Page 66 of The Major's Mistake
“I’m glad you came,” said Julian.
There was no mistaking the sincerity in his voice, or the warmth of the smile that had spread over his face. She stopped in some confusion, still unable to meet his eyes.
Sykes made another sound in his throat. “I had best go check on how Cook is coming with the, er, gruel for your supper, guv.”
Miranda spun around. “But Mr. Sykes?—”
He was already gone.
The smile was still on Julian’s lips when she turned back. “Well, now that I am here, sir, I had best have a look at how your leg is healing.”
Julian’s mouth crooked at the corners. “Sir?” he repeated softly. “Is it back to ‘sir’ and ‘Your Lordship’? The last time we spoke, you called me Julian.”
Her color deepened. “I … wasn’t thinking properly.”
“Then I should wish your thoughts to remain in a whirl.”
There was no fear on that score, she admitted to herself. Had the man any idea how devastatingly handsome he looked when he smiled like that?
Good Lord, she knew it had been a mistake to come.
“And how is Justin?” he added after a moment.
Grateful for the change of subject, she answered quickly. “He is quite fine, and wishes me to tell you that … he misses you.”
“I miss him as well.” Julian unaccountably turned to look out the window again. “Tell me, he has no lingering effects from his experience? No nightmares or such? It must have been a very frightening thing for a child to see his mother taken.”
Her lips quirked. “On the contrary. He was not afraid at all. He told Aunt Sophia that since you had promised him that you would see me safe, there was no reason to worry.”
Julian found himself blushing like a schoolroom miss just paid her first flowery compliment, and felt nearly as giddy. “Did he?”
Miranda withdrew a square of paper from her pocket, smoothed out its folds and placed it on his lap. “That is you,” she said, pointing at the lop-sided stick figure drawn in colored chalk perched atop an odd tan blob. “And that is Zeus, in case you have trouble recognizing your gallant steed, galloping to the rescue.”
The marquess’s jaw worked as he stared at the exuberant scrawls. For a moment, he wondered whether he was going to disgrace himself with a rather unmanly show of emotion.
Miranda moved a chair closer to the side of the massive carved bed. “Now, about that leg.” She turned down the covers, exposing a good deal of his long, muscled limbs, and hesitantly turned the nightshirt up above his knees.
He sucked in his breath at her gossamer touch. Now he feared the danger might be that he would disgrace himself with a show of emotion that was decidedly not unmanly.
With great care, she gently undid the bandages and began to inspect the wound. Her fingers probed along the line of sutures, then ran over the small area of swelling. “Well,” she said after a bit. “Mr. Sykes was right to notice the slight inflammation, but it’s nothing to be overly concerned about. The salve I have brought should remedy the matter.” Her hand remained on his thigh, while she took hold of his knee and bent it slightly. “How does this feel?”
“Hardly a twinge. In fact, I daresay I’m ready to be on my feet again.”
“I should not like you to rush things, but I suppose you may be permitted to try a few steps in another day or two.”
She made to move away but his hand covered hers.
“I haven’t had a chance to thank you. Sykes told me what you did that night. I would have lost my leg, if not my life, were it not for your skill,” he said softly.
“Neither your leg nor your life would not have been in danger had you not come after me. It is I who owe the thanks. You needn’t have taken such a risk. I … I never expected it.”
An inscrutable expression flitted across his lean features. “No,” he said in a low whisper. “I’ve given you no reason to think I’d do aught but turn my back on you in a time of need.”
The very nearness of him—the heat emanating through the fine cotton fabric, the faint scent of bay rum, the strong touch of his lithe fingers—along with his strange words had thrown her into a state of even greater confusion. She managed to slip her hand out from under his and stood up abruptly.
“That leg must be rebandaged, milord. Has Mr. Sykes left any linen about?”
Julian’s brows came together slightly at her choice of address. “On the dressing table, I believe.”
