She looked one way and the other to determine who might have left this person on her doorstep, but whoever it was had departed too fast, especially with the delay in finding her weapon.
Well, it wasn’t the first time she had an unconscious body to deal with, though Sarah was a little worried about what might happen once—if—the body woke up, for he seemed the size of a man from what she could tell, though his head was turned over, away from her.
Sarah knelt and gently rolled the man over to his side as carefully as she could, for she was concerned about what type of head injury he might have. Had she not heard him groan, she would have worried whether or not he was even alive, so limp he was. The dim light outside her rooms made it too difficult to determine who he was nor what might have happened to him, so she hurried back inside, where she lit a lantern and brought it out with her.
She held it up to the mysterious man now, worried that she would be too late to treat whatever it was that ailed him. The moment she lifted the light and it glowed off his face, she gasped aloud in surprise, momentarily pulling back.
For the man lying across the doorstep of her lodging was none other than Mr. David Redmond, second son of the Earl of Brentwood.
Sarah hastily set the lantern back down in the room before returning to him. Head injury or not, she certainly couldn’t treat him outside, for not only would she not have anything she needed, but she feared passersby may see the elegant clothes he wore—in addition to her current state of undress—and attempt to take advantage of the situation. She half-lifted, half-dragged him into the room, grunting as she did so. He was rather lean, but he was still a tall man and far bigger than she was.
Once he was inside she shut the door, locking it behind the two of them, and then in her usual practiced manner sprang into action before giving herself too much time to consider the situation—that would come later, once her initial diagnosis and treatment were complete.
Sarah wouldn’t be able to lift him onto the bed, but she did have a thin mattress for just this purpose, and she dragged him down the corridor, into her bedroom and upon it before lighting her second lantern, setting up the two on either side of Mr. Redmond so she might be better able to see just what exactly had happened to him.
With her initial shock at the recognition of him, she had missed the extent of his injuries. His eye was already turning black, while a slight bit of blood oozed from his nose, signaling that he had likely taken a beating. She wondered at the extent of injuries to his body but was most worried about his lack of consciousness. Gently feeling around his scalp, she discovered a particularly large bump on the side of his head, and she hissed through her teeth. From its position, it was most likely that he had fallen back upon the hard ground beneath him. The injury was certainly concerning, for there was honestly not much she could do but hope that it would heal in time without any lingering effects.
She found her knife, having no choice but to cut through his jacket and shirt, despite the fact that she was aware his clothing would have cost more than she had likely ever held in her hand at one time.
His chest was red, with a few scratches and newly forming bruises upon it, but there was one particularly deep gash that worried her.
Sarah filled a bucket of water, found clean rags and her basket of herbs, and cleaned his wounds before searching for the loosestrife in her bag. She had recently picked it up at the marketplace, as it had just begun to grow for the season on riverbanks throughout England, and she was pleased that she had not yet dried it. Everything worked much better fresh, she found, but she was limited here in London. She could hardly wait until she was back in a place where she could forage for her own herbs.
Sarah tore the yellowish-green leaves from the brown, hairy stalk, and bruised them slightly before pounding them to extract the juice. She applied it around David’s wounds, hoping it would do its job and stop the bleeding, allowing her to clean and close up the wounds as quickly as possible. She spread the liquid over the deep gash, a smaller amount on some of the smaller scratches. Taking prepared strips of linen, she wrapped them over the wounds.
After that, there was not much more she could do but hope he soon woke up. In the morning, she would have to find a way to contact his family—she was sure they would be sick with worry over his whereabouts. Sarah found her one extra blanket in the cabinet near her bed, stretching it over him, tucking the edges around him. She hated to leave him on the floor, but she currently didn’t have much choice. In the morning, if he was awake and allowed it, she could ask just who she should contact in order to return him home. If not, she supposed she would send a messenger to Elizabeth or Phoebe, for they would surely know to whom to reach out.
What had happened to him? She wondered. He must have been attacked, perhaps by thieves in the street. She tiptoed back over to him, feeling as though she were violating him as she reached into the pocket of his jacket, only to find that he still carried coins on him. Strange. What kind of attack was this, that he hadn’t been robbed, and, in fact, had been left on her doorstep? Many of her neighbors were aware that she was a healer of sorts, but why bring David, the son of an earl, to her? She had no idea, but it worried her.
Sarah sighed and, looking out the window to find no hint of sun on the horizon, she decided she had better sleep a couple of more hours herself before she would wake up and see to her patient once more.
*
David slowly awoke as light began to filter through his eyelids. He was never much of an early riser, but something tugged at him, something he couldn’t ignore. He began to sit up but nearly bellowed aloud as pain sliced through his brain, particularly when he attempted to open his eyes. And then his chest began to ache something fierce. As slowly as he could, he pushed himself up on his elbows and opened his eyes a crack to determine exactly where he was.
He was within a boarding room of some type, and though not a particularly extravagant one, it was clean, at least. His heart hammered hard beneath the ache in his chest as he wondered just exactly whose room he was in. His mind searched the past frantically as he tried to remember just what had happened that would cause him to be here.
Before anything came to him, however, he heard a soft rustle from across the room, and his eyes came to rest on the bed—upon which lay a form. The small, dirty window didn’t emit much light, so it was difficult to tell who exactly was upon it, and David wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Perhaps he could leave before the person awoke. He swore to himself he wouldn’t have another drink for the longest time. Clarence had told him to keep his wits about him, and currently, last night remained blurred in his mind.
He tried to stand, but found he couldn’t make it to much more than a crawl, not with the way his head pounded and his chest burned. He put a hand upon it, finding that it had been wrapped—which meant that, at least, whoever was with him had cared enough to see that he didn’t expire from his injuries.
David tried to move to the door, but it seemed the more he moved, the farther away it became. Finally, he collapsed to the floor, his efforts useless.
He heard movement behind him but couldn’t look, his eyes seemingly sewn shut as his head pounded with his exertion.
He forced himself to move to his back and crack open his eyes, an involuntary groan escaping as he did so. But if he was going to encounter whoever approached, he refused to do so with his back to the person.
A face appeared, blurred, the back of it surrounded by a halo of light. Despite the fact he could hardly see, somehow he sensed that there was no threat to him, that he had nothing to fear.
And then everything went dark once more.
*
Was he attempting to run from her? Sarah had no idea just what threat he assumed she posed, but then, she wasn’t entirely sure of his current state of mind after the injury he had sustained. Now the fool was once again passed out at her feet, and she simply left him where he was, in the entryway of the room, as she inspected the bandages upon his bare chest,
though she did place a pillow behind his head and returned the blanket to him.
The deep wound was rather ghastly, and Sarah wished she had aromatic vinegar, which would be much more effective in preventing infection. She supposed his family would likely call a physician once he returned home, which somewhat worried her. There were some physicians who were knowledgeable and she had seen produce effective results, but in her experience, most treatments they performed actually led to further distress of the patient.
Her task complete, she sat back on her heels and stared down at Mr. Redmond, for he actually looked quite peaceful in repose, the lines of his face smoothed, his nose slightly crooked, she realized with a smile, his full lips ever so slightly parted. His sandy hair had a small smattering of blood within it, and she stood to wet a cloth to wash some of it out.
As she returned, she attempted to keep herself from staring down at his chest. She should only be assessing him as someone who required treatment from her. And yet, she couldn’t help what seemed to be a few extra beats of her heart as she stared at the smooth chest in front of her, now marred by the bandages. He had the slightest dusting of blond hair upon the top of it, and her fingers itched to trace it.
Then there was his abdomen, in which were finely cut muscles that tapered down to a vee where the top of his breeches rested. He was not the first man she had seen in such a state of undress, for she had previously had other patients who required such tending, but she could admit that never before had she felt such emotions stirred within her at seeing a half-naked body before her.
As she wiped the dried blood from his hair, Sarah supposed this was why he had the reputation he did—and, if she were to guess, what had led to his current state of injury. She shook her head at both her thoughts and her reaction to him, and was just about to stand to wash out her cloth when his hand shot up as his eyes opened, and he gripped her wrist tightly.
“Just what,” he said, his words guttural, as though it took great effort to speak them, “do you think you are doing?”
Chapter Five
David shouldn’t be here. As far as he could tell, he and this woman were alone in what appeared to be rented rooms a far cry from his own, and if he could rely on his own sight, then it seemed it was the lovely and apparently innocent Sarah Jones crouching beside him. But perhaps it was just his imagination playing tricks on him, for she couldn’t actually be here with him—could she?
And how the hell had he gotten here?
“I am seeing to your injuries,” she said crisply, “And I would appreciate it if you would release me.”
He nodded, though the effort caused pain to shoot through his temple and begin to throb within his skull once more.
“My apologies,” he muttered as he did as she asked, and she blessedly returned moments later with a glass of water, which he took eagerly, as it seemed that someone had stabbed his throat as well as his body.
He closed his eyes for a moment at the thought as finally, the events of the previous evening came rushing back to him, and he cringed as he felt the pain anew. When he eventually opened his eyes once more, he couldn’t help but acknowledge the contrast of the scene last night with what appeared before him now.
Miss Jones sat upon a bed in front of him. Despite the fact she wore nothing but a wrapper over what he assumed was a nightrail, she looked nothing but proper, her legs crossed at the ankles and her hands folded within her lap. The only true sign of dishabille was her bare toes peeking out from beneath the bottom hem of her blue wrapper, which looked as though it had once been a rather brilliant color but had now faded.
“How did I get here? And where are we?” He asked aloud, and she regarded him calmly as she answered his questions in her gentle, flat voice.
“This is where I live. I would ask that you please not share the location or my situation with others, however. There are many people, particularly within this neighborhood, who are aware of my skills as a healer. I have no knowledge of how you came to be here, as I simply responded to a knock at my door in the middle of the night, likely the early hours of the morning when it was still dark. There you were, with injuries that you have likely already ascertained for yourself—wounds to your head and torso. I would hazard a guess that you took a decent beating, hitting your head when you fell upon the ground. The gash within your chest looks to be from a knife or sword, although you are lucky that it isn’t any deeper than it is. Still, I am worried about infection, depending upon the cleanliness of the weapon used against you.”
David furrowed his brow as she spoke, for her words were measured, emotionless. He had not encountered many women in his life who would see such injuries before them and lack any particular reaction.
“How does a woman such as you become a healer?” he asked, to which she smiled.
“That is a story for another day,” she said softly. “But rest assured you are in good hands. Now, tell me, Mr. Redmond, how did you find yourself in such a predicament?”
He sighed, lifting a hand to run it through his hair, only to find it wet. That’s right—she had been washing his hair. Why?
“It was bloody,” she said now, as though she could hear his thoughts, and he sighed. He supposed if she had treated him, she deserved to know the truth.
“I was at a club,” he said. “The Red Lion. There wasn’t anything particularly remarkable about the night. I played a bit of faro, lost a few games, won a few, likely came out about even. I saw some friends, had a drink or two… and then decided to return home.”
If there was something remarkable, that was it—he had rebuffed the flirtations of the working women, and he couldn’t determine just what had caused him to do so. It was as though suddenly their faces had been too painted, their bodices too low, their dresses too garish. Which was ridiculous. He had been attracted to these women with no qualms for so long—why was anything different right now?
He refused to believe it had to do with this woman sitting in front of him. He was not a man who pursued innocent women, for he knew they would not be content with a simple liaison. No, she would be looking for a man who would commit to her, could provide for her—the type of man she deserved. Not someone like him.
He must have been tired—that was it. Which would also explain how he had been taken so off guard.
“I departed the club and asked for my carriage to be brought around,” he continued, closing his eyes as he pictured it once more. “They surprised me, taking me off guard. One held my arms behind me, the other using his fists to ‘Teach me a lesson,’ I believe is how he phrased it.”
“Did you know him?” she asked.
“I did not. He was only the man who had been hired, not the one who desired to see me in such a state.”
“Do you know who that would be?”
“I do.”
He didn’t want to continue, didn’t want to sully this room, this woman, with any further discussion of what he had done or why the man was interested in seeing to his demise. He could sense, however, that Miss Jones was waiting for him to finish the story. He sighed.
“It was Lord Houghton.”
“Lord Houghton…” she repeated, nibbling her lip as she thought on the name, and then he noted when recognition dawned. She was the type of woman who easily shared her thoughts and feelings, for her expressions were vivid. Her brown eyes, which were warm and comforting, widened. “He is a proud man. Rather… stern.”
“Yes, that would be the proper way to term it,” he murmured.
“What did you do?” she asked, but then saw the disapproval in her eyes and realized she likely already had a fairly good inkling of just what he had done to deserve such treatment. At first, he felt ashamed at his actions, but before he refused to allow such emotion, he became indignant to the fact that she would feel she had the right to judge him. He knew nothing of her life—how could she sit there and suggest that he might be at fault with his own actions?
“His wife was… taken with me,” he said fina
lly, unable to admit to anything further, and she nodded, as though her suspicions were confirmed, and he opened his mouth to ask her just why she thought she could judge him so, but then promptly closed it. For that would hardly be fair. She had obviously spent some time caring for him, and that was no way to repay her. He was relieved when she did not pursue his story further.
“I shall have someone send for your family,” she said. “I would go myself but I’m not sure I should leave you for any great length of time. What is the address of your home?”
“No,” David said immediately. “My family cannot come here, cannot see me like this.”
“You need help,” she insisted, but he shook his head, so vigorously that he winced.
“If my father became aware of my current state, he would lose the tiniest bit of respect that he still holds for me. My mother would be similarly disappointed.”
“Do you have any siblings?”
“My brother, but I’d prefer he not be aware of this.”
“All right,” she said slowly. “What about the Duke? Or perhaps Lord Berkley?”
He could summon them, and he had no doubt that they would come to his aid. But when he thought of the lives they were currently living, the contentment they had found and their continued suggestion that he settle down himself, he had no desire to prove them right.
“I’d prefer not to bring them into this.”
She raised her hands, sighing in exasperation.
“Do you have a valet? A trusted servant?”
“I have a valet and servant in one, but I cannot say he is trusted—except by my father,” David said, aware that Hampton would immediately send word to his father about his latest deeds. “If you would be so kind as to summon a hack, I will find myself room at an inn until I am recovered enough to return to my own rooms so that I am not questioned by anyone.”
Lady of Charade Page 4