Page 20 of A Dream of Redemption
She remembered how his hard body felt against hers. How his mouth tasted of brandy and everything that was forbidden. How her body responded to his nearness. How her lips felt bruised by his, and most of all how much she longed for him to kiss her again.
As she threw his jacket onto the chair near his bed a loud clunk could be heard as something hit the floor.
“My key. Don’t lose my key.”
She looked at Clary in astonishment. He was worried about a stupid key rather than the fact someone had sliced him open. He tried to sit up so she quickly moved and picked up the key.
She fingered it. “What does the key open?”
“It’s the key to the accommodations your sister arranged for Simon and which I bought last year.”
She smiled but couldn’t help adding, “I thought it was the key to untold treasure the way you were worried about it.”
He licked his lips. “It’s the first key I’ve ever owned. This key was the first time I could claim a room as my own so no one could enter if I didn’t want them to.”
His soft words tore at her heart. “I have never had my own key either. I have always lived in my father’s house, which is now my brother’s house. I know it’s probably not the same as your situation, but I do understand, and I’ll make sure the key is kept safe for you,” and she slipped it back into the pocket of his jacket. “Now this may hurt but I have to get this shirt off you and slow the blood.”
She knew she should wait for Mary, or one of the other women—she was unmarried and this was scandalous—but time was of the essence and the others were exhausted after cleaning and looking after the children. Besides, she wanted to see the body he’d pressed against her.
Her heart felt like it would burst out of her chest it was beating so fast as she pulled the bottom of his shirt out of his trousers.Focus on his injury not his body.Slowly she dragged the material back and gasped at the sight of a long slice wound up the full length of his side. The cut was not deep but long. He would need quite a few stitches. It would hurt like hell to stitch too. This would require a very good surgeon. Her brother’s surgeon.
Just then, Mrs. Thorn swept in with towels and hot water. “Mary said you might need some help.” She took one look at the wound and her face grew ashen.
“Can you press some towels to the wound? I’m going to send Boon for my brother’s surgeon, and I need to write a note. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Don’t let anyone touch his wound without me being present.” She had visions of an incompetent surgeon making a mess of his stitches, which would leave a terrible scar and nothing so perfect should be marred. She knew from a few wounds Sebastian had received over the years that a good surgeon could be the difference between life or death—it appeared that cleanliness was very important to prevent infection too. However, she didn’t know how long it would take for Mr. Burton to arrive.
“There is no need. Richard will have sent for Blake.” Clary seemed adamant.
Both women turned toward the bed. “Who’s Blake?” she asked.
“A surgeon I have used before. He’s good. Not enough time for anyone else. He’s closer.”
Helen’s stomach knotted further at the thought of the pain Clary must be in. She didn’t know what to do. She wished Sebastian were here. He’d take care of everything. That thought made her straighten and take stock. She didn’t need her brother. She could do this.
“If you think he’s good we’ll use him.” She sat on the edge of the bed and lifted his head to let him drink the brandy. “Try to drink as much of this as possible. I wish we had some laudanum for the pain.”
“I have the purest opium available, and I’ll try to make Clary as comfortable as possible.”
Clary closed his eyes and let out a sigh.
She looked at the man who’d entered, trying to gauge how good he might be at his profession. He looked to be the same age as her brother. His dress indicated he must be good at his trade for the tweed of his jacket looked expensive. His hands were clean and nails tidy.
He gave her an amused smile. “Do I pass muster?”
“You can leave us, Lady Helen. Blake will stitch me fine.”
“I can help.”
Clary looked past her to Mrs. Thorn who immediately spoke up. “I’ll assist but I think it would be best if you went and made a strong cup of tea in the kitchen. It’s not a place for a young lady,” she ended sternly.
Helen wanted to argue. Wanted to tell them she wasn’t some delicate flower but the idea of seeing Clary in pain made her feel faint. Besides, she could tell Clary didn’t want her there.
“If you could go tear up some clean sheets into long strips and boil them in water for at least ten minutes that would be a help,” Blake said to her. “I’ll need them for bandages.”
Dismissed. Mrs. Thorn pushed her gently toward the door. She gave Clary one last look and prayed he’d be all right. He wasn’t looking at her. He was lying with his eyes closed and his fists gripping the bed. She closed the door after her and began to walk downstairs heading for the kitchen. The large house was quiet, with the children sleeping.
She wondered if this was her fault for having gone out on the streets. Did he blame her? She blamed herself. Boon could have warned Clary of the trap but she’d wanted to be there when the children were rescued. She hadn’t understood that it wasn’t a rescue mission. Foolish. She couldn’t bear to think what Marisa would say about all this, or the fact that it was her fault Clary lay wounded upstairs. What if he had died?
She’d almost finished boiling the torn sheets when the first cries rang out through the house—cursing the likes she’d never heard. She could hear them three floors down in the kitchen. She stopped stirring the sheets over the open fire, and made to go for the stairs but Mrs. Riley, one of the new matrons, stopped her. “Let the surgeon work. He’ll stop his cries soon. He’ll either faint or the doctor will give him more opium.” At Helen’s shocked look she added, “I helped after the battle at Waterloo. I lost my husband there.”
