Free Web NovelChapter 215: Chapter Two Hundred And Fourteen
Mr. Murry heard the young Lady murmuring something under her breath. He saw her eyebrows pull tightly together in a deep frown.
"My Lady," Murry asked softly, stepping a little closer to her. "Did you say something?"
Camilla blinked. She quickly pulled herself together. She forced her face to relax. She put on a calm mask for the worried older man.
She turned to Murry.
"It is okay," Camilla said in a smooth, steady voice. She offered him a small, reassuring smile to calm his panic. "Don’t be worried, Uncle Murry. I will handle it."
Murry let out a shaky breath, feeling a massive wave of relief that she was taking charge of the terrible situation.
"Have the maids send a bowl of warm water," Camilla instructed clearly, listing the medical items she needed. "Bring clean cotton strips, a soft towel, strong alcohol, and healing balm... or whatever you people use here for wounds."
Murry nodded his gray head rapidly. He understood.
"Yes, My Lady! Right away!" Murry replied eagerly.
He turned around and rushed back toward the servant’s quarters as fast as his old legs could carry him to instruct them on what to do.
Camilla did not wait for him. She turned her body and walked straight into the house. Her soft leather shoes clicked against the stone floor of the foyer. She was incredibly tired. Her back ached from sitting in the carriage, and her brain hurt from looking at Allen’s business ledgers all day. But she had to keep the male lead alive. She marched towards the steps leading to the entrance.
Upstairs, inside the dark master bedroom, the atmosphere was silent.
Damon was sitting alone in the chair near the cold fireplace. He did not light any oil lamps. He sat in the dark shadows, staring blankly at the floorboards.
He slowly raised his right hand. He brought his large fingers up to his own face. He gently touched his cheekbone.
When he had purposely let go of the saddle and fallen from his horse, he had hit the hard stone pavement of the courtyard very heavily. The stones had scraped against his face, leaving a fresh, stinging scratch on his skin.
Damon touched the scratch. He felt the slight sting of the broken skin.
He sat there in the dark and let out a soft, dry laugh.
"Hahaha," Damon laughed at himself. It was a very bitter self-mocking sound.
He lowered his hand from his face. He leaned his broad back against the chair and stared into the empty room.
"I have reduced myself to such petty tricks and schemes," Damon whispered out loud to the empty air. His deep voice was filled with shame and disbelief. "Just to make my wife worry about me."
Damon let out a very long sigh. The sound echoed sadly in the dark bedroom.
"I guess I am truly pathetic," Damon admitted quietly to himself, closing his dark brown eyes.
He sat in the silence, waiting. He wondered if his grand performance had actually worked. He wondered if Murry said anything to her, would she even cared enough to come upstairs.
Suddenly, he heard the sounds of approaching footsteps in the hallway outside.
Then, a soft knock came on the door.
Knock, knock.
"My Lord," a young maid spoke nervously from the other side of the door.
Damon’s jaw tightened instantly.
"I told you I don’t need your help," He spoke loudly. His deep voice was cold, sharp, and highly aggressive. He sounded exactly like a grumpy, angry patient refusing treatment. ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom
Outside in the hallway, the two young maids holding the tray flinched visibly. They were terrified of his loud voice.
The maid who had spoken earlier trembled violently. She swallowed her fear and forced herself to speak again.
"The lady told us to bring these things to the room, My Lord," the maid explained, her voice shaking slightly with fear.
Inside the dark bedroom, Damon’s eyes snapped wide open.
His entire body went perfectly stiff. His heart gave a sudden violent thump against his ribs. The dark, pathetic feeling completely vanished from his chest, replaced instantly by a bright, soaring wave of hope.
"She’s back," Damon spoke. His voice was no longer an angry shout. It was a soft, breathless whisper.
Damon cleared his throat quickly to hide his sudden excitement. He tried to sound indifferent.
"She’s back?" Damon asked the maid through the wooden door.
"Yes, My Lord," the nervous maid replied quickly. "She is talking to Mr. Murry downstairs about dinner. She sent us up with the medical supplies first."
Damon felt a warm rush of victory. His petty trick had actually worked. She had returned, and her very first command was to send medical supplies to his room. She had not ignored him.
Damon sat up straight in his chair. He forced his voice to sound tired but accepting.
"Come in," Damon ordered.
The door pushed open slowly. The two young maids walked into the dark room. They carried a large silver tray holding a bowl of warm water, clean white cotton strips, a soft towel, a glass bottle of strong alcohol, and a small jar of healing balm.
They walked quickly to the small wooden table. They dropped the items carefully onto the table, bowed deeply to the shadows where the General sat, and left the room as fast as they possibly could. They pulled the door shut behind them with a soft click.
Damon was left alone again. But he knew she was coming up soon.
He had to prepare the scene. He had to look helpless.
Damon quickly stood up from his chair. He needed to remove his clothes so she could see the injury clearly.
He grabbed the collar of his military coat. He pulled it roughly off his broad shoulders. He did not care about being gentle.
As he pulled the coat off his left arm, the rough fabric dragged directly against the fresh, shallow cut on his shoulder. The cut had already stopped bleeding hours ago, but his rough, hurried movement tore the thin scab open again.
A sharp, stinging pain flared across his skin.
Damon hissed slightly in pain. He ignored the sting. He threw the coat onto the chair.
Next, he grabbed his white linen shirt. He unbuttoned it rapidly and pulled it over his head. The white fabric rubbed against the open cut, straining his injury even more.
Fresh, bright red blood began to slowly leak from the scratch, staining the edge of the white bandage the camp medic had applied that morning.
He tossed the white shirt onto the floor, leaving only his dark trousers on. His broad, muscled chest and his broad back were completely bare in the cool room. ƒree𝑤ebnσvel.com
He stood near the small table holding the medical supplies.
Suddenly, he heard the distinct, light, familiar sound of Camilla’s soft leather shoes walking down the hallway. She was approaching the bedroom.
Damon immediately turned his body around. He faced the blank stone wall, putting his bare back directly toward the door.
He raised his right hand. He reached over his own chest, placing his fingers awkwardly on the white bandage covering his left shoulder. He began to fumble with the knot of the bandage. He purposely made his large hands look clumsy, weak, and incapable of untying a simple piece of cloth.
He heard the brass handle turn.
Camilla opened the door.
