“Thank you, Dr. Bradburn,” Darius said as the man bandaged his arm tight with strips of cloth.
“No bathing this arm for a few days. Change the dressing once a day, and soak the wounds in brandy or scotch if it starts to feel too hot or look too red. You’ll have some scars, but nothing too terrible, I should think.”
“No worse than any of the other scars,” Darius said with a chuckle.
The surgeon studied Darius. “How are you feeling? The leg still giving you trouble?”
“Not as much. Perhaps more on the days it storms.”
“Possibly because of barometric pressure. I believe that one’s body fluids and muscle tissues can be affected by changes in the pressure in the atmosphere.”
“Interesting.” Darius touched his bad leg absently. It was a habit he’d developed since the injury. He was more than a little relieved that his leg hadn’t given in during the fight at the confectioner’s shop.
“May I ask what caused today’s injuries?” Bradburn packed up his materials in his black leather medical satchel.
“A minor disagreement with a few gentlemen who were anything but,” he said evasively. His felt renewed rage as he’d remembered Meredith telling him what those men had said, what they had wanted of her. “We made a mess of Gunter’s.”
“The flavored ice shop? I hope some of it’s still standing. I rather like their cinnamon and clove pastries.”
“I will be paying for the damages.” Darius flexed his left hand, testing the strength of the wrappings around his forearm. They held fast. “Allow me to see you out.”
He followed the surgeon into the corridor and escorted him to the entryway, where Mr. Chelsea handed him his hat and coat.
“Thank you again.” He shook hands with the surgeon and Chelsea escorted him out.
The townhouse was deathly quiet as Darius climbed the stairs and headed for Meredith’s bedchamber. Her door was closed. He lingered in front of it for a long moment before he finally decided to knock.
No one answered. He opened the door, whispering Meredith’s name. She lay on her bed, curled up in a ball, facing away from him.
“Meredith, sweetheart,” he said a little more loudly.
“Please go away,” she replied in a raspy voice that suggested she’d been crying for some time.
His answer was as brief as it was absolute. “No.”
His response tore a half-sob, half-laugh from her. He stepped inside and closed the door. Dusk was settling on the garden outside, and the muted light was a mix of purple and deep rose. The window was open, and a flowing breeze teased the air with hints of wildflowers. Something tight and painful in his chest eased when he breathed in that scent.
Darius came around the far side of the bed to see Meredith. Her face still shone with drying tracks of tears, her nose was red and her eyes puffy. Yet she looked beautiful to him. She always did. But he hated that she had cried, and that he was at least partly responsible for it.
He sat down on the bed beside her. “Do you want to hear something amusing?”
Her vacant, weary gaze drifted from the distant window to his face. He saw a faint glimmer of interest in her hazel eyes.
“The Prince Regent says I’m not allowed to marry you.” Darius gave a half-smile as her eyes widened. “Not until you notify the Prince yourself that you have agreed to it.”
Meredith’s lips parted in shock. “He said that?”
“Oh yes.” Darius chuckled, though he felt little mirth at the thought of their monarch having put him in his place. “Warren and I were told by the Archbishop of Canterbury that any special license for you to marry must be approved by the prince first. You specifically. I had no idea what that was all about. So naturally we went straight to Carlton House to seek answers.”
He paused a moment, reflecting on how much effort the Prince Regent had gone to over this matter. “You must have made quite the impression the night you met him,” said Darius. “I was forced to suffer a lecture about how I simply cannot command you to marry me.”
“Well, he’s right. You cannot force me.” Meredith sniffled and sat up a little, bracing her shoulder against the carved wooden headboard and pillows.
Darius tried to change the subject. “Do you wish to talk about what happened today?” He placed a hand on hers, meshing their fingers together.
“No.”
He smiled sadly. “Very well, then I shall speak. I was frightened today. When I saw you in danger from those men, it terrified me. Had anything happened to you, Meredith, I would have …” He cleared his throat. “I could not bear it. If I lost you … I would want to burn the world down. As someone who prides myself on my self-control … being with you makes me feel wildly out of control.”
