by Diana Quincy
“Very well.” Mansfield edged toward the examining table. “If you promise not to make it worse.”
Mrs. Zaydan followed him. “Do not worry.”
Griff suppressed a snort. He knew what happened when the bonesetter told a patient not to worry. Mansfield settled on the table.
“Roll up your sleeve,” she instructed. “We’ll have you put to rights in no time.”
She took the pup’s affected wrist in one hand and wrapped her right hand around his thumb, her fingers pressing into his palm. “Does this hurt?”
“Ouch!” Mansfield gasped. “Yes, it damn well does.”
“Watch your manners,” Griff warned.
He watched, fascinated, as the bonesetter rotated Mansfield’s hand slightly downward. Now that he wasn’t the patient enduring the pain, he could fully appreciate Mrs. Zaydan’s skills.
“Try to relax,” she urged the patient. Griff’s eyes crinkled at the corners. He’d heard that before, too. Right before the worst of it. And, just as Griff expected, the bonesetter flexed and extended the joint in a flash, her thumb pressure remaining on the impacted joint during the procedure.
Mansfield yelped. “Goddammit to hades!”
Griff allowed the cursing to pass unchecked. After all, he knew the pain of having a joint put back.
“Very well, Mr. Mansfield,” she said. “Your wrist is back in. You should have no further trouble with it.”
Cradling his wrist, Mansfield regarded her with suspicion. “What are you saying?”
“You may now move your wrist.”
Mansfield’s gaze dropped to his arm. He flexed and extended his wrist in slow, uncertain movements. “By God, it works.”
He hopped up from the table, keeping his distance from both Griff and the bonesetter. “I’ll be on my way.”
Griff stepped in his path. “Not quite yet. You haven’t paid the lady.”
Mansfield curled his lip. “Why should I pay her for fixing the damage she caused?”
“Because I told you to.”
“No.” The bonesetter set her jaw. “Payment is not required.”
Griff paused. “You may thank Mrs. Zaydan before you leave.”
“My sincere thanks.” Mansfield ground out the words. He shot a glance at Griff. “Satisfied?”
“Just barely.” He motioned toward the exit with his chin. “You may go now.” Mansfield was through the door before either of them could draw another breath. Lucy followed Mansfield to see him out.
Mrs. Zaydan wiped down the examining table. “I could have handled him, you know. I’ve met with worse.”
“You should not have to.”
She turned to face him, her expression serious, questioning. “You are keeping secrets, Mr. Thomas.”
His heart skipped a beat. “What makes you say that?”
“You said that you saw what Mr. Mansfield did to me. How is that possible?”
A guarded expression entered Mr. Thomas’s eyes. Hanna immediately knew he was going to lie. Or, at the very least, be less than honest. Had one of her detractors sent him to prove she was a fraud?
He glanced down. “I was at the coffeehouse when Mr. Mansfield and his cohorts summoned you. I saw you put his wrist out.”
“It wasn’t my finest hour. I lost my temper.” Her cheeks warmed. “My grandmother says acting in anger will be my undoing.”
“Mansfield got what he deserved.”
“A healer should do no harm. I must exercise more self-control. But sometimes it feels as if there’s a violent storm within me that cannot be quelled.”
“With good reason on that particular afternoon. You had no reason at all to temper your reaction. They overstepped. As gentlemen, they were aware that their behavior was abominable.”
“Perhaps with ladies of their class. Men of that sort follow a different code with the laboring classes. Not to mention that they hold bonesetters in the lowest regard possible.”
“I do not. I hold you in very high esteem. I’ve seen what you can do. You are mesmerizing.”
Her heart thumped. “Few people would call a bonesetter mesmerizing.”
“I am not referring to the bonesetter. I’m taken by the woman.”
She lifted her eyes to meet his. “You shouldn’t say such things.”
“Probably not.” He paused. “Are you wed?” The words were low. Intimate. Urgent. “Is there a Mr. Zaydan?”
She should lie. But she didn’t. “No.”
“Are you otherwise promised to anyone?”
“I am not.” He shouldn’t ask such personal questions. Moreover, she should not answer. Mr. Thomas was a patient. “I am wedded to my work.”
His gaze dipped to her lips. He stepped closer, near enough for her to feel his body heat. Near enough so that she suddenly couldn’t catch her breath. “Why would you come to me”—her words came out in a whisper—“after seeing me deliberately injure Mr. Mansfield?”
“I saw what your hands could do. I witnessed your fiery nature. You impress me.”
Why was the room so hot? Perspiration gathered in her armpits. Hanna’s breasts felt sensitive. And exquisitely connected to the place between her legs. Mr. Thomas wasn’t touching her, yet he invaded her body. She felt him in the quickened beat of her heart and the hard rush of her blood.
“I got it from my father!” she blurted out.
He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“You asked about my necklace.” She held up the pendant, dangling it between her two fingers, just as a bullfighter waves a red flag in front of a bull. The sky-blue stone sparkled. She’d said the first thing she could think of to break this strange spell between them.
It worked. Mr. Thomas was instantly distracted. “Your father?”
“Yes.”
“It’s an expensive piece.” His eyes fixed on the jewel. “I didn’t realize bonesetters were paid so handsomely. Do you know where he purchased it?”
“Why? Would you like to buy it as a gift for Mrs. Thomas?” It wasn’t her concern. And yet, she wanted to know. Badly.
“There is no Mrs. Thomas,” he answered instantly, reflexively.
Relief filtered through her. “Then why are you interested?”
After a long pause, he said, “Because there is a lady for whom I might wish to buy such a gem.”
Hanna blinked. He might as well have dropped a boulder on her. “I see.” Such an expensive gift suggested he had serious intentions toward the lady. Which made Hanna what exactly? A lowly nobody he wanted to dally with? She felt a rush of shame. Thank goodness she hadn’t allowed the kiss. “That certainly explains your interest.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off the jewel. He seemed transfixed by it. “Do you know where your father purchased the necklace?”
Her voice cooled. “I have no idea.”
“You must have some knowledge about it,” he pressed.
“I assure you that I do not.”
“Your father didn’t say anything about where he got it when he gave it to you?”
She stepped back. “He didn’t exactly give it to me.”
He edged closer. “What do you mean?”
“I found it among my father’s things after he died. I’d never seen it before.”
“When did your father die?”
“Almost three years ago.”
“Three years ago.” He looked beyond her, a contemplative expression on his face. “Did you find anything else of interest?”
“Such as?” She declined to mention the gold ring she’d anonymously returned to its owner a few weeks ago. She hadn’t given the parcel much thought since posting it to some toff in Richmond. But now she wondered. Where had Baba gotten the jewelry? Why had he kept the valuable pieces hidden away? And why was Mr. Thomas so interested?
“Anything at all?” He stood too close. Mr. Thomas didn’t frighten her, but his intensity made her uneasy. “What else did you discover along with the necklace?”
“Nothing.” She squared
her shoulders. “You are making me uncomfortable.”
He blinked. “Am I?” That seemed to snap him out of whatever reverie gripped him. He immediately retreated. “I beg your pardon.”
She glanced from the sapphire pendant dangling at her waist up into Mr. Thomas’s soft blue gaze. “I just realized the color of this gemstone perfectly matches your eyes.”
“I noticed that as well.” He paused. “I have my mother’s eyes.”
Chapter Six
The following morning after a sleepless night, Hanna grabbed the blue-and-white shawl Citi had embroidered for her and stepped out the front door.
She needed fresh air. Thoughts of Mr. Thomas, both her interest in him and his interest in the necklace, had consumed her all night. Not to mention the revelation that he was courting a lady who he gifted with expensive jewels. Mostly, though, she couldn’t get what Citi had revealed about the necklace out of her mind.
It was probably stolen.
Last evening at supper, she’d asked Citi about the jewelry and learned that Baba never turned any patients away. Not even criminals who sometimes insisted on paying with stolen goods. Whenever possible, Baba returned the goods to their owners, the way he’d intended with the gold ring that belonged to a toff called Lord Griffin.
Hanna had discovered the signet ring with a lovely carved band in the same drawer as the necklace. But unlike the necklace, it was packaged and addressed to this Lord Griffin. She’d opened the package to find the band inscribed with the words Lady Griffin. Then she’d rewrapped the package and sent it back to its rightful owner, a viscount in Richmond, just as her father had intended.
“Escaping your grandmother?” an amused male voice called out from behind her.
She turned to greet her friend Evan, a lanky man with a friendly face. “As if anyone could outrun her.”
“You’re out early.”
“I needed some air.”
“May I join you?”
“Of course.”
He fell in step beside Hanna. “I understand that patient I referred last week is doing much better.”
Hanna nodded. “It was a broken leg, a relatively simple case.” She’d first met Evan two years ago when he dislocated his knee. Hanna had put it back in, and they became fast friends. Evan was young and possessed a sharp and curious mind. Before long, they’d hatched a plan to one day open their own dispensary—a doctor and bonesetter working side by side to give patients the best medical care possible.
“Have you heard that Mrs. Lockhart is at the hospital?” he asked.
“No. What ails her?”
“Her malady of the lungs has worsened considerably. Dr. Pratt, the lead physician, is keeping her there for a few nights.”
Hanna was not an admirer of Dr. Pratt, who had tried his best to steer patients away from Baba, but she hoped for Mrs. Lockhart’s sake that he was a capable doctor. “I must get over to visit her.”
As much as she wanted to avoid Dr. Pratt, Hanna felt obligated to check in on the older woman. A hospital stay must be lonely for a widow with no children.
“I was given to understand that you prefer to stay away from Margate Hospital,” Evan remarked.
“Normally, I do.” She tightened her wrap around her. “But what choice do I have?”
“Now,” the bonesetter commanded after massaging Griff’s arm for the better part of an hour, “move your arm.”
Griff struggled to keep his body calm as Mrs. Zaydan’s warm hands slid over his bare skin. Whenever she touched him his blood temperature soared. He did as she asked, straightening his elbow and then bending his arm in toward his chest.
The bonesetter behaved in a businesslike manner two weeks after their last encounter when he’d asked her about the necklace. Her manner was completely professional and somewhat removed. Not unlike their very first visit.
Not that Griff blamed her. She probably thought him a cad. After all, he’d told her outright of his intention to buy an expensive bauble for some imaginary lady. She’d caught him off guard, so he’d spouted the very first lie that slipped into his head. The truth remained that the only woman to occupy his thoughts these days was the very unapproachable healer before him.
“Move your wrist,” she said.
Under her watchful gaze, he did as she asked.
“Very nice.” She crossed her arms.
Extending his arm high over his head, Griff did windmills with it. He was still stiff. His range of motion limited. But the pain that had become as much a part of him as his skin was blissfully absent. “I cannot believe what you’ve managed to do with my arm.”
“I am pleased with the result,” she said briskly. “Your arm was quite mangled, but you are young and healthy. Your overall youth and physical fitness assisted in your recovery.”
He stared at her. “You are a miracle worker.”
She dropped her gaze. Her thick long lashes fanning over her cheeks. “Hardly. Bonesetting is not only an art, but also a science. We study the joints and how to manipulate them.”
He wanted to continue talking to her. To know her better. “How did you come to learn the art from your father?”
“I was fascinated by it. He let me watch, and I assisted him when he needed a second pair of hands.”
“And not your brothers? Do you have brothers?”
“I have three brothers who weren’t interested in my father’s work. They immersed themselves in the family business of cotton exports.”
He tried to imagine her as a little girl. The image of her bossing her brothers around came into his head. “But not you.”
She relented. Her passion for her work loosened her tongue. “As my father’s apprentice, the functions of the human body captivated me from the very first.” Her face brightened when she talked about her work. She was incandescent. “Being able to help people struck me as the most worthwhile profession in the world.”
He swallowed. Hard. Unnerved by his intense attraction to her. “Clearly, your father taught you well. What you’ve done for me is a miracle.”
“It is the human body itself that is the miracle. The way we’re put together, the bones, tendons and tissues.” Her dark-rimmed eyes shone. “The fact that our heart continues to beat day in and day out.”
She seemed to catch herself and retreated, reminding him of a crab going back into its shell. Only in this case, the bonesetter’s carapace was her desk. She returned to sit behind it and picked up her pencil, as a soldier might wield his armor, signaling her dismissal.
Griff’s heart sank. He rose, pulling down his shirtsleeves. He was running out of time. This was their last scheduled appointment. He needed a reason to keep seeing Mrs. Zaydan. Short of dislocating his other shoulder, he couldn’t immediately think of one.
He reached for his tailcoat. “And our next appointment?”
She kept her focus on her writing. “As you know, we are finished. If you continue with your exercises, you should recover complete range of motion.”
“Will you at least let me escort you to a tea shop as a way of showing my appreciation?”
“That is very kind.” She spared him a quick glance before going back to her notes. “But payment in full is all the thanks I require.”
She’d asked for two guineas. He set five times that amount on her desk.
She examined the sum. “That is not the fee we agreed to.”
“What you’ve done for me is worth ten times that amount. Twenty times.” He meant every word. “You’ve given me my life back.”
“All the same. Two guineas will suffice.”
He wanted badly to repay her. To do something that would convey the full extent of his appreciation. But the stubborn set of her jaw suggested that she wouldn’t allow it. “Then, please accept the money to cover future patients who might not be able to afford your fee.”
“I see you intend to be very mulish about this.” She finally looked up from her writing.
“I am hardly the stubborn one her
e. Your skills are worth more than two guineas.”
She relented. “I will accept the extra funds for patients in need.”
“Very good.” He paused. She waited expectantly. This was when he should make his exit. In her mind, any business between them was over. In his mind, it had just begun.
“About the necklace,” he said.
“The necklace?” She made a show of appearing uninterested, but he noted how her fingers tightened around the pencil.
“Yes, the one with the blue gemstone that you wore the other day. Did you learn where it came from so that I might buy one that is similar?”
“No.” Her voice was resolute. “There is absolutely nothing more I can tell you about the necklace.”
That evening, Griff had supper with Hunt at the duke’s home on St. James Place in Mayfair.
“By God, it’s a miracle,” Hunt pronounced after Griff demonstrated the newfound mobility in his left arm. “How did you manage it?”
“Remember the bonesetter who had my mother’s necklace?”
“Are you jesting?”
“I am as serious as an apoplexy. She’s remarkable. She knows everything about joints. The bonesetter not only fixed my arm, wrist and shoulder, but I also saw her repair Mansfield’s wrist.”
“Mansfield? The pup from the coffeehouse? Payton is up in arms over what happened.”
“Payton?” It took Griff a moment to place the name.
“Viscount Payton. Mansfield’s father. He is demanding the bonesetter be held to account.”
Griff bristled. “That whelp got exactly what he deserved.”
“I agree.” The duke paused, studying him. “You seem different.”
Griff sipped his drink. He felt different. “Do I?”
“Most definitely.”
“Maybe you’re not used to seeing me rested. I am finally sleeping through the night. It’s been two years since I slept more than two or three hours at a time.”
“It’s more than that. You seem less . . . burdened.”
He considered that for a moment. “I suppose living in pain adjusted my perspective. Before my accident, I was so caught up in what happened to my parents that I barely paid attention to actually living a full life.”