Page 13 of Lady of Charade
On that note, without providing him a moment within which he could offer a retort, she let herself out the door, laughing as she began walking down the Cheapside street.
* * *
David couldn’t helpbut chuckle at the cheeky woman. She was certainly an enigma. On the surface, she was quiet, gentle, and unassuming. How many times had he likely passed her by at a social event and not even taken note? Yet now that he had, he could hardly think of any other woman. She had a quiet strength about her, and it seemed a sense of humor as well. She attended social events of theton, and yet apparently lived here, in these dingy rented rooms. He wasn’t entirely sure where they were, but from the bustle of noise outside the door and the bells of what sounded like St. Paul’s in the distance, if he had to guess they were in Cheapside, which was respectable enough — better than some of the other options, at least, though far from the world in which he had been raised.
And she was a healer, which made no sense to him at all. He had heard of midwives and the sort, but most of the people he knew preferred to see physicians. How in the world would she have picked up her knowledge?
Now that she had departed, his distraction gone, he found that the pain became much worse. He eyed the brown bottle beside the bed, not entirely sure he trusted it. His hesitation increased when he opened it and smelled the contents, which nearly caused him to gag. That, however, caused his chest to ache, and so he finally submitted and took a spoonful of what he determined was laudanum, washing it down with the rest of the water in the glass beside him.
The last thing he could recall until he woke sometime later was the image of a shotgun propped against the wall beside him. He had stared at it curiously, until his eyelids closed despite his best efforts and he fell into a dreamless sleep.
The opening of the door woke him, and when he sat up in bed, he could see Miss Jones struggling to open the exterior door while carrying apparently heavy baskets. He attempted to leap up to help her, but his body seemed to be holding him back.
“Stay where you are,” she commanded, shutting the door behind her. “Thankfully, I found what I needed.”
She worked quickly, efficiently, storing what she needed and preparing her potions on the table in the middle of the room.
“You’re a witch,” he said before thinking about what he was saying, hoping she wasn’t insulted. She turned with one eyebrow quirked.
“I have been called that before,” she said. “My mother received far worse by others — until they found themselves in need of her skills.”
“She was a healer as well?” he asked as Sarah approached the bed, her arms full of nasty smelling paste. Why did it all have to be so putrid?
“She was,” she said softly, and David sensed her mother had passed, so he said nothing further on the subject, for the moment at least. Miss Jones set everything she required on the small table beside the bed, before leaning over him and beginning to remove a couple of bandages.
Despite the smell of the potion she had placed next to him — which contained a great deal of vinegar, if he was not mistaken — when she leaned over him, he could smell her as well, as a tendril of escaped hair tickled his nose, her fresh scent of orange and lavender filling his nostrils. It reminded him of Clarence’s warning to stay away from her — which made him laugh. Of all the doorsteps in all of London, hers was the one he had ended up on, and in the sorriest state of affairs.
“Are you not concerned about your reputation?” he asked suddenly, then, and she began to shake her head, but before she could say anything she bit her lip, concern filling her eyes as she stared down at him.
“Damn it,” she muttered, the curse surprising him, though he was more focused on the fact that she was staring at his open wound.
“Something troubling you?” he asked, purposefully keeping his tone light.
“This wound… it’s not looking as healthy as I’d like,” she said. “Hopefully I’m not too late and can, at the very least, keep it from festering.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” he said, as much for his own peace of mind, but she shook her head, picking up the bottle she had mixed.
“This might hurt,” she said, and seconds later was pouring the contents of it on the wound, causing him to cry out in shock at the pain it caused. “I’m sorry,” she said, pressing a cloth hard upon it. “But it will be far better than a worrying infection.”
He nodded, attempting to find his breath, but his lungs appeared to have been melted by the vinegar potion she poured on him.
Thankfully she soon packed a clean cloth, wet with likely some other concoction, upon the wound, and then covered it with yet another bandage.
“Sleep,” she decreed, and despite his best efforts not to, he did as she commanded.
* * *
Sarah was worried.This entire situation was now completely out of her control. Not only was an unattached man, a renowned rake at that, asleep in her bed, but he had a concerning wound and a head injury. They were treatable, but she was unsure if she should do as he wished, or if she should go ahead and contact someone. She would normally tell Elizabeth or Phoebe of such a thing, but they, of course, would tell their husbands, whom Mr. Redmond had expressly decided he did want to be aware of this situation. Were Julia here, she would speak to her, but she was with her husband, a jockey, on a racetrack somewhere else in England.
Sarah stared down at Mr. Redmond now, who was sleeping once more. She began to clean up behind her as she determined her next course of action. Once he awoke, she would convince him that he must, at the very least, contact his family to put them at peace that all was well. Were they not worried regarding his whereabouts?
He stirred in his sleep, and Sarah placed a hand against his forehead, finding it warm. She frowned, wet a cloth, and sat next to him, attempting to ignore the feel of his slightly heated skin through the muslin of her dress as she accidentally slumped against him on the uneven mattress. She lifted a hand to bring the cloth to his forehead, but as she did so she gasped when he reached out, grasping her wrist in a strong grip. Before she knew what was happening, his other arm wrapped around back, pulled her in close, and her lips were pressed against his.
Sarah was so shocked she had no idea how to respond. She should likely push away from him, but his lips upon hers were exactly what her body yearned for, as he expertly kissed her, coaxing her mouth open before she even knew what he was doing. His tongue teased hers, and with a groan Sarah gave in, responding to him in equal measure. Then his hand left her wrist, running down her back to cup the curve of her hip, and reason flooded in through Sarah’s consciousness. She pushed back away from him, stepping away from the bed so quickly she nearly stumbled.
This was a patient. A man who was slightly feverish and not in his right mind. She had taken advantage of the situation, spending far too much time admiring him and enjoying his closeness, and now guilt rushed through her. She took one breath, then another, and then turned to the door. She needed a walk, some time out of this room and away from the man who wouldn’t leave her thoughts.
* * *
