He shook his head. “It’s not usually this bad, but tonight—”
“I insist. I need to see it.”
Her tone was adamant, her gaze unflinching. Was this how she’d ended up in his bed? He couldn’t deny the allure of a determined woman.
“Very well.” Having conceded that point, he also acknowledged that he required her assistance to reach his room. He dropped his arm around her shoulders and allowed her to escort him into his bedchamber.
Once inside, she helped him out of his jacket. While she went to drape it over a chair, he stood beside his bed and watched her, mesmerized. The efficiency in her movements appealed to him. Opening a cabinet, she removed a couple of towels and returned to his side. She’d no doubt known where to look because a similar cabinet was in her bedchamber.
He took a towel from her and began rubbing it over his hair, holding her gaze, wondering how long it would take her to realize that in order to see his leg she was going to see a good deal more. He might have been amused by the prospect, if he wasn’t shaking so badly from the cold and the agony.
“Let’s get you out of the remainder of these wet things,” she said. The words were delivered with the flat tone of a dozen nurses who had tended to him, no hint of allure, but still his body jerked with arousal that he steadfastly tamped down. His waistcoat and cravat were quickly dispensed with and found their way to the floor.
His shirt came off more slowly, her fingers tormenting him as they skimmed along his sides after she’d gathered the hem and begun lifting it over his head. She stopped, continued on, stopped again, and he knew she was cataloging the scars that were revealed.
“I suppose my chest looks very different than before,” he said quietly, wondering if they’d made love in the light, as was his preference.
His shirt landed on the discarded clothes, then she was looking up at him, her hands hovering within a whisper’s breath of his skin. Did she think he would shatter if she touched him? In all likelihood, he might. It was an aphrodisiac to know that he’d been with her before and to wonder what it might have been like. It was also unsettling. Not to know how he’d brought her pleasure, what he might have introduced her to, what still remained to be shared.
She reached past him, her breasts brushing along his shoulder and arm. In spite of his pain, her touch went straight to his groin like lightning striking the earth. He was not going to be in a position to unfasten his trousers. Although having been with him before, she shouldn’t be surprised by his arousal.
Straightening, she draped a blanket around his shoulders, overlapping the ends to spare his modesty—of which he possessed not an ounce. She, however, obviously did. In the dark then, he must have taken her in the dark. Why was she so shy, when he was so skilled at introducing a lady to the particulars of a man’s body, making her comfortable with it? Although never had that intimacy, or those lessons, resulted in a squalling babe.
“You should remove your trousers,” she said, stepping back.
“Why the blush, Mercy?” he asked as he did as she bade. Her name sounded strange on his tongue, as though he’d never before spoken it. But surely he had.
“The hour is late,” she said.
Was that her true reason? Or simply her feeble attempt to deflect the question? Tending to the wounded, she surely had been exposed to more naked bodies than his.
Trying to remove his soaked trousers and drawers while holding the blanket proved an impossibility, especially with his leg refusing to support his weight. “Give me a few moments of privacy and then return,” he ordered.
With a quick nod, she made a hasty exit. A strange reaction. Perhaps it was simply the intimacy of being in his bedroom, bringing forth reminders of another night when passion had flared between them. With great difficulty, he shed his trousers and drawers, sat on the bed, and wrapped the blanket around him—for her modesty, not his.
“Mercy!”
The door opened a fraction and she peered in, reminding him of someone fearing a monster. He wanted to laugh, but removing his trousers had brutalized his leg. He should have cut the damned things off rather than subject his leg to the struggle.
She knelt in front of him, and he wondered if she’d knelt for him before. A tremor of desire raked through him, causing him to shudder. What the bloody hell was wrong with him?
He was reacting like a randy schoolboy—in spite of everything. If not for the pain shooting through his leg, he’d already have her on top of the covers, her nightgown a distant memory, her body bared—
“My apologies,” she whispered, easing the blanket up over his leg. “I’ll be gentle.”
Only he didn’t want gentle. He wanted rough, fast, passionate. He wanted—
“Oh, my dear God,” she whispered in horror.
The pain burst through his leg, sending him off the bed, the blanket fluttering to the floor. “Christ! I told you not to touch it!”
It was only then that he realized he’d grabbed her wrist and jerked her to her feet. Her gaze darted down and then back up to his eyes. Hers were wide and she was trembling as much as he. The pain had diminished his arousal but it didn’t mean he wasn’t a sight to behold.
“Why the shocked look?” he asked. “Why the blush, the panting? You’ve seen it before.” Felt it. Welcomed it.
She swallowed, licked her lips, and in spite of the burgeoning agony, damn it all, he wanted to lean in and taste her. Distraction. He needed a bloody distraction.
“It’s … it’s been … some time,” she stammered. “I’d forgotten …”
He knew he shouldn’t be insulted that she’d forgotten his endowments—after all, he’d forgotten her completely. Still it stung, providing him with an inkling of understanding regarding what it meant to be unmemorable. How devastated might she be to know he had no memories of her at all—other than those he’d gathered since her arrival this afternoon?
Then to his utter surprise, she thrust up her chin and took on a mulish expression. “I also know you’re attempting to distract me. How long has your leg looked like that?” she demanded.
Swollen, red, hot to the touch.
“A few days now. I’ve been riding, walking, striving to get it to heal more quickly. It protests. I’m certain if I just rest it—”
“I need to examine it more closely.”
“You see what happens when you touch—”
“You endured much worse in Scutari without so much as a by your leave. Sit. Now.”
Her commanding voice was not that of an angel. But it intrigued and aroused him. And she’d provided him with a hint of their past. He wanted to mull on it. She’d known him wounded. Perhaps she’d nursed him back to health. When had she arrived at the hospital? Which of his scars did she know the origins of?
He sat and flicked the blanket over his good hip, leaving the other slightly exposed for her perusal. Again she knelt. As her fingers neared, he braced himself.
Her touch was feathery-light but it was still agonizing. It was as though she were taking a dagger—
“I believe there’s something in there,” she said, sitting back on her heels.
He looked at her in stunned disbelief and then examined his leg more closely. Tensing in anticipation of the onslaught of pain, he skimmed his fingers over it, detecting a hardness—was it possible? Was that why it had seemed so slow to heal, the reason the pain never went away? “You might be right.”
“You silly man. What were you thinking? You need a physician.”
“I thought I’d simply overworked it.”
“With that swelling and redness? I’ve no doubt it’s infected. You might even have the beginnings of gangrene. It’s ghastly. You absolutely cannot delay sending for a physician.”
“You could tend to it.”
“It requires far more skills than I possess.”
Gazing up at him, she looked so earnest, so young.
“You’ve nothing to fear,” she said softly. “I’ll watch over you.”
> He did not doubt her. Not for a single moment. “Then we should indeed send for a physician posthaste. Do not, however, alarm my mother. My brother can see to the matter.”
With a brusque nod, she rushed from the room on bare feet that barely made a sound. But to his immense delight, she had left behind her fragrance.
After having the duke roused from slumber, Mercy explained to him what was needed. He hesitated not one second before sending for a physician who he assured her would arrive within the hour. Obviously, he was accustomed to having his way, of being in charge. She pitied any woman who might fall in love with him. He would no doubt prove a challenge as a husband. But then she supposed all men did.
She went to see after John. His late-night feeding complete, he was lost in the world of dreams. Jeanette assisted her in changing into her simple black dress.
“Are you certain you should be in a gentleman’s bedchamber at night?” Jeanette asked, her French accent thick. No one would ever doubt her origins.
“He is fairly incapacitated. He can do me no harm.”
“A man can always do harm.”
“I must tend him.” The next few hours would not be pleasant. She dreaded them. For his sake, as well as hers. She did not want memories stirred.
“Your generous heart will get you in trouble,” Jeanette murmured.
“It already has.”
When she returned to Major Lyons’s room, she discovered he was beneath the covers. Thank goodness. Everything neatly tucked away and hidden. She was familiar with the naked form, had bathed men, tended wounds in the most private of areas—but still she’d been unprepared for the sight of him. He’d not been aroused, but the promise of what he offered was quite evident. He’d fairly taken her breath.
His brother was giving him the proper dressing down that she had wanted to.
“What were you thinking?” the duke demanded. “Even I can look at your leg and tell it needs tending.”
“I thought”—Stephen shook his head, his jaw clenched—“I thought I might lose it.”
“Not facing reality doesn’t make it go away.”
“Easy enough for you to say when your reality comes with no troubles.” He shifted his gaze to her. “Mercy, come sit over here.”
The first time she’d heard her name coming from his lips, a shiver of pleasure had rippled through her. She’d thought the pleasure would diminish the next time, but it only increased. “Major—”
“For God’s sake, Mercy, as I said earlier, you’ve given birth to my son. Formality between us is hypocritical.”
“And politeness? Shall we dispense with it as well?”
He sighed heavily. “My apologies. I’m not at my best when my leg is consumed by fire.”
“You’re an idiot,” the duke muttered. “I cannot believe you let it come to this.”
“And I cannot believe you harp like an old wife. Leave it be.”
To stop the squabbling, Mercy took the chair beside the bed and asked, “How much longer do you think before the physician arrives?”
“Not long,” the duke said.
“When my brother barks, the people in this area all jump,” Stephen said.
“And you’re irascible when you’re in pain,” Ainsley muttered.
“If you don’t like it, leave.”
Ainsley crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the post at the foot of the bed. His dark features were a sharp contrast to his brother’s, made him seem more forbidding. “I still think I should alert Mother—”
“No, not until this ordeal is over. She’ll only worry and there is naught she can do,” Stephen said, his voice tight with pain. Mercy wished there was something she could do to relieve his suffering.
“You simply abhor the thought of Leo traipsing in after her,” the duke said.
“That too. He’s like a well-trained dog.”
“He loves her.” Ainsley smiled wryly at Mercy. “You might have noticed that during dinner.”
She returned his smile. “I did.”
“I like him,” Ainsley said. “Stephen doesn’t because Leo provides competition for Mother’s attention and Stephen has always had the lion’s share of it. He’s our mother’s favorite.”
“I don’t believe mothers have favorites,” she said.
“Trust me. Ours does.”
With the physician’s arrival, all conversation ceased. He was an elderly gentleman, and while his hands seemed skillful, Mercy could tell that his examination was causing Stephen a great deal of pain, which he was stoically attempting to mask. But his sharp intake of breath and the stiffness of his body revealed the truth of it.
He was in agony.
Sweat beaded his brow and he locked his gaze on hers, much as he had during dinner, and she wondered if he found her to be a distraction from the torment. Against her will, she slid her hand beneath his, and he closed his strong fingers around it. Tiny tremors traveled through him.
“At least you’re in a comfortable bed,” she said, to divert his attention away from the examination. “And it’s quiet here.”
He looked at her as though she was prattling nonsense. Perhaps she was, perhaps she needed the diversion as well. “I always thought it a shame that the men could not have private rooms in which to heal. How demoralizing it must have been to see others suffering while you were healing. There was so little we could do sometimes. But things will go much better for you here. You will be cared for.”
If he had any comment to offer, it was locked behind his clenched jaw. Taking her handkerchief from her pocket, she reached up and blotted his damp brow.
“Christ!” he suddenly barked.
“Forgive my clumsy fingers, Major,” Dr. Roberts said quickly. “I don’t see many battle wounds here in the country, but I think you might be right, Miss Dawson. I do believe we have something nasty going on there. Our best recourse will be to go in and get it out.”
“How could something have been left in his leg?” the duke asked.
“Depending on the severity of the wound, the amount of blood, the conditions of the hospital”—the doctor shrugged—“I wouldn’t think it would be unusual that something is missed. Medicine is not an exact science. But I shall have this matter fixed in no time. And we’re in luck, Major.” He opened his satchel. “I have ether.”
“No.”
The resounding word came out with such force as to brook no argument. Still Mercy spoke. “It’ll go much easier on you.”
“I need to see what he’s doing.”
He didn’t. She knew he didn’t. He had to know it as well. It would only add to his torment. He would have to be held down to prevent his natural instincts to fight the surgeon’s scalpel. Why was he being so stubborn?
“Please.” She placed her hand over his. “I watched too many men suffer when ether was scarce. You should accept this small mercy.”
“You’re all the mercy I need.”
Ainsley scoffed. “You never miss an opportunity for a bit of flirtation, even in a situation such as this.”
Her heart that had begun an erratic patter with Stephen’s words settled into calm with Ainsley’s. Of course, Stephen would use any means to get her to do his bidding. Had he not enticed her into looking the other way when he’d wanted to sneak out of the Barrack Hospital for a short walk—in spite of the physician’s orders that he was not to leave his bed? Had he not given her a devilish wink that had caused her to slip him a flask of spirits? She’d have been summarily dismissed if Miss N had discovered her with the contraband. He’d made the simplest of gestures seem more daring.
“She’s quite right, Major. I’ll be doing a good bit of digging around in there.”
“Please,” she pleaded again, determined that she would be the one to prevail.
Clutching her hand, Stephen pulled her down, his voice rough and urgent. “Only if you’ll ensure that he doesn’t cut off my leg. Promise me.”
“I don’t think it’ll come to that, but the
physician will know best.”
“I’ll go bloody well mad if I lose anything else. Promise me.”
The desperation in his voice tore at her heart. How many promises had she made and not been able to keep? They drove her mad, caused nightmares to visit often when she slept. But he didn’t know what he asked of her or he’d have not asked. She was fairly confident of that deduction. They were practically strangers, their time together far too short. So short that he didn’t seem to remember the night that they’d spent together. But she’d never forget what she’d seen of the fierceness in him when there was little he could do to prevent harm from being inflicted on another. He was courageous, strong, unyielding in his convictions. She’d witnessed his compassion when he’d reassured more than one dying soldier that he’d not let his brothers in arms down so the man could leave this world in peace.
He’d lied in order to bring comfort. She could do the same. “I promise.”
Leaning forward and kissing his brow seemed the most natural thing in the world. Just as protecting his son had been. She couldn’t explain the yearning in her heart for this man, but it was there, fervent and powerful. It had driven her to Paris, then to London, and finally to this place at his bedside.
She felt the fevered heat of his skin against her lips, and she prayed they were not too late. That his leg could be saved. That he could be saved.
“Will you assist me, Miss Dawson?” the physician asked.
Dread coursed through her. She didn’t regret a single moment of tending to the sick and wounded, but it had taken more courage than she’d ever known she possessed to assist with the surgeries. Still, she gathered her resolve around her and straightened. “Yes, of course. I shall need to wash my hands. I must insist you do the same.”
He brought himself up like a rooster whose feathers had been ruffled. It wouldn’t do for him to be out of sorts when he began hacking away. She needed him focused on his chore, not his pride, and so she explained calmly and quietly, “Miss Nightingale was convinced that cleanliness saved lives. It is next to godliness, after all.”
He harrumphed. “Yes, of course. Quite right.”
She’d not thrown out the name of her mentor lightly. She was well aware that ever since an engraving of Florence Nightingale holding a lamp had appeared in the London Illustrated News, she was considered a saint. Mercy suspected she could tell the doctor that Miss Nightingale advised jumping out a window before surgery and he would proceed to do exactly that.
Pleasures of a Notorious Gentleman Page 8