The Viscount Made Me Do It

by Diana Quincy

  “Very well.” He sucked in his cheeks. “If you believe I can be of service.”

  “Excellent.” Norman lifted his glass. “Here’s to your joining the board. And to your father, Jeffrey Ellis, the late Lord Griffin. A thoroughly decent man—sometimes to his own detriment.”

  “How so?”

  “Your father was idealistic, naive even. He found it hard to accept some of life’s darker realties. For example, he cared deeply, perhaps too deeply, about the fate of our patients.”

  “Is it possible to care too deeply? Surely the poor deserve good medical care.”

  “You are like your father in that way, too tenderhearted. As a doctor, I understand that loss of life is sometimes inevitable. Physicians must accept that they will not be able to heal all patients.”

  Griff paused. It was unwise to mention the bonesetter, but he couldn’t resist. “What about others, people of skill other than physicians, who might be able to heal patients?”

  “To whom do you refer?”

  “There are physicians. There are surgeons. Each has his own specialty. Is it possible that a bonesetter might have his or her own area of expertise?”

  Norman cackled and shook his head. “What is this about? Are you swiving the bonesetter? Has she gotten in your ear as well as your trousers?”

  “No, I am not bedding Mrs. Zaydan. Her husband might take issue with that.”

  “There is no husband as I understand it. She styles herself as a married woman to appear respectable.”

  A thrill shot through Griff. She wasn’t married. “What else do you know about Mrs. Zaydan?”

  “I’ve made some inquires. The woman is short-tempered, hardheaded and potentially dangerous.”

  Griff scoffed. “Please. The woman is no more dangerous than I am.”

  “She apparently put out the wrist of some young lord after she was called to tend to his injury. He is said to be in excruciating pain.”

  “Maybe he deserved it.”

  “I do not begrudge anyone who works to put food on their table,” Norman said. “But I must stand against supposed healers who peddle false promises to vulnerable people.”

  “I doubt the young lordship was helpless. His papa’s fortune and position no doubt provide quite a nice cushion.”

  “I would be careful around her if I were you.”

  Griff understood Norman’s skepticism. But the bonesetter wasn’t a complete fraud. Griff’s shoulder proved that.

  Hanna tried to concentrate as she worked on Mr. Thomas’s wrist. Even as the warm woodsy scent of his shaving soap drifted over her.

  They sat opposite each other at a corner of her desk, which allowed her easy access to his wrist. Proper treatment required proximity, which was never an issue with Baba’s male patients. But Mr. Thomas was not the usual specimen. His nearness prompted delicious anticipation to swirl through her. And the shiver that ran down her spine when she first put her hands on Mr. Thomas had nothing to do with the room temperature.

  If anything, she felt overheated. If she weren’t intent on preserving her modesty, she’d cast off her fichu to feel blissful cool air against her bare skin. The practical part of Hanna’s brain understood that this attraction was purely biological. An undeniable part of life. Yet that didn’t keep Hanna from feeling flustered whenever Mr. Thomas drew near.

  “How much mobility will I have in the wrist once you’re done?” he asked.

  She could sense his direct gaze on her face. She kept hers on his wrist. To meet his eyes, to look into them, when they were so close to one another felt too intimate. “I expect you shall have almost complete mobility. Once your wrist is restored, the pain should diminish considerably. Or it could disappear completely.”

  His cool gaze went to the drawing of the skeleton on the wall. “That’s a macabre piece of art.”

  She glanced up. “It’s a Bidloo drawing.”

  “A friend of yours?”

  “Not exactly. He was a Dutch anatomist and royal physician who lived in the last century. I find his work fascinating. That’s a copy, of course, not an original work.”

  Applying pressure, her fingers traced a path over his palm, past his wrist and up his inner forearm. Mr. Thomas cut a formidable presence, but this part of a man—so soft, pale and smooth to the touch—spoke of vulnerability, contrasting sharply with the quiet physical strength of the rest of his body.

  “I am still amazed by what you were able to accomplish with my shoulder,” he said.

  “How is the pain?” At least her voice, strong and brisk, didn’t betray the flighty way she felt inside.

  “In my shoulder? Almost completely gone.”

  His wrist was ready. The sooner she got this man out of her examining room, the more quickly her usual rational thinking and clinical detachment would reassert itself. “Please stand.”

  He came immediately to his feet, showing none of the hesitation or skepticism from his previous visit. He remained aloof, an invisible shield between him and the rest of the world still firmly in place, but she sensed his blossoming confidence in her skills. The realization delighted her, even though Hanna shouldn’t care what this arrogant man thought of her.

  Standing at his side, she took his left wrist in one hand and wrapped her right hand around his thumb, her fingers pressing into his palm.

  “Will you warn me before you do your worst?” he asked.

  “Do not worry.” She pressed her thumb into a point in his wrist. “Does this hurt?”

  He gritted his teeth. “Like the devil.”

  “That’s the joint that is out of place.” Exerting steady traction, she rotated his hand slightly downward. “Try to relax.”

  Very quickly, before he could draw another breath, she flexed the joint to its full extent until his fingers faced downward. Then, just as sharply, she brought his hand up again so that it was completely extended, all the while keeping her thumb pressure on the sore spot.

  He grunted from the unexpected burst of pain. “You promised to warn me,” he rasped.

  “No, I did not promise.”

  His mouth drew flat. “You gave me your word.”

  “Actually, I did not. I believe I said something along the lines of ‘Do not worry.’”

  “You deliberately misled me.”

  She suppressed a smile in the face of his outrage. “Since when do men of your sort believe a woman’s word is of any worth?”

  “Yours certainly isn’t,” he muttered, still clearly affronted. “And what do you mean by ‘of my sort’? What sort is that?”

  “You were clearly born into privilege.”

  He stiffened. “Why do you say that?”

  “It is not something a person can easily hide. It is evident in how you speak, the words you use, how you carry yourself. Your clothes, while not flamboyant, are well-made and of good quality. Should I go on?”

  “Only if it will keep you from bending my wrist in unnatural ways.” He paused, examining her face. “You’ve certainly noted a great deal about me. I didn’t realize that I was being examined so closely.”

  “You weren’t.” She flushed and shifted her attention down to his arm. “Please move your wrist. If you are quite finished with your complaining.”

  “It’s done?” He tested his wrist, gently and slowly flexing and extending it. “It’s . . . incredible . . . The pain is gone.”

  “You must begin moderate use of that joint immediately. If you do not bend your wrist on a regular basis, your former troubles will be restored.”

  Wonder filled his voice. “I cannot remember what it is to move this wrist without considerable discomfort.”

  “Do not forget to keep moving it. How do your fingers feel?”

  “At the moment? They’re tingling.”

  “Very good. That means the flow of blood is as it should be.”

  He lifted his gaze to meet hers. “You amaze me.”

  They still sat close to one another. She should move away. Her work was do
ne. But she stayed put. “I have done what any skilled bonesetter would.”

  “I don’t know about other bonesetters.” He brushed a loose tendril away from her face. “But I do know that you are remarkable.”

  The tenderness in his eyes swathed Hanna in sweet heat. Sitting this close, she could make out the unique details of his gaze. A distinct sunburst bathed in amber and white shot out from the darkness of his pupils, overlaying the icy blue.

  He drew nearer, his gaze dropping to her lips. Hanna’s skin prickled. Normally, she easily sublimated feelings of physical desire. A price she willingly paid to be able to practice her craft. What man would want a bonesetter for a wife?

  Swallowing her physical impulses, those feminine urges, was never truly a challenge. Until now. With this man, her body rebelled against her mind, determined to have what it craved. Hanna licked her lips.

  Mr. Thomas’s eyes blazed. She was tempted to let the moment play out, to allow him certain liberties. How would it feel to kiss a man? This man. She’d never wondered that about anyone else. He inched closer, his intense blue gaze locked with hers.

  But then she heard Baba’s voice. Almost as clearly as if he were there in the room with them. One day, Baba, you will be the finest bonesetter in all of London. Hanna didn’t know where her dream ended and she began. Being a bonesetter was as much a part of her as her arm or leg. Any hint of impropriety could destroy her tenuous hold on the life she wanted so badly.

  Breaking eye contact, she drew back with a trembling breath. “I shall see you next week, Mr. Thomas.”

  Chapter Five

  When Griff returned the following week, the bonesetter was wearing his mother’s sapphire.

  The necklace swayed on its gold chain as she worked on Griff’s elbow. Mesmerized, he followed the pale gem’s back and forth movements as intensely as a man under a hypnotist’s influence.

  Mrs. Zaydan was more aloof today, after he’d almost kissed her at their last meeting. He would have done so if she hadn’t pulled back. It was just as well. He needed to keep his focus where it belonged. Out of his trousers and on the necklace.

  His eyes on the sapphire, Griff barely noted the pain Mrs. Zaydan inflicted on him with determined, decisive strokes. She massaged his elbow with the same relentlessness she’d employed to attack his shoulder and wrist.

  The sound of cracking bone jolted Griff back to what was being done to him. The bonesetter held his crippled arm just above the elbow with one hand and just below it with the other. Determined not to make a sound, Griff gulped down some of the ale she’d set before him. But the sound of his bones being jangled about proved to be too much.

  “This feels”—and sounds—“very different from what you did to my wrist and shoulder.”

  “Yes.” Her face was red with exertion due to the fierce battle with his elbow. “I need to break the callus that has formed in the dislocated joint.”

  “The callus?”

  “The bone that has rebuilt there.”

  The idea of her breaking bones in his elbow drove Griff straight back to his ale. He bottomed out the tankard. Then forced himself to breathe while she manipulated his elbow.

  “There,” she said after a few minutes that felt like forever.

  “There?” he asked.

  She bent Griff’s arm toward his chest and then slightly away. “Done.”

  “Really? Shall I attempt to move it?” After living with an immobile elbow for two years, Griff was reluctant to put it into motion.

  “Not yet. You require a sling to keep your elbow still for a fortnight. After that, I shall give you some daily exercises that you must do without fail.”

  A pounding at the front door reached them. The young maid by the door exchanged glances with Mrs. Zaydan, who dipped her chin. The servant slipped out to see who was calling.

  “Now, as I was saying,” Mrs. Zaydan continued, “in about two weeks’ time, you may remove the sling. If you have any further problems with your arm, you should return to see me. But I doubt that will be necessary.”

  “So that is it?” He blinked. “This is our last appointment.”

  “We shall schedule one final meeting. Unless you have any other joints that are out or broken bones that need to be set, you may rest assured that the worst is over.”

  Instead of relief, disappointment swamped Griff. He told himself it was because he’d already met with the bonesetter four times and still knew nothing about where she’d gotten his mother’s sapphire. “That’s a beautiful necklace. It’s rather unusual.”

  “Is it?” She spoke in a distracted manner as she fitted his arm with a sling. “I’m rather partial to it.”

  “Was it a gift from your husband?”

  Those dark, serious eyes briefly met his gaze, but he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. “No.”

  “Where did you get it?”

  She paused to regard him with some surprise. Griff cursed himself. He’d done a poor job of hiding his interest in the necklace. They were distracted by a loud, unruly male voice in the corridor just as the bonesetter finished tying the sling around his neck.

  Griff’s brows went up. “Your next appointment?”

  “I am not scheduled to see anyone else today.”

  The verbal disturbance grew nearer. “Where is she?” an inebriated man’s voice called out. “Where is that she-devil?”

  Lucy’s voice pleaded with the man. “You cannot go in there, sir. Mrs. Zaydan is with someone.”

  “I’ll just bet she is,” the interloper snarled. The door burst open. A well-dressed young man stood on the threshold holding one bent arm over his chest. He flushed when he spotted Mrs. Zaydan. “You did this to me, you bitch.”

  Griff stiffened. It took him a moment to place the face. And then he realized who the boy was. Mansfield. The tadpole whose wrist the bonesetter had put out at the coffeehouse.

  Griff stood. “Settle down,” he said coldly. “And then apologize to Mrs. Zaydan.”

  “That’s not necessary,” she said.

  “It damn well is. I saw what happened at the coffeehouse.” The words slipped out before Griff realized what he’d revealed.

  Surprise flickered in her eyes. “You did?”

  “I tried to keep him out, miss.” The servant girl came in behind Mansfield. “I really did.”

  “That is all right, Lucy,” the bonesetter said soothingly before turning to the whelp. “Good afternoon, Mr. Mansfield. How may I help you?”

  Outrage colored his face. “What did you do to my wrist?” He vibrated with menace. “You’re going to pay for what you’ve done, you witch. I visited four doctors, and no one’s been able to help me.”

  Griff stepped between them. “Mind your manners.”

  “And if I don’t?” Mansfield’s disdainful gaze dropped to the sling cradling Griff’s elbow. “What will you do about it?”

  Griff’s good hand whipped out, grabbing Mansfield by the throat, forcing him to stumble backward until Griff had him up against the wall. “I will break your useless little neck, you insolent puppy.”

  Mansfield gagged. “Now, see here—”

  “Apologize.” Griff tightened his grip.

  “Truly, Mr. Thomas, this is not necessary,” Mrs. Zaydan said from behind him.

  Mansfield tried to peel Griff’s hand away from his throat. “Do you know who I am?” he gasped. “My father will have your head.”

  “I know exactly who you are.” The idiot’s father was a viscount, just like Griff. “Apologize now.”

  “I do not require an apology,” Mrs. Zaydan said. “He is in pain. I can help him.”

  Griff didn’t relax his hold. “I find it very necessary that he apologize for his rudeness.”

  “I apologize,” Mansfield finally said in a strangled voice.

  “Good.” Griff released him. “Now, make certain you mind your manners in Mrs. Zaydan’s presence.” He caught sight of the servant girl watching the unfolding scene with wide eyes.

>   “Now,” the bonesetter said to Mansfield, “if you’d care to take a seat on my examining table, I’ll put your wrist back in.”

  “As if I’d let you touch me,” Mansfield snapped. “Well,” he amended, “I wouldn’t let you touch my wrist, but if you’d care to put your hands elsewhere—”

  Griff’s temper flared. “Do not tempt me to thrash you.”

  Mansfield flinched. “I meant no disrespect.”

  “You damn well did,” Griff growled. “Do it again and your other wrist will need fixing as well.”

  “Thank you for your gallantry, Mr. Thomas,” the bonesetter interjected. “You must have other things to do with the remainder of your afternoon. I am certain Mr. Mansfield and I will manage to be civil.”

  “I’m staying as long as Mansfield is here. I’m not leaving you alone.”

  She looked skyward. “Very well.” She faced Mansfield. “I thought you would come to me right away to put your wrist to rights. Why did you wait so long?”

  “Because everyone knows bonesetters are fraudsters,” Mansfield retorted. Griff made a warning hum with his throat. Mansfield hastily added, “Ma’am.”

  “If you allow me to treat your wrist,” she said, “you will leave this office free from pain.”

  Mansfield’s doubtful gaze bounced from the bonesetter to Griff. His eyes went to Griff’s sling. “You let her treat you?”

  “I did. My wrist was put out, and Mrs. Zaydan put it back in.”

  Mansfield’s eyes bulged. “She put out your wrist, too?”

  Griff actually laughed. “No. My wrist was out for the better part of two years.”

  Mansfield’s uncertain gaze traveled back to Mrs. Zaydan. “You won’t hurt me?”

  “Putting any joint back in is painful. But it will be over before you know it.” Her tone was almost cajoling now, as if Mansfield were still a boy in apron-strings who needed to be coaxed into taking his medicine.

  “Stop wasting her time,” Griff warned. “Either allow Mrs. Zaydan to treat you or leave.”