Page 28 of The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton
SEVEN
“So the old goat refused you, eh? I thought we had long concluded our lessons on finesse.”
Rayne watched the ten-inch cream-and-brown-striped gecko creep up the length of his friend’s arm. She perched on his shoulders, her broad flattened head turned in Rayne’s direction, blatantly studying him.
“Considering your recent taste in companions, at least we can categorize mine as human.”
As Rayne listened to his slightly older friend and mentor Dr. Sir Wallace Brogden’s hearty chuckle, it might have been easy to dismiss the signs of illness. However, Rayne’s abilities of keen observation were heightened by years of training. Where the casual observer might see lines of age in the thirty-two-year-old physician, Rayne knew they were carved by weeks, if not months, of intense pain. Brogden’s occasional slurred words were the result of not an afternoon at his favorite club but rather a liberal dosing of Thebaic tincture. Rayne leaned closer, without being obvious. His friend’s breath smelled faintly alcoholic and distinctly putrid.
The gecko adjusted her footing, then opened her mouth. A loud clicking sound disrupted the quiet. “Apala is as sensitive as any two-legged female.” Brogden stroked his pet. “There, there, sweet.”
“It appears I have been lost without your guidance these last five years. Perhaps you should remain in England for your recuperation. My courting blunders shall be your entertainment,” Rayne said lightly, staring at his own reflection within pupils so dilated there was only a thin circle of brown.
“Ha! Indeed I well an’ should, my friend. Though I can’t recall you having much trouble with the ladies when we sailed together on theGriffin’s Claw.” Brogden grimaced, trying to conceal his reaction by coughing into the back of his hand. “Insatiable bastard,” he affectionately muttered.
“Jealous?”
“As ever!”
Rayne grinned. The memory of a sultry night in Bombay, a stolen cask of rum, and three very creative and willing women silently replayed in their minds. “English ladies are different.”
“You sadly aren’t meeting the right ones, Mr. Tipton.” Brogden wiped the moisture from his red-rimmed eyes. “Maybe I should give up my travels and show you how to really play with these honey-water-sweetened darlings.”
Seizing the opening, Rayne gestured to the leg Wallace had concealed with an artfully draped shawl. “If you plan to chase the ladies then we had better have a look at that leg.”
Brogden blinked in dull surprise. “How did I give myself away? Most don’t notice. I usually arrange myself in this chair before I receive my callers.”
“I credit myself as having had a most excellent teacher,” Rayne said kindly. Without asking, he removed the shawl and tossed it to the floor. Dragging a medium-sized mahogany case he had stowed under a nearby chair, he removed a pair of scissors. Competent hands gently cut away the dressing without disturbing the wound it protected.
Brogden sipped from the cup he held loosely in his hand. “So you are satisfied with this life you have made for yourself here?”
“I am content. Still I would—” He sucked in his breath as he peeled back the old dressing. “By God, Wallace, are you trying to kill yourself?” He stood, walking to the other side of the room to ring for a servant.
“As bad as that?” Brogden peeled off the suction-toed lizard from his neck.
“Bloody bad enough to amputate, you stubborn arse!”
A tired-looking housemaid entered the room. “Ye rang, sir?”
“Your master is ill. Tell Cook to keep a kettle over the hearth. I need plenty of hot water and clean linens to bind his leg.”
“I’ll see to the task personally, sir!” She disappeared as quietly as she had entered.
“I won’t lose the leg, Rayne.”
He could see Wallace’s resolve was as flexible as a fifty-gun frigate with a broken rudder. Deliberately, Rayne rolled his shoulders, prepared to battle. “What good are two legs when you will be a corpse within a month?”
Brogden took a deep breath. He slowly blew it out. “Insolent, wet-eared scold. I know my business.”
To irritate him Rayne silently raised a questioning brow and reached into his case for a small pair of forceps. He only got a response when he confiscated his friend’s cup.
“Give me that!”
He ignored the command, concentrating instead on his task.
Choosing to gaze anywhere but at his injured leg, Brogden said, “It was a monkey bite, you know. ’Bout two months ago. Damn beast was someone’s pet.”
“Mmm.”
