Delphine had been lying down these past few days, finding it increasingly uncomfortable as her wounds scabbed over, itchy and sore. The old doctor said once the scabs fall off and the skin regenerates, no scars will remain thanks to the premium imported medicine being used, but under no circumstances should the wounds be touched.
She could only lie prone on the bed, reading to distract herself.
Ignatius Leclair walked in to find her dressed in a plain white silk nightgown, her arms and elegant neck exposed, lying on her stomach reading a book. Her raven-black hair, smooth as satin, spread out on the pillow, making her look as beautiful as a jade carving.
It seemed she was feeling somewhat uncomfortable, as she kept shifting restlessly on the bed.
The man strode over with his long legs, lowered his handsome face, and somewhat restrainedly caressed her long hair, asking in a low voice, "Is the wound itching?"
