heard what the doctor said yesterday about the tourniquet. You saved me from bleeding to death. Thank you.”
Elizabeth’s cheeks turned pink. “I learned that at the hospital. But you are the one who should be thanked. You saved young Andy from having his arm severed or maybe worse.”
“That was instinctive.” Darian waved his hand dismissively, knocking over the juice glass he hadn’t even noticed on his tray.
Elizabeth grabbed his linen napkin, blotting up most of the mess before it could reach the sheet. “Maybe you should let me feed you after all.” She smiled and dabbed some juice off his forearm.
He smiled too. “I may have to rethink your offer.”
“Am I interrupting?” Isabella asked from the doorway.
Elizabeth spun around, nearly upsetting the rest of the tray. She laid the napkin down on the table beside the bed. “Of course not. Please come in.”
Isabella took two steps inside and stopped. “I do not like sick rooms.”
“He is not ill,” Julianna said from the window seat. “He was hurt.”
Her sister sniffed at her. “I care not for the sight of blood either.”
For a moment, Darian was tempted to throw back the sheet and tear the bandage from his leg just to see what Isabella would do. God’s teeth. Was the woman that delicate that she couldn’t take the sight of a stitched wound? He recalled the splattered blood that had covered the front of Elizabeth’s dress yesterday. She’d not even seemed to notice it…or the blood on her hands.
“I just came to inquire about your health, Darian,” she said.
“I am much improved,” he answered. “Your cousin has seen to that.”
Isabella glanced over to Elizabeth and then back to Darian. “Are you well enough to escort me to the dinner the Delaney’s are having tomorrow night? We received the invitation yesterday, but with all the commotion, it was overlooked.” She smiled brightly at Elizabeth. “Papa has arranged for you to meet John.”
John Delaney? Newberry thought that middle-aged grumbletonian a suitable match for Elizabeth? A burst of anger flared through Darian, followed by a much more pungent thought. Sweet, caring Elizabeth married to someone else. Someone who would claim her lovely, lush body as his. Elizabeth giving herself to her husband. The intensity of his anger rose, followed by the sharp pang like a knife twisting through his gut. He was jealous. The foreign emotion almost left him breathless. He stared at Elizabeth, who was busy tidying the items on the small table. By all that was holy, he loved Elizabeth. He loved her. When had that happened?
“Darian?” Isabella burst into his troubled thinking.
He blinked and focused on Isabella, wondering how in the world he would ever bring himself to marry her. Damn his ducal duty!
“I believe the doctor proscribed two to three days of rest,” he said.
One of her eyebrows rose. “I see. Well, then, I cannot imagine you would have any objections if I asked Edward to escort me?”
Darian looked at her, not feeling the smallest ping of jealousy. Isabella and Edward would actually suit very well. Both of them loved Town and the social whirl of the ton. Darian would be quite content to stay in the country and he had a feeling Elizabeth would too.
“I have no objections,” he said.
“Good. Then I must go and decide what to wear.” Isabella turned to leave.
Darian watched her go. Silently, he cursed the expectation that his parents had that he marry into the peerage.
It really was a shame that Edward was the second-born.
* * * *
“Your stitches are holding nicely,” Elizabeth said to Darian the next afternoon when she removed his bandage. Aware that her aunt hovered behind her, she traced her finger lightly around the wound, taking care not to brush her hand against anything else. His leg flexed and she caught herself wanting to run her hand along the sculpted, sinewy muscles of his thigh. In contrast to the hardness of his muscles, his skin was warm
Elizabeth’s cheeks turned pink. “I learned that at the hospital. But you are the one who should be thanked. You saved young Andy from having his arm severed or maybe worse.”
“That was instinctive.” Darian waved his hand dismissively, knocking over the juice glass he hadn’t even noticed on his tray.
Elizabeth grabbed his linen napkin, blotting up most of the mess before it could reach the sheet. “Maybe you should let me feed you after all.” She smiled and dabbed some juice off his forearm.
He smiled too. “I may have to rethink your offer.”
“Am I interrupting?” Isabella asked from the doorway.
Elizabeth spun around, nearly upsetting the rest of the tray. She laid the napkin down on the table beside the bed. “Of course not. Please come in.”
Isabella took two steps inside and stopped. “I do not like sick rooms.”
“He is not ill,” Julianna said from the window seat. “He was hurt.”
Her sister sniffed at her. “I care not for the sight of blood either.”
For a moment, Darian was tempted to throw back the sheet and tear the bandage from his leg just to see what Isabella would do. God’s teeth. Was the woman that delicate that she couldn’t take the sight of a stitched wound? He recalled the splattered blood that had covered the front of Elizabeth’s dress yesterday. She’d not even seemed to notice it…or the blood on her hands.
“I just came to inquire about your health, Darian,” she said.
“I am much improved,” he answered. “Your cousin has seen to that.”
Isabella glanced over to Elizabeth and then back to Darian. “Are you well enough to escort me to the dinner the Delaney’s are having tomorrow night? We received the invitation yesterday, but with all the commotion, it was overlooked.” She smiled brightly at Elizabeth. “Papa has arranged for you to meet John.”
John Delaney? Newberry thought that middle-aged grumbletonian a suitable match for Elizabeth? A burst of anger flared through Darian, followed by a much more pungent thought. Sweet, caring Elizabeth married to someone else. Someone who would claim her lovely, lush body as his. Elizabeth giving herself to her husband. The intensity of his anger rose, followed by the sharp pang like a knife twisting through his gut. He was jealous. The foreign emotion almost left him breathless. He stared at Elizabeth, who was busy tidying the items on the small table. By all that was holy, he loved Elizabeth. He loved her. When had that happened?
“Darian?” Isabella burst into his troubled thinking.
He blinked and focused on Isabella, wondering how in the world he would ever bring himself to marry her. Damn his ducal duty!
“I believe the doctor proscribed two to three days of rest,” he said.
One of her eyebrows rose. “I see. Well, then, I cannot imagine you would have any objections if I asked Edward to escort me?”
Darian looked at her, not feeling the smallest ping of jealousy. Isabella and Edward would actually suit very well. Both of them loved Town and the social whirl of the ton. Darian would be quite content to stay in the country and he had a feeling Elizabeth would too.
“I have no objections,” he said.
“Good. Then I must go and decide what to wear.” Isabella turned to leave.
Darian watched her go. Silently, he cursed the expectation that his parents had that he marry into the peerage.
It really was a shame that Edward was the second-born.
* * * *
“Your stitches are holding nicely,” Elizabeth said to Darian the next afternoon when she removed his bandage. Aware that her aunt hovered behind her, she traced her finger lightly around the wound, taking care not to brush her hand against anything else. His leg flexed and she caught herself wanting to run her hand along the sculpted, sinewy muscles of his thigh. In contrast to the hardness of his muscles, his skin was warm
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