Page 19 of Mending the Baron's Sins
“Sleepwalking will hardly do you any good, my lord,” she said with a small smile.
He flinched. That was her true voice, not an imagined one.
“What… what are you doing here?” he managed to whisper, blinking against the blurriness as she moved away, placing the candle on the mantelpiece nearby.
“Colm is in town. He asked me to attend to you whenever you may have a need of me, even in the dead of night.”
“Most women would have run away by now.” He gestured to the door. “Alone with a man in his chamber?”
“In case you hadn’t noticed.” She crouched down in front of him, inconveniently offering him a view of the cleavage over her sage green gown. He groaned aloud, though she didn’t take much heed of him. “You are in no fit state to be inappropriate, are you? Now, come. Give me your arm and I will help you to your feet.”
“You’re small like a doll,” he whispered. “I’d break you.”
He was thinking of other things again. In bed, he was a passionate lover. At least, he used to be. Someone so small and delicate in build, so alluring, he may indeed hurt with his passion. He couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her.
“I’m stronger than I look.” Her face swam into focus again as she winked at him. “Now, give me your arm.”
He reached up a little, still nervous of doing as she asked, though he wasn’t in a state to argue. She took his arm and pulled it over her shoulders. He dug his bare heels down into the floorboards and pressed up.
It was no pretty thing. Ungainly, lanky, and in danger of falling over many times. He made a fool of himself, but she eventually managed to steer him to the nearest armchair and he fell down in.
“Laudanum,” he pleaded. “That’s what I need now.”
“Hmm.” She stood before him, her hands fidgeting madly. He wiped his head again.
“I’m in pain, Orla. Please, help me.”
“I know. I wish to help you.” She sat down on a footstool in front of him, those rosy cheeks pinker than ever before. “But I cannot help thinking you are too dependent on the substance. I may be a woman, my Lord, someone you do not think should be practicing medicine–”
“I never said that.” He didn’t have the capacity or wherewithal to argue with her now. “But I need it. I need it now.” His voice trembled with the words.
Horace was sure she would argue with him again. Everything he knew about Orla showed strength. Even vivacity. She would argue, and he would have to fight to get what he really needed, even when he was this desperate. He prepared to beg and plead with her, when she suddenly nodded and retreated to her bag at the side of the room.
He leaned forward in the chair, moving as best as he could to watch her.
Orla was fully dressed, with a loose shawl around her shoulders. She had to have dressed in a rush though, for her long dark hair was falling out of the updo she had thrust it up into within a few seconds’ notice. He had an errant idea of running his fingers through those dark locks, then cursed himself and looked away again.
Orla prepared the mixture in a vial and sat down before him again, pushing it forward into his grasp. Their fingers brushed together. The warmth of her touch practically had him trembling, though he clamped down on the feeling. He was about to raise the vial to his lips when he saw a twitch in her cheeks. It was momentary, marring her beautiful features, but it was enough to make him hesitate.
Slowly, he lowered the vial to the arm of the chair, watching as her eyes widened.
“What would you suggest instead of this?” he asked, his voice gruff.
“Are you looking for an argument?” she said, deepening her tone. “Or do you truly wish to know?”
“Truly.” He glanced at the vial in his hand. “Yet I am in pain, Orla. I need something for it.”
“Then there are things we can do to help.” Without any more suggestions, she was on her feet. She took the vial from his hand and returned it to the bag.
Horace’s fingers opened and closed as he wondered whether he was doing the right thing.
Orla returned a second later, stirring something in another vial, and pressed it toward him. This vial smelled infinitely more herbal than the latter. He kept it hovered under his nose for a minute, inhaling the scent.
“What is this?”
“Herbs,” she answered, returning to her seat in front of him. “I can tell you what they are, or you can trust me and drink them.”
“And these herbs are magic, are they? They will transform me.”
