Page 22 of The Highwayman's Bite

Heat flooded Vivian’s face. How could he read her so easily? All the same, she was curious at the concept of a door within a cave, but the idea of fruitlessly poking at the barrier to freedom under Rhys’s knowing smirk was beyond humiliating.

She slumped back against the cave wall, full of impotent anger. “Well, I hope your wound becomes infected and you grow too weak to prevent us from searching for the key!”

His eyes widened in shock at her malicious words. Then he regained his devil-may-care composure. “If my wound festers, that means I shall most likely die. And it would be your fault as you’re the one who shot me. Are you quite certain you can handle having my death on your conscience?”

Vivian’s shoulders sank. The answer was a resounding no. However, she refused to give him that satisfaction. “Oh, just dig out the ball and bandage your arm and we’ll let God decide what trials I can endure.”

His eyes blazed with something akin to admiration. “And so I shall.” The confidence in his voice should have sounded foolish, yet it did not. Rhys withdrew a pair of scissors and bent to his task.

Vivian watched with morbid fascination as Rhys first cut away his sleeve until the wound was revealed in all its gruesome glory. Dark brown flecks of blood were spattered along his muscular forearm. She cringed to see such beauty damaged.

The bullet hole was a red ruin, clotted and revolting. Yet Vivian continued to watch, even when he dug the pliers into his flesh, searching for the ball. She had done this to him. It seemed cowardly to look away.

Fresh blood spurted and ran down his arm, and Rhys had to pause to staunch it with the fabric of the sleeve he’d cut off. His cocksure smile had vanished, lines of pain creasing the skin around his copper eyes.

Reluctant pity swelled Vivian’s heart at his obvious suffering. An apology nearly crept from her throat, but she bit it back. This wouldn’t have happened if he had not kidnapped her.

For a moment, the sight became too much, and she looked back up at Madame Renarde, who also watched the operation with an alarming pallor to her countenance. Yet there was a look of familiarity in the companion’s blue eyes. As if she’d seen bullets pried out of people’s bodies before. From what Madame Renarde had told Vivian about her past, it was likely that she had.

Her curiosity high, Vivian turned back to watch Rhys. He still hadn’t freed the bullet, and fresh blood oozed all over his arm. He groaned in agony as he wiggled the pliers from another angle. She could no longer cling to her belief that she’d been right to shoot him. Her heart ached with guilt and sympathy at his pain.

I’m sorry, she wanted to say, but the words lodged in the lump in her throat.

Finally, hissing through his teeth, Rhys pulled out a bloody lead ball and dropped it into a small metal tray with a clang. After he cleaned the wound with a cloth dipped in water from the basin, she thought he’d bandage his arm next, but instead, he took another pull on the bottle of laudanum and set the pliers aside, only to take a pair of tweezers from the box.

As he dug into the wound again, Vivian must have made some sort of noise, for Rhys paused and looked up at her. “If you are feeling squeamish, you should turn away. I do not want you casting up your accounts on my floor.”

She shook her head. “I am not so delicate.”

He arched on eyebrow. “Are you admiring your handiwork then?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I only...”

“Want to see that I come through all right?” he asked in a mocking tone. “Are you concerned for my fate now?”

Yes.She changed the subject. “Why are you still prodding your wound?”

He frowned at her evasion. “I am removing bits of fabric before my skin heals over them.”

She nodded in understanding. “That sounds practical.” Though surely that hole wasn’t going to mend overnight. Then she looked closer and blinked. For some reason, it appeared smaller. But that couldn’t be. Surely her worry had only made the wound look worse than it truly was.

Rhys picked at the hole more, depositing bits of wool in the tray that held the bullet. At last, he cleaned his wound one more time before wrapping the bandage around his arm. A measure of tension eased between Vivian’s shoulders. She hadn’t known she’d been so concerned.

Her fists clenched in her lap. She should be more concerned with escaping. Her teeth clenched in mute frustration as she observed that, despite having consumed enough laudanum to put down a horse, Rhys appeared to be perfectly alert, albeit quite pale.

He cleaned up his surgical instruments and changed into a fresh shirt from a trunk in the corner of the cave. Vivian bit back a gasp at the glimpses of his bare back and chest, and the planes of muscles kissed by the light of the lanterns. The view made her stomach flutter in the most alarming manner.

“Are you ladies hungry?” he asked in a courteous tone, as if he were their host and not their jailer.

Vivian wanted to refuse food on principle, but Madame Renarde spoke up. “Victuals would be most welcome, as you so rudely deprived us of the meal we would have received at the ball.”

Rhys nodded. “I am sorry about that.” He delved deeper into the cave and she heard a cabinet door opening. It was so dark back there. She wondered how he could see.

He emerged with a basket of scones and two plates. “I also have bread, cheese, and eggs. And I can put the kettle on for tea, unless you prefer wine.”

Vivian accepted her plate with a nod of thanks. “Cheese would be quite nice.”

“And wine,” Madame Renarde added. “The whole decanter.”

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