Pleasures of a Notorious Gentleman by Lorraine Heath Page A

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