Part 11 (2/2)
”I says not now.”
Mary fell silent.
The rest of Lord Leopold's clothes were impossible to put on, since his s.h.i.+rtsleeves were too narrow to fit over the makes.h.i.+ft bandage. Thalia draped the blanket over his shoulders instead, then urged him toward her mare.
Lord Leopold was looking grayer by the moment. Circles of pain rimmed his eyes and his balance was not entirely steady. Nonetheless he insisted on trying to mount her horse on his own once she was settled. But getting seated behind her as he hoped to be proved impossible, and in the end he was forced to rely on the aid of the man who'd put him in this predicament to begin with.
She made no complaint when he wrapped his good arm around her waist. ”Hold tight, Lord Leopold.”
He did, pressing his chest to her back, his body far too cold for her liking.
It was with immense relief that they set off, Thalia urging the horse forward at a gentle gait.
Neither of them spoke for a time.
”Thank you,” Lord Leopold said in a low voice.
”For what?” she murmured.
”For coming back. You were magnificent, the way you faced down that lumbering brute. Stupid, but magnificent.”
”I am not sure if that's a compliment or an insult, but I'll take it regardless.” She paused. ”I am sorry.”
”For what?” His words were slightly slurred, his weight resting more and more heavily against her.
”For leaving you in the first place back at the pond. It was wrong and I should not have done so.”
”Got you in my arms, didn't it?” He tucked his chin on her shoulder, his cheek against her own. ”One arm anyway.”
A minute later, she felt him sway.
”Don't you fall off.”
”Won't.” He tightened his hold on her waist, then sagged some more. ”Just going to rest.”
”We're nearly there.” At least she hoped they were, since early evening darkness had fallen. But the horse seemed to know her way, so Thalia wasn't concerned about reaching their destination. It was Lord Leopold who worried her.
”My lord?”
He did not answer.
”Leopold?”
Had he lost consciousness?
But shortly afterward, as they rode out of a grove of trees, she saw the lights of Holland House. She released a pent-up breath, grateful that help would soon be at hand.
Chapter 11.
Thalia couldn't sleep; Lord Leopold was on her mind.
Try as she might, she couldn't shake the memory of his ashen face and the expression of pain he'd worn when he'd been helped off her horse and led into the house and upstairs.
The pair of them turning up together with Lord Leopold injured and weak from blood loss had sent a flurry of shock through the household. It had also sent the guests into full gossip mode just in time for them to convene in the drawing room before dinner.
While the physician had been sent for, she had told Lord and Lady Holland what she knew about the shooting, careful to leave out any mention of having been at the swimming pond and her role in Lord Leopold's missing clothes. She'd concocted a story about going out for a ride and discovering his riderless horse-with his clothes tied in a bundle to the saddle-and how she'd then ridden on only to discover him injured. She wasn't sure if the Hollands entirely believed her version of events, but if not, they were too polite to say.
As for Lord Leopold, he'd been taken up to bed, where hopefully they hadn't asked him more than a few cursory questions before leaving him to the ministrations of the doctor.
What had Lord Leopold told them? She supposed it would serve her right if he'd given an unvarnished accounting of the truth. Still, she rather hoped he had twisted his story enough to keep matters private so that the truth remained solely between him and her.
How is he? she wondered.
She'd taken a bath and eaten dinner on a tray in her room, unable to face the other guests. She'd received no further word about Lord Leopold's condition; not even her maid knew how he was faring.
Telling herself it was really none of her concern, she had gone to bed. But after a great deal of tossing and turning, she finally gave up.
She lit a candle and picked up her book, hoping a bit of light reading would help her drift off. But after five minutes, she tossed it aside and reached for her robe.
Fastening the tie at her waist, she went to the door.
Leo dozed against the warm, clean sheets, the ache in his arm keeping him from sinking into a peaceful slumber.
He'd refused the dose of laudanum the doctor had pressed on him; he hated the stuff and had done so ever since he'd fallen-or rather jumped on a dare from Lawrence-from a second-story window at Braebourne as a boy. He'd been trying to land in a nearby tree at the time and had actually succeeded until the limb he was standing on snapped and sent him plummeting to the ground. He'd dislocated his shoulder. Even now, he remembered the pain and how violently sick the laudanum had made him. He'd vowed never to take it again; the pain was far preferable.
He s.h.i.+fted, catching sight of the red stain beginning to form on the white cloth bandage wrapped neatly around his upper arm. His wound was seeping, exactly as the doctor told him it would.
There had been no bullet to dislodge, the shot a clean one that had gone straight through. Another few millimeters and the bullet would have hit bone, putting him at risk of losing his arm-or at least the use of it. As it was, the doctor had doused the wound with liberal amounts of fresh water, then brandy that had burned like fire. Now it was simply a matter of putting up with the discomfort until it healed.
The doctor had also recommended bleeding him, but Leo decided he'd already lost enough blood for one day and refused the treatment. He'd never held with the idea of letting blood to remove ill humors; he'd known far too many people weakened by the procedure, fatally so in the case of his late father.
Leo was drifting back into another shallow doze when the door latch gave a quiet snick. After the door closed again, a figure moved toward him, illuminated by the low candlelight. He peered through his lashes and saw a woman, but not just any woman. It was Thalia.
He closed his eyes again, his pulse gaining speed. He worked to regulate his breathing, drawing in her light floral scent. She stopped when she reached his bedside. Even with his eyes shut, he could sense her studying him.
By rights, he ought to be angry with her given everything that had happened. She'd tricked and manipulated him, stolen his clothes and put him in a situation that had resulted in his being shot.
But she'd also returned to find him, fearlessly faced down an armed brute of a man in his defense, then led him to safety. And she'd apologized.
Considering that, how could he be cross? If anything, he felt grat.i.tude and a grudging admiration. She was what was known in the vernacular as a formidable woman. Brave, resourceful and clever. And he liked her all the more for it.
She'd wanted to give him a disgust of her. But her gambit had failed, since he was more determined than ever to have her in his bed. She'd told him she didn't want him as a lover, but if that were true, then why was she here in his room-alone, at night? And in her dressing gown no less.
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