Page 44 of The Major's Mistake
Julian gritted his teeth as Angus began winding the cloth snugly around his injured middle. The big groom paused once or twice to work the ribs back in place, drawing an involuntary grunt.
“Give me fair warning if ye are going to cast up yer accounts again,” he muttered, still poking at the Marquess’s side. “I don’t have another clean shirt until wash day.”
“I shall try—though I imagine that vile stuff you fed me comes up a great deal easier than it went down.”
Angus gave another slight grin as he finished tying off the end of the linen. “Aye, but it served its purpose.”
Julian was indeed feeling a bit lightheaded and the pain seemed to have dulled slightly.
The other man straightened up. “You are sure ye do not wish to go on up to the manor house?”
“No, I’ve made enough of a cake of myself for one night,” he replied in a voice barely above a whisper.
Angus’s head jerked in the direction of the back of the barn. “Well, ye might as well come along with us, then. There’s an extra cot in our room.”
The Marquess hesitated. “You needn’t put yourselves out. The straw is quite fine.”
A decided glint of humor flashed in the groom’s eyes. “Aye, but there’s another jug of whiskey in the back.”
“Ah, well in that case, lead on.”
Eleven
The thin horsehair mattress felt as luxurious as the finest eiderdown to Julian’s bruised body. He sat on the edge of the cot, his long legs stretched out before him, while Jem searched for an extra blanket.
“This is all we have,” There was a tinge of embarrassment in his voice, for a brisk shake of the folded bedding had sent a shower dust and bits of hay wafting through the air. “You are welcome to mine instead,” he added shyly. “But I fear it’s not in much better condition, Your … Your Lordship.”
The marquess wished to allay any awkwardness over his sharing their humble quarters. “You can stubble the fancy titles and such rot, lad. Sterling is fine, if you wish to call me anything at all.” His mouth quirked in a self deprecating smile. “After all, you’ve seen I can be knocked on my arse as easily as any other man.”
Jem looked quite relieved, as if he had half expected the marquess to climb up on a high horse now that tempers had cooled.
“And the blanket is more than adequate.” He glanced over at Angus. “I trust your offer of another jug still stands?
After the whiskey had made several rounds, the mood had loosened considerably, as had their tongues. Jem soon lost his initial reticence and began to pepper the marquess with questions about his stallion and whether he had ever attended the races at Newmarket, for as well as being army-mad, the lad was even keener on horses.
Julian was more than happy to oblige with a detailed description of things that had the young groom’s eyes glazed with longing.
“If you like,” he added, “Perhaps I might arrange with my aunt for you to visit my estate during race week. My man Sykes attends near every day and would be happy to show you the sights.”
Jem stammered a near incoherent thanks at the generous offer. Then, emboldened by a good deal more whiskey than he was used to imbibing, he regarded his own stockinged feet then the Marquess’s polished Hessians, now slightly the worse for wear, and ventured another sort of question. “Ain’t you going to take off your boots to sleep, or does Quality always wear ‘em to bed?”
Julian turned away and appeared to be studying the knots in the rough pine wall by his side. “I can’t,” he finally answered in a tight voice.
The young groom turned crimson at realizing his unwitting gaffe and his eyes made a mute appeal to Angus for what to do.
Without a word, Angus put aside the jug and went over to the marquess’s side, where it took him no more than a few moments to gently ease first one than the other boot off. He placed them side by side next to the cot and returned to his own place, coolly taking up the jug as if nothing had happened. Before Julian could say a thing, he asked a quick question about the grey filly’s lineage, and the awkward moment was past.
As Julian was in the middle of his explanation, a sharp rap came at the door.
All three heads jerked around.
“Angus? Jem? Are you there?” demanded a female voice. “Is something wrong?”
Julian’s eyes pressed closed. “Hell’s teeth,” he muttered.
“The marquess’s horse is saddled but is still in its stall,” continued Miranda. “What has happened to His Lordship?”
Angus looked at Julian and lifted his brows in question.
