Page 67 of The Texan Duke
“Don’t go.”
She looked up at Mr. Kirby. “He wants me to stay.”
“Nonsense,” the Duchess of Lothian said. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Of course she’d come into the room. Elsbeth didn’t even turn. She wasn’t going to argue, not now. This wasn’t the time or the place.
The duchess, however, was not accustomed to being ignored. When Elsbeth didn’t respond, she merely issued a command.
“You’re not needed, Elsbeth. Be on your way.”
Mrs. Ferguson glanced at her across Connor’s body.
Elsbeth interpreted the look as a warning. Perhaps a year ago she would have acted differently, but what did she have to lose now? She knew she was going to leave Bealadair. It wasn’t as if she needed to curry the duchess’s favor anymore. It was only a matter of time until she made her departure.
She turned her head and looked beyond Mr. Kirby to where the duchess stood.
“The duke wishes me to stay,” she said. There, let that sink in. His Grace wished her to remain. His wishes were more important than Rhona’s.
“Texan.”
She glanced at Connor to see that he’d opened his eyes and was looking at her.
“I beg your pardon?”
He closed his eyes again without answering her.
“He called you a Texan, Miss Carew.”
She glanced over at Mr. Kirby. “Why would he do a thing like that?”
“I believe he meant it as a compliment,” Mr. Kirby said, smiling down at her. “I sure would take it like that.”
Mrs. Ferguson braced herself on the mattress with her left hand. In her gnarled fingers she held a long pair of tweezers. Elsbeth said a quick prayer that the housekeeper’s arthritis wouldn’t prevent her from doing what she needed to do and quickly.
“I’m ready to remove the bullet, but it’s important that you hold him still. He mustn’t move.”
“I think Mr. Kirby would be better at this,” she said.
The housekeeper made an impatient sound. “You’ve never been missish, Elsbeth. I heard the story of you helping a goat give birth. And what about the time you set Jed’s arm?”
“Both of those were emergency situations and there wasn’t anyone around to help. This is entirely different. Mr. Kirby would be stronger, don’t you think, and able to hold Connor down if he moves.”
“You’re doing fine, Miss Carew.” Mr. Kirby reached over and patted her on the shoulder. “He won’t move as long as you’re here.”
“Don’t flatter her too much, Sam,” Connor said, his eyes still closed. “She was a harpy at the ruins.”
She frowned at him. How dare he say such a thing about her, especially in front of all these people? She wasn’t going to turn and look at Rhona. She could just imagine the duchess’s expression.
She placed one hand on his wrist, the other on his left shoulder. Did he have any inkling that, until this afternoon, she’d never touched a man’s chest? Or that it was scandalous that she was looking at it now?
Mrs. Ferguson leaned over Connor, probed at the wound with the nasty-looking tweezers, and then sank them deep into his flesh.
Connor didn’t move. His expression didn’t change. Only the hiss of his breath indicated that he was in pain.
“He’s being stalwart and brave because you’re here,” Mr. Kirby said, leaning down and whispering to her. “He doesn’t want you to think he’s a coward.”
“I’m not a coward,” Connor said, his voice faint. “If you’re going to insult me, Sam, at least make it a halfway decent insult.”
