Filed to story: Elowen Hale and Duke Cassian Valebourne Book PDF Free
A broken left arm? They’d use their teeth to help the right hand dress. A shattered right leg? They’d hop on the left.
She understood Cassian’s pride. Still, she whispered, “I… I’ll just sit by the screen. If you need anything, just call.”
Cassian gave a noncommittal grunt.
Elowen walked over, fetched a small stool, and sat down.
From behind the screen came the soft rustle of fabric-Cassian removing his clothes.
The wheelchair creaked, then came the sound of water sloshing as he presumably hoisted himself into the tub.
Elowen didn’t turn her head, but her cheeks remained warm.
Her mind wandered. When will he ask for an annulment? Once the woman he loves is willing to marry him, I suppose.
Once that happens, without the protection of Duskmoor Manor, I’ll need a new plan…
On the other side of the screen, Cassian sat in the bath, his gaze fixed on the screen.
The light from the oil lamp cast a faint, diffused glow, outlining Elowen’s silhouette.
She sat on the little stool, elbows on her knees, chin propped in her hands. She looked like a small creature in a new place, instinctively curling into a corner.
She hadn’t moved for a long time, lost in thought.
His mind returned to her earlier words.
Disgusting.
Did she find him disgusting? Or was it the act between husband and wife itself?
Would she feel the same revulsion if it were Alaric?
A frown creased Cassian’s brow. He closed his eyes.
Elowen rested her head in her hands, unaware of how much time had passed.
The room’s temperature had dropped noticeably, yet there was no sound from behind the screen.
“My lord?” she called out tentatively.
From beyond the screen, Cassian leaned against the tub’s edge, unmoving, unresponsive.
A sudden, cold dread shot through Elowen.
Did something happen to him?
She leapt to her feet.
Water had spilled onto the floor by the tub. She saw it, but her steps were too hurried, her injured knee unsteady.
As she neared the tub, her foot slipped. She lost her balance, pitching forward.
“Ah-!”
A gasp escaped her. She braced for a painful impact with the hard wooden edge.
She instinctively squeezed her eyes shut, but heard a loud splash instead.
A wave of cool, damp air washed over her. A strong hand shot out, gripping her arm firmly.
Instead of crashing into the tub, she tumbled into a wet, hard embrace.
Her heart hammered. Her lashes fluttered as she prepared to open her eyes and stammer her thanks.
But a broad, calloused palm gently covered them before she could. Cassian’s voice came from above, close. “I’m not dressed. Keep your eyes closed.”
He had acted swiftly. Elowen saw nothing.
Somehow, this made her even more flustered than if she had. “Alright…” she breathed.
Cassian’s palm remained over her eyes. He could feel the frantic fluttering of her lashes against his skin, a light, ticklish sensation.
He glanced down at himself beneath the water.
His throat moved as he swallowed. “…Wait for me outside.”
Elowen hesitated. “Leave you here alone?”
Getting out of the tub, drying, dressing… with his legs impaired, it would be a struggle.
“I’m not an invalid,” Cassian stated, his words clipped.
Elowen froze.
Her brother had lost his left arm in a skirmish. Afterwards, both at home and in the barracks, everyone tried to stop him from doing things, urging him to rest.
Young then, Elowen hadn’t understood why her brother was always so unhappy. Isn’t it nice not have to work?
Now, she suddenly understood. He had been unhappy because they treated him like an “invalid.”
She said nothing more, simply murmured a quiet, “Alright,” and prepared to leave.
She lifted her hand, intending to grasp the rim of the tub to steady herself.
But blinded, her fingers landed on Cassian’s arm instead.
He was well-built. Even after his long slumber, his muscles remained firm. Her hand closed over the hard swell of his bicep, taut from the effort of holding her.
Her heart gave a violent, sudden leap.
Once outside the bathing chamber, the memory of that touch lingered in her palm.
It was embarrassing to admit, but… it had felt rather nice.
She sat in a chair, staring down at her hand, her ears still burning.
Not long after, she heard the sound of wooden wheels.
Turning, she saw Cassian emerge, fully dressed and seated in his wheelchair.
His face was devastatingly handsome, yet utterly expressionless, his features as sharp and cold as a honed blade.
His hair was still damp, barely toweled, hanging loose over his shoulders, droplets tracing paths down his neck.
The moisture on his face lent his sharp features a hint of softness.
Elowen looked at him, then remembered the feel of the muscle in his arm.
She couldn’t understand it. A man like Cassian-noble, handsome, with a physique like that-how could any woman not want him?
Does he have some terrible secret? An unspeakable quirk?
“What are you thinking?”
Cassian’s gaze settled on her face.
Elowen could hardly say, “I’m wondering if you have a bizarre fetish.”
She offered a gentle smile instead. “I was thinking if you’re hungry. Would you like something to eat?”
Surely, a meal couldn’t be considered “disgusting.”
Cassian recalled the conversations he’d overheard while unconscious. Her cooking, it seemed, was exceptional.
He didn’t refuse. “Yes.”
“Do you have any favorites? Or anything you don’t eat?” Elowen asked, considerate as always.
“I’m easy. You decide,” Cassian said.
“Alright.” She nodded and left the room.
Bran, who had been waiting outside, entered to take her place.
Cassian wore only a thin layer of underclothes. Bran fetched a heavier tunic and began helping him dress.
“How has the Manor been these past days?” Cassian asked, his voice measured.
Bran, adjusting the garment, replied, “Everything’s been running smoothly, Your Grace. Her Grace is truly clever! Lady Marwen tried to play sick, holding onto the keys and account books. But Her Grace found a way. She had them back in no time.
