wound?”
“Yes, sir. With whiskey.”
“Umph,” he said again and poured some alcohol in a cup and ran his needle and thread through it. “Not squeamish about blood?”
“No, sir. Not much, anyway.”
“Good. Then you hold the flaps of skin together while I stitch them.”
“Doctor, it is hardly proper for Elizabeth to help,” her aunt protested.
He barely glanced up. “She has already seen what there is to be seen. I have found that a woman’s touch often gentles a patient.” He looked over at Darian. “Any objections on your part?”
Darian smiled feebly. “None.”
“Want some laudanum?”
He shook his head again. “Just get it done.”
Elizabeth felt Darian flinch as the doctor began to stitch, but she kept the pressure of her hands steady, holding the skin together. Each time the doctor inserted the needle and drew the thread tight to close the gap, she felt like it had pricked her own skin and she had to bite her lip to keep from groaning. Darian lay stoically still as the doctor finished and then applied a salve and dressing.
The physician sat back. “He should not be moved for two or three days. Give the stitches time to take hold. The dressing needs to be changed twice a day.” He looked at Elizabeth. “Since you seem to have some nursing skills, I will leave the salve and a bottle of laudanum with you.”
The duchess laid a cool hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Do you want to do this, dear? I can send someone from Stafford to administer to him.”
“I do not mind,” Elizabeth said. “Changing dressings is not hard.” She turned her attention to arranging the sheet over Darian, not wanting to make eye contact, for fear someone would read her want and desire there. She felt her face warm as guilt flooded through her. She shouldn’t be looking forward to tending Darian, to touching him, or even being near him. She should be avoiding him. Should. Should. Should.
Stealing a slanted glance sideways at Darian, she sucked in her breath. His green eyes were watching her and she could have sworn, they sparkled with devilry.
God forgive her. He would belong to Isabella one day. But he would be hers for the next few days. God forgive her.
Chapter Eight
“How are you feeling?” Elizabeth asked the next morning when she brought the breakfast tray to his bed. Julianna slipped in behind her to open the heavy damask curtains and let in the sunlight.
“Better.” Darian propped himself up against the headboard, inhaling her warm, sweet honeysuckle scent as she leaned over him to place the tray on his lap. Last night, when she’d come to change the bandage on his thigh—properly chaperoned by a disproving Lady Newberry—he’d been in too much pain to appreciate the soft brush of her fingers on his upper thigh. Now, since he’d had a sponge bath and the earl’s valet brought him a fresh small cloth to wear along with a clean shirt, he felt like he’d re-joined the world of the living. This morning he intended to enjoy the touch of Elizabeth’s hands on him to the fullest extent allowed under the watchful eye of some chaperone. A smile started to play on his lips.
She gave him a quizzical look as she put a spoonful of sugar in his porridge and stirred it. “You seem to be in much better spirits this morning.”
If only she knew where his lecherous thoughts resided. His hand closed around the soft satiny skin of her wrist as she lifted the spoon toward him. “I think I can handle this,” he said, “but I would enjoy your company. Tomorrow, of course, I will be joining you in the dining room for breakfast.”
Her plush, delectable mouth pursed slightly. “We shall see about that. The doctor said two to three day ’ s rest.”
“An order he knows I will not follow,” Darian replied.
“Stubborn man,” Elizabeth answered, but her clear, grey eyes held a hint of laughter.
“Determined,” he countered with a grin and then he sobered. “I
“Yes, sir. With whiskey.”
“Umph,” he said again and poured some alcohol in a cup and ran his needle and thread through it. “Not squeamish about blood?”
“No, sir. Not much, anyway.”
“Good. Then you hold the flaps of skin together while I stitch them.”
“Doctor, it is hardly proper for Elizabeth to help,” her aunt protested.
He barely glanced up. “She has already seen what there is to be seen. I have found that a woman’s touch often gentles a patient.” He looked over at Darian. “Any objections on your part?”
Darian smiled feebly. “None.”
“Want some laudanum?”
He shook his head again. “Just get it done.”
Elizabeth felt Darian flinch as the doctor began to stitch, but she kept the pressure of her hands steady, holding the skin together. Each time the doctor inserted the needle and drew the thread tight to close the gap, she felt like it had pricked her own skin and she had to bite her lip to keep from groaning. Darian lay stoically still as the doctor finished and then applied a salve and dressing.
The physician sat back. “He should not be moved for two or three days. Give the stitches time to take hold. The dressing needs to be changed twice a day.” He looked at Elizabeth. “Since you seem to have some nursing skills, I will leave the salve and a bottle of laudanum with you.”
The duchess laid a cool hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Do you want to do this, dear? I can send someone from Stafford to administer to him.”
“I do not mind,” Elizabeth said. “Changing dressings is not hard.” She turned her attention to arranging the sheet over Darian, not wanting to make eye contact, for fear someone would read her want and desire there. She felt her face warm as guilt flooded through her. She shouldn’t be looking forward to tending Darian, to touching him, or even being near him. She should be avoiding him. Should. Should. Should.
Stealing a slanted glance sideways at Darian, she sucked in her breath. His green eyes were watching her and she could have sworn, they sparkled with devilry.
God forgive her. He would belong to Isabella one day. But he would be hers for the next few days. God forgive her.
Chapter Eight
“How are you feeling?” Elizabeth asked the next morning when she brought the breakfast tray to his bed. Julianna slipped in behind her to open the heavy damask curtains and let in the sunlight.
“Better.” Darian propped himself up against the headboard, inhaling her warm, sweet honeysuckle scent as she leaned over him to place the tray on his lap. Last night, when she’d come to change the bandage on his thigh—properly chaperoned by a disproving Lady Newberry—he’d been in too much pain to appreciate the soft brush of her fingers on his upper thigh. Now, since he’d had a sponge bath and the earl’s valet brought him a fresh small cloth to wear along with a clean shirt, he felt like he’d re-joined the world of the living. This morning he intended to enjoy the touch of Elizabeth’s hands on him to the fullest extent allowed under the watchful eye of some chaperone. A smile started to play on his lips.
She gave him a quizzical look as she put a spoonful of sugar in his porridge and stirred it. “You seem to be in much better spirits this morning.”
If only she knew where his lecherous thoughts resided. His hand closed around the soft satiny skin of her wrist as she lifted the spoon toward him. “I think I can handle this,” he said, “but I would enjoy your company. Tomorrow, of course, I will be joining you in the dining room for breakfast.”
Her plush, delectable mouth pursed slightly. “We shall see about that. The doctor said two to three day ’ s rest.”
“An order he knows I will not follow,” Darian replied.
“Stubborn man,” Elizabeth answered, but her clear, grey eyes held a hint of laughter.
“Determined,” he countered with a grin and then he sobered. “I
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