“I will not,” her mother curtly replied. “You are not only bleeding but still quite dazed. I can tell by your eyes.”
“Maman—”
“Listen to your mother,” Nash said, pushing closer and catching hold of her chin to peer into her eyes. “You do appear quite dazed. I shall carry you upstairs to await the physician.”
“You shall not. I want to examine that bundle.” A grunt escaped her as she pulled in another deep breath that resulted in a harsher stabbing pain. “I am better already. You should not have sent for a doctor.”
“You are lying, my lady.” He glared at her. “You are still in pain and shall be seen to if I have to hold you in place to be examined.”
A dangerous glow warmed through her traitorous heart. She tried to stanch its fickleness, but his genuine concern for her refused to be ignored. He needed to stop behaving as if he cared about her, because it would not last. He would tire of her as soon as he considered her conquered.
“I would like to examine the weapon used against me, please,” she said with an imploring tone she hoped would move him. She needed something that would take her mind off him,and the way his caring weakened her defenses. “Please, Sir Nash.”
He pressed his mouth into a tight, flat line that made his displeasure unmistakable, but he jerked a single nod. “A quick examination of the thing, and then I carry you upstairs. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” What choice did she have, since she was hampered by no small amount of pain?
He tore away the twine, then carefully unwrapped a jagged rock that was a little larger than his fist. “You might very well have broken bones from this. We must show it to the physician.” He handed it off to the dowager countess, who examined it with a grimness that sent a stinging chill up Sophie’s spine.
“If this had struck you in the head, you could have been killed,” the dowager said.
“But I was not killed,” Sophie said, trying to keep them focused on the matter at hand rather than on what might have been. “Are there any clues on the wrapping?”
Nash opened the crumpled paper wider. His knuckles whitened as his grip on the parchment tightened. “You will pay in more ways than just coin,” he read in an enraged hiss. “This is only the beginning. Be warned.”
She tried to rise from the settee, but the throbbing ache made her gulp and catch her breath. “Oh…dear.”
“You will stop at once, wife,” he growled. He handed off the note to the dowager countess, then gently gathered Sophie up and cradled her to his chest. “To bed with you now, to wait for the doctor.”
“But we must…” She fought to catch her breath from the tearing burn ripping between her shoulders. “We must compare the handwriting with the other letters.”
“I am quite certain your mother will take care of that once she sees all our guests on their way.” He doggedly continued striding up the steps, carrying her as if she weighed no morethan a feather. “We must see to your injury and ensure it is not grave.”
“I am conscious and speaking, am I not?” She had not remembered him being this stubborn.
“Many a soldier has died while conscious and speaking. I will brook no argument on this.”
She relented and rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes to better battle the ever-increasing urge to retch that was probably more because of her overindulgence in champagne on an empty stomach rather than her injury. “If Thornton returns with some ill-mannered quack, I refuse to allow him to examine me.”
“I overheard your Celia advise Thornton to fetch her stepfather. Are you familiar with the man?”
Even through the pain and nausea, Sophie smiled. Dr. MacMaddenly had married Celia’s mother after saving her life. “Dr. MacMaddenly is a stubborn Scot who thinks himself the most brilliant physician in London because he studied medicine at the University of Edinburgh.”
“Good.” Nash shouldered open the door to her suite, stepped inside, then kicked it shut. “It sounds as if the man will do.”
“Dear heavens! My lady!” Marie flitted around them like an overwrought butterfly, opening the bedroom door and rushing to turn down the bed. “Your things have been moved, Sir Nash,” she said over her shoulder. “Just as you ordered.”
“What is she talking about?” Sophie asked, then unleashed a sharp yelp as he lowered her into the pillows.
Nash ignored her. Instead, he turned to Marie. “Thank you. Help me get Lady Sophie out of this gown. She was attacked in the garden, and we await Dr. MacMaddenly’s arrival.”
“Merde!”
“Marie?” Sophie glared at her personal maid, who only swore in French when overly distraught or astonished. “What did you mean when you said Sir Nash’s things have been moved?”
The maid avoided meeting her gaze as she rushed around to the other side of the bed and clambered up on it. “If you will support her, Sir Nash, I shall undo her buttons and laces—Oh dear, there is blood. Oh, my lady.”
“Do not alarm your mistress,” Nash ordered her, while gently but firmly holding Sophie as Marie had asked.
