Page 47 of The Major's Mistake
“That still looks rather raw. I have a salve that may help. I shall send it to Mr. Sykes on the morrow.” Her fingers began to run mechanically over the rough twist of bandage, though her gaze remained riveted on the deep scar cutting across his breast. Julian’s face remained averted from hers, its expression hidden in the shadows. Even so, the rigid set of his shoulders gave hint as to the state of his emotions.
“This seems adequate for the moment,” she allowed after a bit. Leaning back, she closed up his shirt and made a show of straightening up her supplies. “Come along now, sir.”
That caused his head to jerk around in surprise. “What?”
Miranda looked taken aback. “Why, you can’t think I would allow you to stay here.”
“Why not?”
“Because you would be a good deal more comfortable in one of Aunt Sophia’s guest rooms.”
It was a most reasonable answer but his mouth took on a mulish set as his eyes dropped to the floor. “I prefer to remain where I am.”
All of a sudden she seemed to sense that more than his body had taken a beating. Her expression took on a pensive look as she thought for a moment. “Please sir, it is I who would feel a good deal more comfortable if you come with me. I should not wish to think of you out here in the chill with naught but a thin blanket and a hard cot.”
His jaw tightened.
“Besides, what if there arises a problem with those ribs?” she added quickly, then shook her head. “No, if you insist on remaining here, then I shall have to stay close by as well. I imagine Jem can fetch a chair so that I may sit outside the door.”
Julian let out a sigh of resignation. “Very well,” he growled. However his brow creased slightly as his eyes darted from his stockinged feet to his boots.
“Jem, help Lady Miranda gather her things, while I give His Lordship a hand with his coat—no doubt those ribs make it nigh impossible to lift an arm,” said Angus, rising quickly to his feet.
The young groom jumped to obey his words, and amid the bustle, Angus made short work of slipping the marquess’s Hessians back on. As he assisted Julian up and helped him don his outer garment, their eyes met and the marquess gave a slight nod of thanks.
The other man merely blinked then stepped aside as Miranda came around to take hold of Julian’s arm.
She lifted the lantern and smiled warmly at her two grooms. “I trust the night will pass with no further mishaps. I shall fetch the basket in the morning.” With that, she turned and nudged the marquess into a slow shuffle towards the door.
As the beam of light bobbed in slow progress through the darkness, Jem thrust his hands into the pockets of his breeches. He slanted a sideways look at his companion.
“It’s strange—he don’t appear to be half so bad as we figured.”
Angus didn’t answer for a bit, his eyes still following the two silhouettes in the flickering light. “Hmmm,” he murmured. “Strange, indeed.”
Jem scratched thoughtfully at his chin. “I don’t rightly understand—he treated Lady Miranda so cruelly in the past, yet he seems to … to?—”
Angus cut off his musings with a stern look. “Well, it ain’t none of yer business to be mulling on yer betters,” he chided. “Nor mine. It’s best ye leave off thinking on it.” But the purse of his lips showed he was far from ready to heed his own advice.
Julian muffleda groan as he lowered himself onto the edge of soft mattress.
Miranda eyed him with concern. “I shall get you a draught for the pain as soon as I see you settled.”
He leaned forward, taking his head in his hands. “If you wish to do me a kindness, you will simply leave me be, Miranda. I have no need of draughts or salves or potions. I merely want to try and get some sleep.” His mouth quirked in a rueful grimace. “And try to forget about what a bloody fool I must appear.”
Miranda couldn’t repress a slight smile. “Well, if it is any consolation, you actually seem to have won over a new admirer. Jem was quite impressed with your showing. He couldn’t stoprattling on about how he hadn’t seen anyone stand up to Angus in a mill, and that the outcome was rather in doubt until you had the misfortune to slip.” She knelt down as she was speaking and began to ease the coat from his shoulders. “Horses,” she said softly. “What fustian! However, I do wonder what on earth could spark such a quarrel between you and Angus.” Her brow rose in question.
Julian clamped his jaw shut.
“Men,” she muttered again, tossing aside the finely tailored garment. “I’ve laid out a clean shirt that I borrowed from Wells.” Without pause, she began gently working off his boots.
“Miranda—”
They fell to the floor with a clatter. Her fingers started with the lacing at knees of his riding breeches.
“Miranda!” There was a note of rising panic in his voice. “Don’t?—”
It was too late. She had already peeled back the soft buckskin to expose the injury to his leg.
