Page 65 of To Love A Spy
“Not necessary,” replied Lynsley curtly. “Madame simply needs to lie down for a bit.” He took up the letters lying on the silver salver and started up the stairs without a backward glance.
That should set the servants to gossiping about what a hard, unfeeling man the American consul was.The French, for all their faults, always behaved with great gallantry toward a lady.
Closing the door to his own bedchamber, Lynsley leaned back against the heavy oak and squeezed his eyes shut.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
Hemustfind a way to get to Rochambert without using Valencia as bait. He had known it would be difficult, seeing her matching wits with her nemesis. But the full force of it had not hit him until now.
He realized his hands were shaking.Fear or fury?A little of both, he decided.
But logic must override all emotion. Ranting or raving accomplished nothing. It was far too late for dwelling on right and wrong. He must make the best of a bad situation.
The sounds of activity in the adjoining suite distracted him from his thoughts. He waited for the French servants to withdraw, before letting himself in Valencia’s chamber.
“Order a hot bath,” he snapped at her maid.
“Aye sir, I’ve done that,” said Perkins. She had already helped Valencia to lie down on the bed. Her mud stained gown had been stripped off and replaced by a light lawn nightrail and duvetcoverlet. Framed by the fringe of delicate lace, her face looked cold and pale as carved marble.
“Arnica salve will help with any inflammation,” he said softly. “And a tincture of laudanum will ease the pain.”
“I don’t need opium.” Valencia opened her eyes and tried to sit up, but the dullness in her eyes belied the assertion. “A strong draught of willowbark will be sufficient.”
“For god’s sake, Valencia, don’t try to be a hero.” Concern added a sharp edge to his voice. “Lie still and rest.”
“I will send one of the servants to the apothecary,” said Perkins in a low voice.
“Don’t fuss over me, Thomas,” added Valencia, mustering a show of her usual spirit. She drew in a deep breath. “You may leave me to Perkins. I assure you, I will be up and ready for duty in the morning.”
“The hell you will.”
Her jaw set. “It’s just a twisted muscle. Trust me, I suffered through this sort of injury before and know how to handle it.”
Lynsley hesitated, loath to sap her strength by arguing.
“It always seems bad at the beginning, but with a good night’s rest I will be fine.”
He turned to retreat to his room. “Let us do our best to avoid any more unfortunate accidents.”
“It wasn’t an accident,” she replied. “I was pushed.”
Chapter Sixteen
Aflash of steel, quick as a cobra’s strike . . . she tried to spin away but her own movements seemed pitifully slow. The blade bit into her flesh, the pain of it hot and pulsing . . .
Valencia awoke with a small cry, her limbs twisted in the bedsheets, her heart thudding hard against her ribs. Sweat dampened her hair and her nightrail was tangled around her knees.
“It’s alright.” A hand, cool and calming, touched her brow. “You were having a bad dream.”
She struggled to sit up.Damn.The dream didn’t usually lie. No matter how many times she refought the Frenchman, she always ended up lying in a spreading pool of her own blood, the piercing pain in her leg so fierce that it brought tears to her eyes.
Even though a warrior never wept.
The ache, however, was worse than normal tonight. The scar throbbed as she groped for the sheet twisted around her limb. She must have been thrashing in her sleep, hoping against all hope that this time a knight in shining armor might ride to her rescue?—
“Here, let me help you.” The deep, familiar voice cut through the haze of hurt. Lynsley gently unwound the knotted linen. “Feeling better?”
He was sitting in a chair by her bed, his chiseled features softened by the night shadows.
