inclining his head.
“Good afternoon, Graham. Is Lady…” She paused, belatedly noting the butler’s pale complexion and the thin, straight line of his generally amiable mouth. “Is something amiss?”
A strangled male yell of pure agony ripped through the interior of the house. The sound froze her to her very bones.
“Good heavens!”
She practically flew up the staircase, Graham and Sally on her heels. Clearly something was dreadfully wrong, and the image that immediately came to her mind was of Tolly. Had he fallen? Had those awful Thuggee somehow invaded Mayfair and come to finish him off?
At the end of the same hallway that led to Lord and Lady Gardner’s master bedchamber she found them—Amelia and Stephen and Violet and a half dozen servants, all clustered around the door from which Tolly had startled her the other evening.
Her heart clenched. “What’s happened?” she asked, her voice shrill.
Amelia jumped. “You should go,” she whispered, her face pale and one hand over her mouth.
Oh, no . “Is it Tolly? What’s wrong?”
Another muffled yell cut through her. Her breath catching, Theresa pushed forward. Whatever the devil it was, whatever the rules said about minding her own affairs and letting men be manly, she needed to know.
Stephen’s broad chest blocked her path. “No lady should see this,” he said, his own voice tight. “My brother is being tended by a physician.”
“Yes, one who’s breaking his leg,” Violet sobbed, sinking to the floor.
“Oh, Vi.” Amelia sat down beside her, taking the younger girl’s hands in hers. “It will all be well.”
None of them looked as though they believed that. Theresa didn’t much believe in trusting to hope, anyway. She hadn’t for a very long time. Taking her skirt in one hand, she slipped through the distracted group and into the room. And stopped dead in her tracks.
Tolly James lay on his back in a large bed, his face very nearly the same coloring as the white sheets. His nightshirt was askew and soaked with sweat, his fingers clenching into the folds of the bedsheets. He wore tan knee-length breeches, the left leg torn open up to the thigh. A stain of red spread around the awful mess that was his left knee.
“My God,” she whispered.
The stout, balding man leaning over Tolly’s leg and with what looked like a pair of pliers dug into thewound, looked up at her. “Are you squeamish?” he barked.
She tore her gaze from the mangle of Tolly’s knee. Good heavens . He’d walked on that. He’d ridden on it. She’d teased him about dancing on it. “No. No, I’m not,” she managed.
“Then come here and hold his leg still so I can pull out the rest of the damned lead ball.” He shifted to look down at Tolly’s face. “Your horse doctor didn’t find it all.”
Bartholomew, though, was gazing at her. “Get out of here,” he rasped.
Oh, she wanted to. “Nonsense.” She stepped forward, pulling off her gloves and dropping them to the floor. “You’re a physician?”
He nodded. “Prentiss. Put your fingers there. Press hard, no matter what damned thing he says.”
“Theresa Weller,” she returned, hoping conversation would keep her from contemplating precisely what she was doing. She’d wanted to touch his bare skin, but this wasn’t remotely what she’d imagined. “Why don’t you have someone here to assist you?”
The doctor jabbed his chin toward the half-open door. As she looked in that direction, she spotted the figure crumpled against the baseboard behind it. “He fainted? I’m sorry, but he can’t be much of an assistant.”
“Ha. He didn’t faint, did you, Clarke?”
The man moaned.
“Colonel James here kicked him in the…in a sensitive area. I told Clarke to hold him still. Hopefully next time he’ll listen.”
“If it’s not too damned much trouble, would you get the bloody hell on with it?” Tolly growled.
“We are. Hold still and don’t injure Miss Weller.”
Amber eyes held
“Good afternoon, Graham. Is Lady…” She paused, belatedly noting the butler’s pale complexion and the thin, straight line of his generally amiable mouth. “Is something amiss?”
A strangled male yell of pure agony ripped through the interior of the house. The sound froze her to her very bones.
“Good heavens!”
She practically flew up the staircase, Graham and Sally on her heels. Clearly something was dreadfully wrong, and the image that immediately came to her mind was of Tolly. Had he fallen? Had those awful Thuggee somehow invaded Mayfair and come to finish him off?
At the end of the same hallway that led to Lord and Lady Gardner’s master bedchamber she found them—Amelia and Stephen and Violet and a half dozen servants, all clustered around the door from which Tolly had startled her the other evening.
Her heart clenched. “What’s happened?” she asked, her voice shrill.
Amelia jumped. “You should go,” she whispered, her face pale and one hand over her mouth.
Oh, no . “Is it Tolly? What’s wrong?”
Another muffled yell cut through her. Her breath catching, Theresa pushed forward. Whatever the devil it was, whatever the rules said about minding her own affairs and letting men be manly, she needed to know.
Stephen’s broad chest blocked her path. “No lady should see this,” he said, his own voice tight. “My brother is being tended by a physician.”
“Yes, one who’s breaking his leg,” Violet sobbed, sinking to the floor.
“Oh, Vi.” Amelia sat down beside her, taking the younger girl’s hands in hers. “It will all be well.”
None of them looked as though they believed that. Theresa didn’t much believe in trusting to hope, anyway. She hadn’t for a very long time. Taking her skirt in one hand, she slipped through the distracted group and into the room. And stopped dead in her tracks.
Tolly James lay on his back in a large bed, his face very nearly the same coloring as the white sheets. His nightshirt was askew and soaked with sweat, his fingers clenching into the folds of the bedsheets. He wore tan knee-length breeches, the left leg torn open up to the thigh. A stain of red spread around the awful mess that was his left knee.
“My God,” she whispered.
The stout, balding man leaning over Tolly’s leg and with what looked like a pair of pliers dug into thewound, looked up at her. “Are you squeamish?” he barked.
She tore her gaze from the mangle of Tolly’s knee. Good heavens . He’d walked on that. He’d ridden on it. She’d teased him about dancing on it. “No. No, I’m not,” she managed.
“Then come here and hold his leg still so I can pull out the rest of the damned lead ball.” He shifted to look down at Tolly’s face. “Your horse doctor didn’t find it all.”
Bartholomew, though, was gazing at her. “Get out of here,” he rasped.
Oh, she wanted to. “Nonsense.” She stepped forward, pulling off her gloves and dropping them to the floor. “You’re a physician?”
He nodded. “Prentiss. Put your fingers there. Press hard, no matter what damned thing he says.”
“Theresa Weller,” she returned, hoping conversation would keep her from contemplating precisely what she was doing. She’d wanted to touch his bare skin, but this wasn’t remotely what she’d imagined. “Why don’t you have someone here to assist you?”
The doctor jabbed his chin toward the half-open door. As she looked in that direction, she spotted the figure crumpled against the baseboard behind it. “He fainted? I’m sorry, but he can’t be much of an assistant.”
“Ha. He didn’t faint, did you, Clarke?”
The man moaned.
“Colonel James here kicked him in the…in a sensitive area. I told Clarke to hold him still. Hopefully next time he’ll listen.”
“If it’s not too damned much trouble, would you get the bloody hell on with it?” Tolly growled.
“We are. Hold still and don’t injure Miss Weller.”
Amber eyes held
Similar Books
