Rules of Passion by Sara Bennett - Greentree Sisters 02 - Rules of Passion Page B

more cloths, while another was clutching a wiry boy by the arm. The door to the street was wide open and cold air blew in, bringing with it the wet smell of a spring shower.
    Marietta went to the door and shut it. Then she came and stooped over the injured man, intending to ask Dobson if there was anything she could do to help. She froze. The leather shoes, the fine dark trousers, the buttoned jacket now dirtied and torn. They were all familiar.
    It was Max!
    She seemed to turn icy and then hot. The room shimmered briefly before it righted itself. The man in Dobson’s arms was Max! His face, beneath the bloodied cloth, was pallid, his hair matted. Marietta’s hand hovered, and then she snatched it back, for suddenly she did not dare to touch him.
    “What happened?” she whispered.
    “This errand boy here found him in the lane,” Dobson said without looking up from his task. “He came and got me.”
    Only a short time ago Max had been holding her hand in his, his mouth against her skin, his dark eyes promising her all sorts of things. And now he was lying, hurt, unconscious.
    “Was he in an accident? A fight?” she said.
    Dobson reached for a clean cloth, and Marietta saw the gash on Max’s temple bleeding sluggishly, and shivered. “Weren’t no accident, and he’s not been robbed. And take a look at his hands,” he suggested. “That’s the way to tell if a man’s been in a stoush.”
    Tentatively Marietta touched one of Max’s large hands where it lay, fingers curled, on the floor beside her. He felt cold, and instinctively she tried to warm his flesh with hers.
    “Are his knuckles bruised?” Dobson asked.
    She turned his hand, inspecting the long fingers with their square, capable-looking nails. “No.”
    “Then he wasn’t in a fight. I reckon he was set upon while he was walking, and knocked down with no warning.”
    “Who could have done such a brutal thing?”
    “Could have been any number of coves.”
    “Let me go,” the boy suddenly whined. “I done you a good turn, ain’t I? I need to get back to the bonesetters. There’ll be gen’lemen wantin’ fares.”
    “Bonesetters?” Marietta said.
    “Hackney coaches,” Dobson explained.
    “Oh.”
    Dobson looked at the boy, his face grim. “You didn’t see nothing?”
    “Not a thing,” the boy said quickly, meeting his eyes. “Just the gen’leman, lyin’ on the ground. I recognized him, from fetching him a bonesetter a couple o’ times before. Knew he’d come from the club.”
    Dobson nodded. “You did a good deed. Good deeds are rewarded, remember that.” He glanced at the servant who still held the errand boy. “Take him to Madame and tell her I said he was to have a crown.”
    The servant’s eyes popped. “A crown, Mr. Dobson!”
    “Yes. He’s saved a life tonight. I reckon he deserves a crown.”
    The boy crowed as he was led off.
    “Any sign of the leech yet?” This to the servant with the cloths.
    “Not yet, Mr. Dobson.”
    “Right then, we’d better get the gen’leman upstairs and into a bed. No point in leaving him down here in the cold.”
    “What can I do?” Marietta asked instantly.
    Dobson turned to her with warm gray eyes. “What are you like at bandaging, Miss Marietta? I’ve done some of that on the battlefield in me time, but I don’t have a woman’s gentle touch, if you get my meaning.”
    “I-I’m certain I can manage,” Marietta said, because he seemed to expect it of her.
    “Goodo. Then follow me.”
    With the help of a burly footman, Max was carried upstairs and into a bedroom at the far end of the gallery. The room was neat and clean and plainly decorated. There was nothing suggestive in the cream quilt or the pale chintz curtains or the whiteporcelain jug and bowl—not at all what Marietta had expected from a house of ill repute.
    Was that another flutter of disappointment she felt? Had she really expected it to be so shocking?
    While the servant lit a fire, Max’s boots were removed by