As it turned out, the man wouldn't listen to her at all.
After he finished cleaning her minor scrapes, Adrian Quincy suddenly froze. With a grim expression, he stared silently at the mix of new and old injuries on her legs—some were recent scrapes, while others were old, faded bruises.
It was clear she had often scraped her knees and shins in the past; there were even a few faint scars.
'So this foolish woman has always been this careless, getting herself hurt all the time.'
Seeing him staring blankly at her leg, Claire Sinclair snapped, "Mr. Quincy, are you done looking?"
The moment she spoke, the man lifted his gaze and locked eyes with her.
But he said nothing, merely lowering his head again as his gaze fell upon her most serious injury.
The worst wound was on her outer left thigh. Something had gouged a gash about eight centimeters long. The blood was still fresh, and it was impossible to tell how deep it was—a mangled, ghastly sight.
