How to Catch an Errant Earl

by Amy Rose Bennett

  She was about to tell Mrs. Kerr exactly that when Dr. Kerr said, “Eleanor, the nearest physician is probably in Montreux or Villeneuve. And who in their right mind would venture out in this weather to summon one? You only have to look at Lord Langdale to see how foolhardy an enterprise it would be. Let Miss Jardine see what she can do for the earl first. And yes, it is the Lord Langdale,” he added when his wife opened her mouth to protest. “I once saw him giving a speech in the House of Lords.”

  Arabella thanked Dr. Kerr. She had not expected his support and she was grateful.

  He inclined his gray head. “If you need any further assistance, do call. I would be more than happy to help.”

  “Perhaps you could ask someone from the stables to track down Lord Langdale’s horse? I saw it bolting round the side of the house earlier. I’d hate to think it would get injured too.”

  The tempest was still raging outside. Indeed, the front door rattled ominously as Dr. Kerr said, “A very sensible idea, Miss Jardine. I will.”

  As Arabella exited the hall, she was sure she heard Mrs. Kerr mutter that she had no idea how Flora could tolerate her niece’s “utterly disgraceful bluestocking nonsense.” And it was right about then that Arabella thought one of Lord Langdale’s expletives would do quite nicely.

  Thank goodness Mrs. Kerr couldn’t read her mind.

  Chapter 6

  One night we enjoyed a finer storm than I had ever before beheld. The lake was lit up—the pines on Jura made visible, and all the scene illuminated for an instant, when a pitchy blackness succeeded, and the thunder came in frightful bursts over our heads amid the darkness.

  Mary Shelley, History of a Six Weeks’ Tour

  When Arabella entered the library, it was to find Lord Langdale sitting upon a leather wing-back chair by the hearth, nursing his injured shoulder with his good arm. The fire and several branches of candles had already been lit; shadows flickered over the book-lined walls and the earl’s drawn face.

  Bertie must have helped him to remove his riding coat, as he was currently in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat. It was abundantly clear his left shoulder was dislocated; even beneath the damp cambric of his shirt, it was easy to see his upper arm was set at an unnatural angle.

  One of the villa’s maids, a middle-aged matron, was casting curious looks and fleeting smiles at the earl from beneath her cap as she placed a pile of linen towels and washcloths on a low table before the fire. Heavens, even older women weren’t immune to Lord Langdale’s physical charms. But the poor man, given his state, didn’t need to be ogled in such a way, so Arabella promptly dismissed her.

  “I’ve just been explaining to Lord Langdale that Dr. Kerr is not really a physician but rather a doctor of theology,” said Bertie as she approached the fireside. “But that you might be able to help . . .” Judging by the skeptical look in his eyes, he wasn’t so sure she could.

  “Thank you.” Arabella offered the earl a towel to at least dry his face—his sodden black curls still dripped into his eyes. She then removed her spectacles and wiped away the rain spots with one of the washcloths. She must look a fright and nothing like the cool, calm, and collected medical practitioner she aspired to be; her sprigged muslin skirts were muddy and plastered to her legs, and the wind and rain had turned her hair into a damp, matted bird’s nest. Under different circumstances, she would have changed into dry clothes, but Lord Langdale was in so much pain, she was loath to waste time attending to what amounted to a frivolous need.

  She also wanted to help the earl before she lost her nerve.

  “Now, Lord Langdale, before I take a look at your shoulder, I must be quite frank with you,” she said as she replaced her glasses and took a seat on a leather ottoman in front of the earl. She had no idea what he would make of her, but she would be remiss not to offer assistance. “While it’s true I’m not a doctor by virtue of my sex, I have several years of nursing experience, courtesy of my dearly departed grandfather, a well-regarded physician in Edinburgh, at least. I haven’t reset a dislocated shoulder on my own before, but I did assist my grandfather to do so on a number of occasions. One particular technique he taught me is a little unconventional but most effective. So in light of all that, are you still happy for me to take a look? I’ll be perfectly honest and tell you straightaway if I don’t think I can manage the business.”

  Lord Langdale’s green eyes were glazed with pain as he peered at her from beneath hooded lids. “I trust you. If you say you can do it, I’ll take you at your word.”

  Arabella nodded. “Good.”

  Bertie, who was hovering by the fire, still didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure about this, Arabella? I mean, it’s highly irregular . . .”

  His remark died in the air when Arabella arched a disdainful brow. “And have you ever pushed a dislocated limb back into place before? Did you know there are particular techniques that are more effective than others depending on the nature of the dislocation?” When Bertie shook his head, Arabella said, “Well, it seems as though Lord Langdale is stuck with me then.” She softened her tone as she added, “Can you find me a pair of scissors, Bertie? In the desk perhaps? I had thought Lilias would be here with my medical bag by now—”

  At that moment, Lilias burst in. Her cheeks were a bright shade of pink as she cast a timid look at Lord Langdale on her way to the fireside—whether her cousin was flushed from rushing, being in the handsome earl’s presence, or feeling flustered about something else altogether, Arabella couldn’t be sure.

  “Thank you, Lilias,” she said, taking the large bag. Sitting it on the hearthrug at her feet, she then undid the metal clasps. “I trust you’ve returned the bottle of laudanum . . .”

  Lilias’s face turned bright red. “You know how persistent Mama can be,” she said. “She only wanted a wee b—”

  A resounding crash split the air, making Lilias squeal and clutch at her husband’s arm. Arabella’s heart had kicked with fright too.

  “I don’t think that was thunder,” observed Lord Langdale drily.

  “No.” Bertie’s fiery brows had plunged into a frown. “I agree.”

  “Do you think a tree has toppled onto the house?” asked Arabella. The sound of things splintering and shattering had accompanied the crash. Aside from the massive chestnut tree beside the drive, there were a number of very tall firs and elms close to the villa.

  “Yes. I suspect something’s hit the conservatory.” Bertie headed for the door. “Sorry to leave you, but I’d best check the extent of the damage. With any luck, the rest of the house has been spared.”

  Lilias scurried after him. “I’ll go and check on Mama.”

  As the door closed behind them, Arabella caught Lord Langdale’s eye. “It looks as though it’s just you and me now.”

  “Yes . . .” His face was as white as the linen towel draped across his uninjured shoulder, his mouth a rigid line. “I’d offer to help your cousin-in-law, but it seems I’m not fit for anything at the moment.”

  “I’m sure Bertie will manage. Let’s concentrate on sorting your shoulder out first.” Arabella delved into her grandfather’s bag and removed the bottle of laudanum. “I think it would help if you took some of this, my lord. The procedure will be easier to perform if you are not in so much pain. The more relaxed you are, the better.”

  Lord Langdale shook his head. “No. Thank you.” His tone was suddenly cold.

  “But—”

  “I said no!”

  He snapped at her with such vehemence, Arabella flinched. Confusion mingled with hurt and a dose of pique as she murmured, “I . . . I apologize if I have offended you . . .”

  “No, let me offer a sincere apology to you, Miss Jardine,” Lord Langdale said gravely. The emerald fire in his eyes had died to be replaced by an expression of bleak remorse. “I should not have spoken to you like that. I . . . I’m not myself. Suffice it to say, l
audanum does not agree with me.”

  “All right, my lord. And your apology is accepted.” Arabella placed the dark bottle of laudanum back in the bag and dug out her own pair of scissors. The steel blades winked in the firelight.

  The earl cocked a brow. “After my very rude outburst, I can trust you with those, can’t I?”

  Arabella recognized he was trying to ease the tension in the air by injecting a little levity into the conversation. “At this point in time, I’d say you don’t have much choice, my lord. But don’t worry, I’m only going to use them to cut off your clothes. Well, at least the garments covering your top half.”

  Lord Langdale’s mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile. “If I weren’t in so much pain, I’d probably suggest you don’t need to confine yourself to my top half, just for the pleasure of seeing you blush, Miss Jardine. But I’d rather not provoke you any further.”

  “Aye, that would be wise, my lord.” Arabella’s gaze transferred to the back of the wing-chair, where the earl’s coat lay. “At the risk of provoking you further, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to move to the chaise longue. The back of your seat is too high, and I won’t be able to see what I’m doing if I need to manipulate your shoulder from behind. Aside from that, it will be easier to remove your shirt and waistcoat if you’re on the other lounge.”

  “If it means you’ll be able to fix me, I’ll sit anywhere, or get into any position you want, Miss Jardine. Within reason, of course. I’m not sure if I’m capable of standing on my head at the present moment.”

  The earl blew out a sigh and eyed the chaise longue on the other side of the hearthrug.

  “Do you need a hand?” Arabella asked.

  He shook his head. “No, I think I can manage. I’m just taking a moment to summon the courage to move.” His gaze lit upon a silver tray atop an oak cabinet near the desk. “Is that a bottle of brandy or cognac I spy over there? It would be for medicinal purposes only, I assure you.”

  Considering he’d rejected the laudanum, Arabella didn’t see any harm in it. She brought over the bottle and a crystal tumbler. “It’s cognac.”

  “Excellent.” Lord Langdale took the bottle and waved away the glass. After pulling the cork out with his teeth, he then took a large swig. Then another. “It’s very good,” he said after he’d swallowed down a third large mouthful. “Right.” He handed the bottle back to Arabella, and she placed it on the side table along with her scissors. “Here we go.”

  Clenching his jaw, Lord Langdale surged to his feet. For one heart-stopping moment, he swayed to one side and Arabella gripped his good arm. Sliding her arm about his lean waist, she murmured, “Here, let me help you.”

  “Thank you.”

  By the time he was safely seated on the chaise, he was breathing hard and trembling, and there was a sheen of sweat on his face.

  Arabella offered him the cognac again, and he gulped down a bit more. Goodness, she imagined the earl would be well and truly foxed if he had too much more. But he had rejected the laudanum, so she couldn’t very well judge him for doing whatever he could to ease his agony.

  All going well, his shoulder would be back in place very shortly.

  Arabella retrieved her scissors and knelt on the floor in front of Lord Langdale. Trying to ignore the quickening of her pulse and the wild fluttering in her belly, Arabella forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand. “Right, let’s get on with it, shall we? We’ll need to deal with your cravat and waistcoat first.”

  He gave a short nod, then loosened his neckcloth, collar, and the fastenings at the top of his shirt with a shaking hand while Arabella applied herself to undoing the buttons of his sodden silk waistcoat. When the garment sagged open, she tried very hard not to notice his long, lean torso or how the soaked, almost sheer cambric of his shirt clung to the hard swells of his well-developed pectoral muscles.

  She frowned and worried at her lower lip when her gaze traveled lower to the waistband of his buckskin breeches. “Shall I tug your shirt out, or would you prefer to? I don’t want to hurt you . . . at least any more than necessary.”

  “I’ll do it.” Drawing a shallow breath, he gingerly tugged the fabric free at the very front. “Will that do?”

  “Aye.” She held on to the hem and picked up her scissors from where she’d deposited them on the silk-covered seat of the chaise longue. Lord Langdale’s clothing was drenched through and the chair’s fabric would probably be ruined, but there wasn’t much she could do about it.

  She was about to make the first cut when Lord Langdale murmured, “I think this is one of the most novel ways I’ve ever been undressed.”

  “One of the most novel? Heavens.” Arabella made a series of careful snips up the middle of the earl’s shirt, stopping just below his sternum. “The mind boggles.”

  “Well, if you’re curious, I could tell you about the time—”

  “No.” Arabella made a smooth slice up to the shirt’s gaping neckline. With a quick snick, the garment was completely cut in two. Glancing up into the earl’s face, she continued, “I’m not the slightest bit curious . . .” But then her voice trailed away.

  Lord Langdale was looking down at her through half-closed lids, and Arabella suddenly found herself trapped as though entranced by a mesmerist. Her pulse raced faster than quicksilver, and she suddenly felt giddy as though she’d been drinking cognac too. Goodness, this beautiful man was dangerous. Even though he was in a seriously injured, disheveled state, his rakish charm was in no way diminished.

  But she had a job to do. And swooning at the earl’s feet like a silly miss who’d never seen a bare male chest before was not conducive to getting it done. Arabella swallowed and pushed herself up. “Now that I think on it, I probably should have cut through the back of your shirt instead of the front,” she said, moving behind him.

  “But where would the fun have been in that?”

  Arabella frowned at the back of his head. Was he implying he enjoyed seeing her on her knees between his legs? She was sure he was making a joke of a sexual nature at her expense. “You have a wicked tongue, Lord Langdale,” she said as she efficiently snipped down the back of his waistcoat.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “And you’re incorrigible too.” She started on the back of his shirt.

  “I won’t disagree.”

  “Good.”

  Very soon, Lord Langdale’s shirt and waistcoat were in tatters. “I’m sorry I’ve ruined your clothes,” she said as she helped to gently peel the garments off his right side. Her eyes widened when she observed a tattoo adorning the earl’s substantial biceps—a heraldic crest featuring a hawk’s head—but now was not the time to remark upon it.

  He grunted. “It’s no matter.”

  She could hear the strain in his voice. Lord Langdale’s muscles and ligaments would have well and truly seized up by now, so she said, “I’ll cut through the shoulder seams here on the left so everything else falls away. The less you move the better.”

  “Again, I won’t disagree. Removing my coat was an ordeal in and of itself.”

  As soon as Lord Langdale’s left shoulder and arm were bare, it was evident he’d suffered an anterior dislocation, just as Arabella had suspected. Because the humerus bone had been partially forced out of its socket, Lord Langdale’s shoulder had an unnaturally square rather than rounded appearance.

  Arabella rubbed her hands together to warm them. Her heart was skittering crazily, but she had to ignore how nervous she felt. She knew how to carry out this procedure, and the earl was relying on her. This was not the time to be fainthearted. “Are you ready, Lord Langdale? I’m afraid what I’m going to do next will hurt—quite a lot—but it must be done.”

  “I know. I’m ready.”

  “All right.” Arabella drew up the leather ottoman and sat directly in front of him. “You need t
o sit up as straight as possible, but try to relax your shoulders. Easier said than done, I know.” Leaning close, she grasped the earl’s left arm and carefully positioned it in such a way that his elbow was tucked into his side and his forearm was at a ninety-degree angle to his upper arm.

  “Taking some deep breaths might help,” she added as she began to gently but firmly knead the hard mound of muscle at the top of his wide shoulder with her other hand. “I’m using a wee bit of massage to help reduce the stiffness.” She transferred her attention to his clearly defined deltoid muscle, then the firm bulk of his biceps, noting how the earl was biting down on his lower lip as though to suppress a moan. His eyes were closed, and the skin was pulled tight over the crests of his cheekbones. “It will be over soon.”

  He gave a jerky nod, then drew a shaky breath. Then another.

  “That’s it, breathe deeply. And arch your back a bit if you can. Well done.” Arabella began to flex Lord Langdale’s elbow as she continued to work his muscles. She wasn’t comfortable inflicting more pain upon her patient, but her grandfather had taught her that sometimes one needed to be cruel to be kind. “Very soon, I’m going to bend your forearm up just a little more so your hand rests upon my shoulder. All going well, everything will pop back into its rightful place.”

  Again he nodded. “Believe me, the sooner the better, Miss Jardine.”

  “Good.” Arabella adjusted her grip at Lord Langdale’s elbow. “Take another deep breath and relax those shoulders. Here we go.” As she continued to massage the earl’s deltoid, she began to move his forearm up, and in the next instant, the humerus slid smoothly back into the joint.