulled the shirt down his arms and tossed the ruined garment onto the floor.

Carcel slumped back against the pillows, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Ines stared at him for a second. His chest was broad and muscular, but it was covered in a sheen of sweat. There were bruises forming on his ribs—purple and yellow marks that told the story of the punches he had taken.

"Oh, Carcel," she murmured, tears pricking her eyes.

She turned to the bowl. She dipped a clean white towel into the water. She wrung it out until it was just damp.

She started with his face.

She wiped his forehead gently, sweeping the dark hair back. She wiped his cheeks, cleaning away the smudge of dirt. She wiped his neck, where his pulse was hammering like a drum.

Carcel sighed. The cool water seemed to bring him a moment of relief. His shivering slowed just a fraction.

Ines worked her way down. She wiped his shoulders, being incredibly careful around the scrape. She wiped his chest, her hand moving in slow, rhythmic circles.

"What really happened to you, Carcel?" she whispered to him as she worked. "Who did this to you? You took all these hits.....for me?"

She reached his hands.

She paused. His hands were resting on his stomach. The knuckles were raw and filled with dried blood. The skin was split.

Ines dipped the cloth again. She cleaned the blood away with the tenderest touch she could manage. She picked up the small jar of ointment Edith had brought. It smelled of eucalyptus and herbs.

She scooped a little onto her finger and applied it to his knuckles.

Carcel’s hand twitched in his sleep.

"I’m sorry," Ines whispered. "I know it stings. But it will help."

She wrapped his hands loosely in clean linen strips she tore from a spare towel.

Once he was clean, she pulled the duvet back up to his chest. She grabbed a glass of water and medicine and lifted his head again.

"Drink," she ordered softly. "Edith said you must."

She pressed the glass to his lips. Instinct took over, and Carcel swallowed a few sips and the pills before turning his head away.

"Good enough," Ines said.

She sat in the chair beside the bed. She didn’t sleep.

For the next hour, she watched him. Every time he shivered, she worried. Every time he groaned, she was there with the cool cloth.

The candle burned low, the wax dripping down the side of the holder. The moon moved across the sky.

Around four in the morning, Carcel began to toss and turn. He muttered names in his sleep.

"Mother..." he groaned. "No..."

Ines took his hand. "I am here, Carcel. I am here."

"Ines..." he whispered.

"I am right here," she said, squeezing his bandaged fingers.

She continued the cycle. Wipe the brow. Offer water. Check the temperature.

Slowly, agonizingly, the night passed.

As the first gray light of dawn began to creep through the balcony doors, Ines felt a change.

She touched his forehead again.

It was still warm, but the terrifying, burning heat was gone. His skin was damp, but cooler. His breathing had deepened. It was no longer the ragged panting of a man in pain, but the slow, rhythmic breathing of deep sleep.

The fever had broken.

Ines let out a breath she felt she had been holding for hours. Her shoulders slumped with relief.

She looked at the bowl of water. It was cloudy now. She looked at the pile of dirty towels.

She looked at Carcel. He looked peaceful. The tension had left his face.

Ines leaned forward. She rested her head on the mattress, right next to his hand. She was exhausted. Her eyes felt like they had sand in them. Her back ached.

But she didn’t want to leave him.

"I did it," she whispered, her voice thick with sleep. "We both survived the night."

She closed her eyes, just for a moment, her fingers lightly resting on his wrist, feeling the steady beat of his pulse. She kept her vigil as the sun began to rise over London and sleep finally claiming her.