Kiss the Earl by Gina Lamm Page B

please. Also, we will require a pair of boots for Her Grace. Her own shoes met with a mishap upon the road. Oh, and a suitable gown and underthings, if they can be had. Brigands stole her trunk. And they may be looking for us, so you must tell no one we are here.”
    Smitters, bless his round, bald head, did not say if he found Patrick’s requests odd. He simply nodded.
    â€œOf course, Your Grace. I shall see to it directly.”
    Patrick nodded. “Have them sent up to my room.”
    Smitters was all smiles and conciliation, and Patrick took his leave. He did not rush directly back to Miss Briley’s side, however. He lingered in the hallway outside the door, tossing ideas back and forth in his head like a cat with a mouse.
    She was here because of him. And he could not abandon her.
    Patrick snorted to himself. Why was he even considering allowing her to help him search for Amelia? Well, he’d seen the baron’s temper before, and he didn’t doubt the man’s bloodlust would be high if he thought someone had despoiled his precious daughter. Perhaps Miss Briley was right, and he should attempt to search for Amelia and avoid the baron’s dangerous suspicion.
    He’d lingered so long in the bloody hall that he startled the poor little maid as she approached, her arms full. She squeaked in surprise when she looked up and saw him standing there, his face probably lined with confusion and concern.
    â€œOh, Your Grace, I apologize. I didn’t expect you there.”
    â€œNot to worry.”
    Patrick took the bundle of bandages, the brandy, and a neatly tied little bag that felt like it had some boots and clothing inside.
    â€œThank you. We have all we require now.”
    With a quick bob, the mob-capped little female darted away.
    Patrick rapped quickly on the door before entering, and he did not know whether to laugh or to shake his head at the sight that greeted him.
    He settled for scowling. “Whatever do you think you are doing?”
    Miss Briley was sitting upon the floor, her black cloak in a large puddle beside her, revealing the complete unsuitability of the gown she wore. Her foot was in the air, wrapped in some sort of black, stretchy fabric. Her other foot was tucked up against her lovely white thigh, already bandaged, if one could call the awkward bundle of blue fabric about her foot by such a generous name. A large, ragged strip seemed to be missing from the hem of the gown now—a strip of fabric she could ill afford to lose.
    â€œYou’ve made a right bungle of this,” he said as he knelt by her side, ignoring the abundance of creamy white flesh left on display by her ripped dress. The poor madwoman seemed to have no sense of propriety. If he were less honorable, he would…
    No, he’d not even think it.
    â€œI did fine, considering what I’ve got to work with. I wasn’t ever a Girl Scout, but how hard can it be to make a bandage?”
    â€œIt is apparently well beyond your scope.” Patrick pulled at the black fabric on her upraised foot, and it stretched and formed to his hand. Once it came free, he tossed it aside.
    â€œIf you will permit me, I will see to your injuries.”
    Miss Briley bit her lip and looked away. “Do I really have a choice?”
    â€œOf course. I will not touch your person if you do not wish it. But I was once a soldier, you know, and have done my fair share of bandaging wounds.”
    She looked him in the eyes then. “I trust you.”
    Those three words seemed to hit him in the stomach. Picking up the bottle of brandy, he pulled the stopper free and held her foot over the shallow basin, placing a cloth just beneath her heel. “This will sting like the devil, but it will clean the wounds.”
    â€œCan I have a swig first?”
    He gave a crooked half smile at the bravery on her face and passed over the bottle. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a hearty drink, coughing as it went