Ormsby, and nodded curtly.
"Very well. But be damned careful what you're about."
The surgeon inclined his head. "As I am always, my lord."
Barnet proffered the flask again as Ormsby, with a great many self-important flourishes, began to lay out his instruments on a small table he directed Jem to carry to the bedside. This time Wickham drank deep. Then he looked at Gabby again.
"Time for you to leave," he said.
Gabby, who could discover in herself not the smallest desire to witness the upcoming surgery despite a burning wish to be somehow revenged on his faux lordship, nodded. But Ormsby glanced around just then, shaking his head at her.
"I will need someone to assist me, my lady. Of course, if you care to send in one of the maids…"
"Barnet can do all the assisting that is required," Wickham growled, having just downed another long swallow from the flask.
The surgeon made expressive eyes at Gabby.
"Damn it, man, don't make faces behind my back. If you've some ob— objection to Barnet, tell me f— flat out." The slight stumble to Wickham's voice was, Gabby realized, an indication of the contents of the flask at work.
Ormsby looked pained. "It may become necessary, my lord, to employ your man— big, strapping fellow that he is— to hold you, uh, steady. I should not like to slip with the knife."
The thought obviously appalled Wickham.
"If you should so slip, my good man, I assure you that the consequences will be extremely unpleasant." Wickham all but bared his teeth at Ormsby, who took an instinctive step back from the bed, before being distracted by Barnet once again wordlessly proffering the flask.
"Very good notion, that," Ormsby said in a low-voiced aside to Gabby as Wickham once again drank deep. "Very, um, forceful man, your husband."
"He is not my husband."
Ormsby gave her a rather surprised look. Obviously, in his opinion no lady would be caught dead in the bedchamber of a man— especially a half-naked one— who was not her husband.
"He is my brother." Gabby's voice had a snap to it as she was forced to utter the lie. Although, she told herself, she might as well get used to it. For the forseeable future, to all intents and purposes the shameless blackguard in the bed was her brother.
"S— sweet sister, I would still ask you to quit the room." Wickham had obviously overheard her mendacious claim of kinship and found it amusing. Just as obviously, whatever was in the flask was doing its work: his cheeks were faintly flushed now, and his limbs sprawled heavily against the mattress. "Your servant— Jem— may render what as— assistance is required. I have no— no desire for you to witness the upcoming b— butchery."
"Hardly that, my lord," Ormsby replied, affronted. "Indeed, I'll have you know…" My lord shot him a glittering look. Ormsby swallowed. "But that is neither here nor there." He lowered his voice and glanced at Gabby again. "My lady, given that your brother is a large man, obviously quite strong, I fear that— in the thick of things, you know— more than one servant might be required to, er, hold him down."
Gabby glanced at Wickham, who was regarding the pair of them suspiciously but was too occupied with draining the flask at Barnet's prompting to interrupt. A servant could of course be summoned to take her place, Gabby thought— but under the circumstances, would that be wise?
If all should be revealed, she would lose as surely as Wickham.
"Go now," Wickham said, lowering the flask from his lips and scowling at her.
" 'Tis best that I stay," Gabby replied firmly, meeting his gaze with quelling intent. Wickham apparently either deciphered her message, or no longer felt inclined to argue. In any case, he made no further protest.
Having finished his preparations, the surgeon glanced at Barnet and nodded. Looking grim, Barnet put the flask aside and then sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.
"Bite on this, milord," he said, twisting a linen handkerchief between his
"Very well. But be damned careful what you're about."
The surgeon inclined his head. "As I am always, my lord."
Barnet proffered the flask again as Ormsby, with a great many self-important flourishes, began to lay out his instruments on a small table he directed Jem to carry to the bedside. This time Wickham drank deep. Then he looked at Gabby again.
"Time for you to leave," he said.
Gabby, who could discover in herself not the smallest desire to witness the upcoming surgery despite a burning wish to be somehow revenged on his faux lordship, nodded. But Ormsby glanced around just then, shaking his head at her.
"I will need someone to assist me, my lady. Of course, if you care to send in one of the maids…"
"Barnet can do all the assisting that is required," Wickham growled, having just downed another long swallow from the flask.
The surgeon made expressive eyes at Gabby.
"Damn it, man, don't make faces behind my back. If you've some ob— objection to Barnet, tell me f— flat out." The slight stumble to Wickham's voice was, Gabby realized, an indication of the contents of the flask at work.
Ormsby looked pained. "It may become necessary, my lord, to employ your man— big, strapping fellow that he is— to hold you, uh, steady. I should not like to slip with the knife."
The thought obviously appalled Wickham.
"If you should so slip, my good man, I assure you that the consequences will be extremely unpleasant." Wickham all but bared his teeth at Ormsby, who took an instinctive step back from the bed, before being distracted by Barnet once again wordlessly proffering the flask.
"Very good notion, that," Ormsby said in a low-voiced aside to Gabby as Wickham once again drank deep. "Very, um, forceful man, your husband."
"He is not my husband."
Ormsby gave her a rather surprised look. Obviously, in his opinion no lady would be caught dead in the bedchamber of a man— especially a half-naked one— who was not her husband.
"He is my brother." Gabby's voice had a snap to it as she was forced to utter the lie. Although, she told herself, she might as well get used to it. For the forseeable future, to all intents and purposes the shameless blackguard in the bed was her brother.
"S— sweet sister, I would still ask you to quit the room." Wickham had obviously overheard her mendacious claim of kinship and found it amusing. Just as obviously, whatever was in the flask was doing its work: his cheeks were faintly flushed now, and his limbs sprawled heavily against the mattress. "Your servant— Jem— may render what as— assistance is required. I have no— no desire for you to witness the upcoming b— butchery."
"Hardly that, my lord," Ormsby replied, affronted. "Indeed, I'll have you know…" My lord shot him a glittering look. Ormsby swallowed. "But that is neither here nor there." He lowered his voice and glanced at Gabby again. "My lady, given that your brother is a large man, obviously quite strong, I fear that— in the thick of things, you know— more than one servant might be required to, er, hold him down."
Gabby glanced at Wickham, who was regarding the pair of them suspiciously but was too occupied with draining the flask at Barnet's prompting to interrupt. A servant could of course be summoned to take her place, Gabby thought— but under the circumstances, would that be wise?
If all should be revealed, she would lose as surely as Wickham.
"Go now," Wickham said, lowering the flask from his lips and scowling at her.
" 'Tis best that I stay," Gabby replied firmly, meeting his gaze with quelling intent. Wickham apparently either deciphered her message, or no longer felt inclined to argue. In any case, he made no further protest.
Having finished his preparations, the surgeon glanced at Barnet and nodded. Looking grim, Barnet put the flask aside and then sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.
"Bite on this, milord," he said, twisting a linen handkerchief between his
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