Page 47 of The Viscount and the Vicar's Daughter
She rushed to the oven and stepped on a shard of the busted pottery. “Ow!”
“Blast it, Viola!” He scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the parlor. “Sit here and do not move! I’ll take care of your precious tarts. Mrs. Bligh, fetch me a clean cloth and the strongest spirits you can find. Whiskey is best, if you have it. Otherwise, rum or brandy.”
Viola was still frowning at him. “You are going to drink?”
“No, I am going to clean your foot so it does not get infected. I’ll be right back.” He strode to the kitchen to remove her tarts since she would slay him if they wound up burnt because of him. After removing them, he spotted the broom in a corner and quickly swept up, leaving the shards in a neat corner for Mrs. Bligh to dispose of later.
He did not know how to shut off the oven or whether it should be shut off, so he left that chore for Mrs. Bligh as well.
He then returned to Viola, who must have been in pain or else she would have been hopping up and down like a little frog. “Let’s tend that foot.”
He knelt beside her, removed her slipper, and plucked out the large shard stuck in the sole.
He then placed Viola’s foot across his thigh. Since Mrs. Bligh had not yet returned with the requested supplies, he used his handkerchief to wipe away the trickle of blood.
Fortunately, there was not very much of it.
She was blushing again, for he had a hand on her bare calf to hold her foot steady. “I want you to leave once you finish tending to me.”
He glanced up from his ministrations. “No.”
“No?”
“You heard me. I am going to carry you upstairs once I am done. Mrs. Bligh will escort me to make certain nothing improper goes on between the two of us. Not that there is even a remote possibility of it. You have flour all over your hair and face. Your eyes are bloodshot and your eyelids are so heavy, you can barely hold them open. Not to mention, your foot is still bleeding. You are about as tempting as a rock.”
That was an outright lie.
She was insanely adorable and he wanted the world to disappear so he could be alone with her and kiss her senseless.
Now she was crying.
He groaned. “Oh, don’t do that.”
“I can’t help it.”
His sigh of relief was audible as Mrs. Bligh hurried back in carrying a clean, damp cloth, a bottle of brandy, and bandages. “Thank you,” he muttered, and immediately set about to work on cleansing her foot. “This will sting a bit, Miss Ruskin. But only for a moment. I’ll work fast.”
Mrs. Bligh watched him. “She takes on too much. Poor thing, I’ve told her time and again that she must not try to do it all by herself. But does she listen to me?”
Alexander nodded. “She does not listen to me, either.”
Viola frowned at him. “I had everything in hand and was doing just fine before you stomped in.”
Mrs. Bligh gasped. “Is that any way to talk to his lordship?”
She sniffled. “I suppose not, but I don’t care. What can he do to me? Have me drawn and quartered? That will have to wait until after his house party since it will be a complete disaster without my cooking to elevate it.”
“Oh, dear. I think you ought to stop talking now, Miss Viola. My lord, she doesn’t mean a word of it.”
He cast the woman a wry smile. “I’m sure she means every word, but it is all right. Everything she has said is true. I am not angry. I know she is overworked and overset at the moment. I will not have her drawn and quartered just yet.”
“Thank you, my lord. That is very good of you. Oh, I hear the ladies starting to arrive. Let me attend to them.” Mrs. Bligh lumbered to the kitchen. He heard her conversing with the ladies as she handed them their bowls and dough.
“Where is Viola?” one of them asked.
“She tripped over her stool and hurt her foot. His lordship happened to be passing by and I summoned him over to help. He was in the war, you know. He knows how to tend these sort of injuries.”
To his ears, the women seemed genuinely concerned about Viola. Well, everyone liked her. It was little wonder. She was always one of the first to lend assistance. But she looked completely spent now, barely able to keep her eyes open. This had nothing to do with his own stupidity in licking her finger and setting off this chain of events. Working herself to the point of exhaustion was her way of denying anything was wrong with her father or that she was about to lose him.
