Julian had no one but her.
She opened her eyes again, her mind racing. Though it would shock her adoptive father to hear her say it, prayers were useless at a time like this. Action was required. Years of nursing the sick of the parish had left her more than qualified to be of help. She would see to it that Westbridge survived. Perhaps she could even influence him to forgive his enemy, and this whole situation might amount to nothing.
She summoned the housekeeper and asked her to send for the carriage and prepare a selection of medicinal herbs from the still room.
Then, she went upstairs and rang for her maid, changing out of the fine dinner gown Julian had bought for her, and into one of the simple dresses she had worn in the country, a brown cotton with a starched white chemisette filling the neckline. She pulled the pins from her hair and brushed out the curls, pulling them back into a practical style that kept them out of her face and which could be maintained without the help of a servant.
As she reached for an untrimmed bonnet she glanced into the dressing table mirror at the modest and sensible girl reflected there. She smiled, relieved. Since bringing her to town, Julian had spoiled her, sparing no expense to give her the life he felt she deserved. But beneath the satins and lace, she was still a vicar’s daughter, and happy to be so.
If London had taught her nothing, she had learned the value of her parents’ teachings. The wages of sin were death. Julian’s foolish duel was proof of that. If she could manage to keep his friend alive, perhaps the sin could be forgiven and forgotten. With one last glance in the mirror, she tied on her bonnet and went downstairs. Then she collected her little bag of medicines and went out into the night.
When the carriage arrived at the house of the Duke of Westbridge, she went to the door with a crisp step and knocked. She must act as if it was perfectly natural for an unaccompanied young woman to arrive at the house of a man who was not only unmarried but just as scandalous as her brother. Under the circumstances, allowances should be made when enforcing the rules of etiquette.
The butler opened the door and looked out at her with suspicion.
‘I have come to help the surgeon,’ she said, giving the servant a no-nonsense smile.
‘He has gone home to bed,’ the butler replied, unmoving. ‘He said there was nothing more that could be done.’
‘I am aware of that,’ she replied. ‘I have been summoned to sit with the patient. He should not be alone.’
The butler considered her story for a moment, then stepped out of the way and allowed her to enter. Without another word, he led her to the stairs and up them to the master bedroom, where the duke was sleeping.
Inside, a single candle guttered on the bedside table and a worried maid sat in a darkened corner, a terrified expression on her face.
Cassandra gave her the same efficient smile she’d offered to the butler. ‘It is all right. I am here. You can go now.’
The girl looked from her to the butler in the doorway. ‘The doctor told me to wait. To summon him if there was any change.’
‘And now I shall be the one to do so,’ Cassandra said with a firm nod. She went to the bedside and looked down at the injured man, doing her best to hide her worry. She laid a hand on his forehead, gauging his temperature, and felt the beginnings of a fever. It was good that she had come. He might not have survived the night with only a maid to tend him.
She glanced back at the butler. ‘Could you have someone bring a full kettle and a cup? I have feverfew and willow bark in my bag and will get him to take a little, if he wakes.’
‘Very good,’ the butler said and gave a sharp nod in the direction of the maid who hurried off to get the water, relieved to have something constructive to do.
‘You needn’t worry,’ she said. ‘I will watch over him and do everything I can.’
‘Thank you.’ His anxious tone surprised her. It was not often that she heard such a servant reveal anything like real emotion, especially not with a stranger in the room. For a moment, he looked down on the man in the bed with an almost fatherly affection. Then, he withdrew, leaving her alone with her patient.
She turned back to Westbridge, allowing herself a more thorough examination. Loss of blood had left him worryingly pale and as still as a statue, his skin alabaster, his lips almost blue.
But the injury had done nothing to spoil his looks. He had the sort of classical profile that a sculptor would have loved. His blond hair had not been combed. It swept back from his face in waves, revealing a noble brow. His cheekbones were high and his chin strong, sharp accents framing a sensual mouth.
There was something about those lips that gave her pause. A sense that they’d known pleasure and given it, as well. Though they were tight with pain, the creases at their corners said he smiled often. She imagined the expression: knowing, ironic, perhaps just a bit uneven to take the sting from the wickedness of it. He would have the sort of smile that could make a woman do things she might never risk for another, less beautiful man.
She shook her head and looked away for a moment, gathering her thoughts. She had come here to tend his injury, not to daydream in the nighttime. She had best get down to the business of nursing him.
She pulled back the covers, looking at the bandage that covered the wound on his shoulder. It could use changing, but it appeared that the bleeding had stopped. Why was he so pale?
Then, she stared down at the marks on his arm. It appeared the surgeon had been bleeding him, which was the last thing he needed after such a serious injury. He must have been trying to keep the fever away, but Cassie had her doubts that it would do any good. Infection came from the dirt in the wound, and removing the blood from his arm would not help at all.
She sighed and replaced the sheet, looking at his face again. Though he was sinfully handsome, sleep revealed an innocence that tempted her to touch him. She wanted to smooth the furrows in his brow to hide the evidence of the pain he was in. There had to be a way to ease his suffering.
As if he sensed her presence, his eyes opened and he stared up at her, confused.
They were very blue.
‘It’s all right,’ she said softly, as she surrendered to the desire and laid her hand on his stubbled cheek. ‘You are home. I will take care of you. Now, rest.’
