Chapter 25

Thomas was a dead weight, but he was in my arms, and I carried him up to his room.

“Young Sayer. So pretty,” he mumbled against my throat. “Sorry, Arch. Don’t know how I could look at anyone else when I’ve got you.”

“Hush.” I laid him down on his bed.

The door was still open, and Wolcott entered. “I brought up a pitcher of lemonade.” He placed it on a chest of drawers. “May I help you, Lieutenant? Removing his boots, perhaps?”

“Thank you—that would be kind.” I was winded from carrying Thomas up the stairs; I wasn’t too proud to accept help in getting him stripped off.

Between the two of us, we pulled off those sleek, black boots that hugged his calves like a second skin. We manoeuvred him gently one way and the other, and soon had him divested of jacket, shirt, trousers, and socks.

“Shall we leave on his undergarments?”

“I think that would be a good idea. It will keep him from catching a chill.” I exchanged a tired smile with Wolcott. “Thank you again.”