The Heart's Shrapnel (22 page)

Here goes everything.

I CLOSE MY EYES AND try to mentally prepare myself. I’m nervous not having much information to go on, but I can do this. I’ll just have to rely on instinct.

There is no turning back now. I’ve committed my-self by stepping my foot onto his plush carpet. It’s done!

I lightly push open the door and tread cautiously into his room. The creak of the door is the only sound aside from the beeping noises coming from the monitor.

I can make out the hospital bed, and his silhouette, but not much else. It’s dark, but I can tell that his room is far more modern than what I’ve seen of the rest of the house. My eyes adjust enough to realize that thick curtains are covering the windows. I walk half-blind over to the drapes to open them, while bumping into every possible thing on God’s green earth.

Damn my clumsiness!

Finding the cord, I pull on it. I’m excited to discover that they glide back smoothly, revealing the night sky, blanketed by billions of stars. The curtains look to be a deep eggplant though it’s still hard to tell. The moon’s slight glow is the only light in the room as I go in search of a bedside lamp.

Where is a light switch when you need one?

I cross the wide expanse of his bedroom and each step I take has my breath coming out in shallow huffs.

Calm down, Adalind. You’ve taken care of people before, he is no different. Yeah right. Keep telling yourself that.

I locate a lamp by his bed, and turn it on. The light is enough to illuminate the area that he occupies. It’s enough to work with, for now.

I realize suddenly I know nothing about the Duke personally. The man he was before the accident. I know nothing about his personality, his looks, his career, the real him. I hope that I’ll get the chance to discover who he is myself, but it doesn’t look good. Google might be my best bet. But, as I approach him, one thing is clear…the Duke of Warlington is not what I had expected.

At first, it’s the ugly wires that I notice, making him look more like a human science experiment than an actual human being. But, as I look closer at the man beneath all that ugliness, I’m surprised to see that he’s quite young. He can’t be too far from my age, maybe a few years older. Thirty years old, if I had to guess. It’s weird, because when you think of a Duke, you instantly think of an older, portly man, or a thin, balding one. At least I do anyway. But, I see what Hugo was trying to tell me. This Duke has been shamefully neglected; no one deserves that. He needs to be cleaned, badly. There’s an odor to him that suggests he hasn’t had a sponge bath in a long while. His hair is dirty and scraggly and he seems to be wearing musty pajamas. He should be wearing a hospital gown. I feel a sudden flush of anger at my predecessors who did so little to care for this sick man.

His breathing is steady, if a little wheezy. Lifting my hand, I run it gently over his beard. Surprisingly, it’s soft to the touch. He feels so good, so warm and full of life. It’s in direct contrast to the lifeless body in front of me.

I watch him intently for any signs that he registers my presence. There aren’t any. He doesn’t stir and I feel a sudden sympathy for Hugo, the cousin, and anyone else who knows and loves him. Hugo seems so sure that the Duke is showing signs of waking up but I can’t see anything to make me agree.

I lift my hand higher and run my fingers through his matted hair, then down along the side of his chiseled face, careful not to disturb the tubes.

It is very apparent that he has been neglected for a while. I can see why I was hired. This man really needs my help; his lack of care is inexcusable. Realistically, there’s only so much Hugo and the cousin could have done for him, but those nurses definitely should have handled his hygiene at least.

I need to evaluate him, but I need to get cleaned up first. Just looking at him makes me feel dirty.

***

Since my room is connected to his, I don’t feel like I’m technically leaving him to go and have a bath. This whole trip has been exhausting, between the rush to the airport, the long flight from New York, the rental car, and not to mention the confusing drive here. My whole body is swollen. I need to take care of myself before I’ll be any good to my patient.

My room is much different from his, very feminine. It’s Victorian in style with marble floors, canopy bed, white shag rugs, and a crystal chandelier. I turn on the light and sconces are everywhere on the walls, casting a warm golden glow throughout the room. Everything is cream and light shades of pink.

I spot a door on the opposite side of the room, and go to investigate.

Peering inside I notice a massive bathroom with a claw foot tub that appears to be antique with yet another beautiful crystal chandelier hanging over it. Instantly, I rush over to turn it on while I’m waiting for Hugo to bring up my things. While the bath is filling up, I pour in a few drops of lavender smelling oil while looking around some more. A makeup vanity sits adjacent to the tub and looks like it was handcrafted for a princess. I’ve always wanted one, but they are so expensive I could never justify the splurge.

I wonder if this was a room for his lovers to stay in. It’s too girly to just be a plain guest bedroom. I’m sure he must have had women here all the time. Isn’t that what dashing Dukes do?

There’s a knock on the connecting door, and I go to answer it. “Sorry to interrupt. I have your things, ma’am.” Stepping aside, I allow Hugo to enter. He puts my luggage on the bed. “So, you’ve seen the Duke?”

“I have. He’s in need of personal care, that’s for sure.”

Hugo looks down at his shoes like he’s ashamed. “Yes, I’m afraid I only knew how to change the bag for his IV. The other tubes he has in I had to learn on my own, but they seem to be doing their job. I’ve attempted to wash him, but with all the tubes and wires, I was afraid that I would knock something out of place and do more harm than good.”

“It’s okay. You’ve done your best and he’s still alive and now I’m here. I’ll have him cleaned up in no time.” I shake my head. “I just can’t believe that the nurses before me were so negligent. It’s disgraceful.”

“I couldn’t agree more; that’s why I wanted a fresh start and called Shelly. I know that it seems ridiculous to go to such extremes, but I felt someone of your skills would be better suited for the job. Well, I will leave you be, Ms. Carter.” He bows and leaves me to unpack while the bathtub fills.

I put my things away and head over to shut off the running water. There isn’t a shower in here which is disappointing. But, for now I don’t mind it as I relax beneath the hot water, the steam cleansing away the anxieties of the day, and I think about all of the work that needs to be done.

***

It’s late by the time I mosey out of the bathroom, but I want to get him cleaned up now that I’ve had the chance to settle in. Plus, I can’t in good conscience allow him to spend another night in that filth. He’s probably sticking to the sheets.

I open the connecting door to our rooms and immediately feel as timid as I had felt upon entering earlier. I take a breath and make my way back over to where he lays. My heart quickens at each step leading to him. He’s still breathing a steady rhythm. I look up, focusing on his face. He looks so peaceful with his relaxed mouth, and yet, at the same time, haunted in the way his brows furrow.

What are you dreaming about?

Heading to his bathroom in search of supplies, I find everything I need, and bring it back over to him. Lifting his head as gently as I can, I remove his pillow and place a hand towel down to catch the straying water. I start off first applying shaving cream to his face using a bucket to dip the razor in.

I can’t shake the fact that I’m alone when it comes to this man. If something were to go wrong, I can’t just call another nurse like I’m used to. I’m it. Every patient of mine gets the same quality of care, but I feel more pressure dealing with someone with blue blood. It shouldn’t matter, but somehow it does. Plus I’m exhausted.

With shaking hands, I manage to delicately graze the razor down his cheek and watch as the warm water cascades down the sides of his face leaving behind a strip of silk skin. I run my finger down the shaven path of smooth satin, wondering what he’ll look like with-out his wild beard, and why I even care to know. Tilting the Duke’s head back I slide the razor ever so gently so as to not cut him. The whole process feels oddly intimate and intrusive, which is weird because I’ve cared for lots of patients before and done far more invasive things. But, something about being here in his room, late at night in my pajamas, makes if feel personal rather than professional. I shake my head. This is part of the job and I need to keep that at the forefront.

After he is shaved clean, I can’t help but admire my handiwork. I did a damn good job. With his beard not taking up the majority of his face, I can see now that he is actually quite handsome.

I note his square jaw—one that women fawn over in romance novels. His lips, even in a state of rest, give him a somewhat mischievous look. I find myself desiring to know the color of his eyes. I look at him again wondering if he’ll ever get to finish out his life. He’s too young to be like this.

Curious, I glance at his ring finger and find it bare. I guess that’s why his cousin was making the decisions; if he had a wife, she would never have allowed him to be in this condition.

I don’t like how solemn my mood is becoming so I grab the wash bucket and head to his bathroom where I refill it with warm water. His bathroom is even more luxurious than mine, but modern and masculine with its stone walls and expensive fixtures. Leaving the bucket on the sink, I head over to his gigantic shower in search of some shampoo. I have a sudden urge to open the lid and smell what he smelled like. The spicy scent overwhelms my senses, but I quickly try to erase it from my thoughts.

Bringing the washtub back out to him, I sit it on the stand next to the bed and get to work on his hair—trying hard to ignore the fact that I’m in a strange place, in a different country, bathing a stranger.

I’m as careful as I can be as I turn his head from side to side to make sure all of his hair is lathered. It’s much harder than it sounds, because he’s nothing but dead weight. Once again, I’m struck by how intimate it feels to me—even though I’ve done this for my patients a thousand times. But that was always in a hospital room, with the hustle and bustle of other medical professionals just outside the door. It feels so different, just the two of us alone in this silent castle. I try to view it as taking care of a child, but my every touch reminds me this is no child, this body is pure male. I’ve never had this reaction before to a patient, and it bothers me. I tell myself it’s only the jet lag.

Once I’m finished, I dry his overly long hair and put his pillow back underneath him.

Getting the rest of his body cleaned up might be a challenge. After all, he is a rather large man and I’m just one person. Thankfully he is wearing a button-down shirt. That should make it easier.

Steeling myself, one by one, I skillfully unbutton his pajama top. Every time I undo one, my eyes dart to his, wondering if he registers my presence, but he doesn’t move at all. He’s completely unaware of my actions as I knew he would be. Still I introduce myself and tell him what I’m doing. It seems strange in this setting though.

Pushing aside each fold, I open his shirt revealing a long, lean torso with just a spattering of hair along his broad chest and down his happy trail. He’s too thin, but the way his stomach still has a subtle hint of a six-pack tells me that before his accident he was in excellent shape.

Taking the washcloth, I gently run it down his chest as tiny streams of water slither down the slight ripples of his abs. His chest rises and falls in small, steady rhythms. I look up half-expecting him to be frowning at the thoughts I’m having about him, which aren’t appropriate. Yet, still, he doesn’t flinch. Setting the washcloth down, I start to lift him at his side as gently as I can while bunching up his shirt.

Hugo wasn’t kidding. With all of the wires connected to him, it’s difficult to turn him on his side, but once I do, my hands almost let go in shock. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Without thinking, my hand goes to touch his back, lightly skimming over the many bedsores. They don’t appear to be infected, but left without proper cleaning much longer, they would be.

I keep him propped up with one hand as gently as I can manage. He can’t wince at the pain I know he’s in, so I find myself doing it for him as I softly run the soft washcloth over his back. Once satisfied, I rub some antibiotic cream on him and dress his wounds, then fix his shirt before laying him back down.

Sliding down his blanket, I note that he is only wearing boxers which will make things easier. Finding some scissors, I take a deep breath and carefully cut down each side of the fabric, freeing his generous manhood. I peek up at him again afraid he is aware that I’m gawking at his privates.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Feeling guilty, I mentally chastise myself as I rush to wash the rest of him. I decide to leave him naked as I remove his now shredded underwear. I do the same with his shirt. It’s rather warm in here anyway. Plus, I don’t want to have to keep dressing and undressing him in order to clean him up. It takes up way too much time and I want to keep a close eye on those bedsores.

Grabbing my laptop out of my room, I jot down his vitals. There’s no sign of anything that tells me he’s about to have a complete turnaround. He’s basically lifeless. I’m not a pessimist by nature, but I think all of this might be a lost cause.