“What did you do to her?” Lavinia Wainwright demanded.
“She twisted her ankle on the icy road, and I was kind enough to bring her home.”
Lavinia scowled up at them. “Were you following her, you brigand?”
“Vin, stop. Loathe as I am to admit it, I don’t think I would have made it home without his assistance.”
The sisters exchanged a look. Vin’s face finally softened, likely because she saw the lines of exhaustion and pain etched into Jess’s expression.
“Your sister was determined to endure the pain and walk home by herself after her injury. I found her clinging to the livery stable on the outskirts of town.”
Jess grimaced. “You may set me down now. You’ve seen me safely home and can be on your way.”
“Your ankle needs to be tended. And it should be elevated.” Cadoc turned to Vin. “Where can I lay your sister?”
“She has the attic room. Follow me.”
Cadoc repressed the urge to take in every detail of Jess Wainwright’s life. Her cottage reminded him of the one he’d grown up in, cramped but cozy. He imagined the laughter of she and her sisters soaring to the rafters. A laughter he’d imperiled when he’d threatened to expose her sister Lavinia.
He had to duck his head when they ascended the narrow staircase, or else risk bashing in his skull.
The room at the top of the stairs was sparse. There was a writing desk in the front of the window, a chest at the foot of the wrought iron bed, and a small bookcase. Cadoc ruthlessly squelched the itch to explore everything in her space, especially her bookcase. Getting an intimate glimpse of her inner life was humbling. And made him question his disreputable approach anew.
“You can set me down now,” she said in an imperious tone.
Vin stepped aside as he lowered her to the bed and crouched, taking her right ankle in his hand. He deftly unlaced her boot and eased it off.
“Vin could have removed my shoe.”
“Yes, Vin could have removed her shoe,” Vin sarcastically echoed. “Vin can also remove your head if she thinks you’re taking liberties.”
“There’s no reason for either of you to be so cross,” he said over his shoulder. “I needed to see for myself how badly it was sprained. I was going to ride for the doctor if his intervention was warranted.”
“Is it bad? We have chorale practice in three days.”
“It looks like three or four days of rest will alleviate the swelling. But you’ll need to bind it until it heals completely. For at least two weeks.”
“Have you had medical training, Mr. Morgan?” Vin interrupted.
“No. I’ve just seen my share of injuries, both mild and tragic, in the mines.”
“So we needn’t call for the doctor?” She asked with an expression of trepidation.
Cadoc suspected they could ill afford the expense. “No you needn’t. It should heal quickly as long as you stay off that foot.” He curled his hand over hers and the feeling of intimacy intruded again. Like a pang in his chest. “But if you’d needed a physician’s care, the cost would have been at my expense.”
Vin harrumphed behind him. “We don’t need your charity, and I’m not inclined to accept anything from you, Mr. Morgan.”
“It’s not charity,” he protested as he locked eyes with Jess. “I feel responsible. If I hadn’t goaded you, you might not have been in such a hurry to get home.” He wanted his reassurance to stand for more than his offer to pay for a physician. He wanted it to be an apology as well. An abbreviated, premature one, because she still hadn’t agreed to the wager, but an apology nonetheless.
“Believe me, Mr. Morgan, you did not rile me. The road was slick and I fell. And my sister is correct, we don’t need your charity.”
Her rebuff felt like a fist to his gut. He supposed it was no more than he deserved for his high-handed treatment of her the last few weeks. “I would have helped however I could,” he gruffly insisted.
“Be that as it may, I can care for my sister from this point forward. We’ve received a letter from Scotland I’d like to share. Can you see yourself out without banging your head, Mr. Morgan?”
“Yes. I bid you both good day,” he gave them an exaggerated bow and made a swift exit.
Bacchus was standing exactly where Cadoc had left him, his chestnut coat covered in snow. He stroked his muzzle. “I’m sorry old boy, not much further.”
