Taking the kettle back into the sitting room, she extracted a small rag from her basket and dipped it in the tepid liquid. Then she set about cleaning the affected area. After five minutes careful dabbing, she sat back on her heels, relief making her giddy. The exposed injury looked to be little more than a flesh wound, albeit a nasty one. Mayhap it would need some stitches, but she could safely leave that to Malcolm when he finally arrived.
The question remained, what should she do next? She certainly couldn’t get him upstairs to his bed and it wouldn’t be seemly for her to do so anyway. She frowned. In truth of course, she shouldn’t even be here with him now, which in retrospect was something she’d never even considered earlier in her determination to see him again. She looked down at his slumbering face. He was hardly likely to ravish her in his current state. She tried to ignore the strange tingling sensation that travelled from her throat right down to her legs at the thought. What the deuce was wrong with her? She was getting as bad as Temperance.
A pillow. That’s what she could do. Make him more comfortable by placing a pillow underneath his head. Climbing to her feet, she picked up a cushion from the fireside chair and turned back to her patient, only to find him staring at her bemusedly.
‘Wha…’ he mumbled, trying to lift his head.
‘Stop,’ she yelled, only to flinch as he put his hand up to his head with a groan. ‘Sorry,’ she continued in a much softer tone, kneeling beside him again. ‘Please don’t try to move. I think you fell and hit the back of your head. She held up the pillow as he continued to stare at her blankly. ‘I’m going to place this pillow underneath your head,’ she continued after a few seconds, wondering if the accident could possibly have left him slightly addled.
Carefully, she leaned over him and lifted his head towards her, the movement necessitating his face being briefly buried in her bosom. Unable to stop her face from flaming, even though he couldn’t see it, she shoved the pillow underneath him and dropped his head hurriedly.
A muffled oath accompanied the sound of his head falling back against the pillow and she winced, immediately contrite. ‘Are you alright?’ she questioned.
‘Currently I cannot feel my body at all, while my head feels as though it’s likely to burst,’ he mumbled lifting his hands to probe where it hurt the most.
‘Don’t touch it,’ she shouted instinctively.
‘God’s teeth, has anyone ever informed you that your voice is somewhat loud Miss Shackleford?’ he grumbled faintly.
‘Indeed, Lord Northwood, but had you not imbibed so liberally rendering you entirely foxed, you would not have fallen and hit your head and subsequently I would not have had to shout.’
His eyes opened again, and he looked up at her groggily.
‘Foxed you say?’ He shook his head and winced. ‘I cannot remember beyond this afternoon, but that does not mean I am disguised. It could just be the bang on the head. I’m sure you must be mistaken madam.’ He struggled to rise before giving up and falling back against the cushion with another groan.
‘Are you accusing me of shamming it?’ Hope responded indignantly, getting to her feet and fetching the two empty bottles of brandy. ‘If so sir, I suggest you take note of these.’ She waved the bottles over his head. ‘I certainly did not drink them, and I suspect there is nobody else here who had the opportunity either.’
The Viscount narrowed his eyes as he stared up at the dancing bottles above his head. Fiend seize it, had he drunk two bloody bottles of brandy? He remembered sitting next to the fire earlier feeling unaccountably low and deciding that since the sun must assuredly be over the yardarm somewhere in the world, a drink would be in order - but then, nothing.
‘I could not possibly have drunk both of them since this afternoon,’ he muttered.
‘This afternoon? Lord Northwood, it is now morning and by my estimation you have been lying on this floor for most of the night.’
Momentarily incredulous, Gabriel wondered if he cared but decided he didn’t. He closed his eyes again, the effort of focusing on the waving bottles turning his stomach unpleasantly. Briefly he wondered if he feigned slumber, would she simply leave him be and go away? The answer came a second later.
‘Mayhap you would feel better if you were seated,’ she suggested, her voice thankfully losing its waspish tone.
He opened his eyes again and this time stared directly up at the curvaceous female figure above him, noticing for the first time her dishevelled state. Her hair was half tumbling from the confines of its pins, curling almost wantonly around her face. Her cheeks were flushed, and a fine sheen of sweat dotted her brow.
She looked as though she’d just been bedded.
Immediately images of their bodies naked and entwined sprang into his mind. He could almost exactly picture her face, lips parted, her skin pearlized with moisture as she writhed beneath him. His cock became instantly hard.Damn. He swore internally, coming completely to his senses.
He realised at the same instant that there did not appear to be anyone with her. No chaperone.
‘Did anyone accompany you here Miss Shackleford?’ he asked hoarsely, almost dreading the answer.
‘Err… no,’ she responded, her rising colour indicating she knew exactly what he was insinuating.
He groaned again, this time for different reasons. ‘You need to leave immediately,’ he rasped, trying again to rise.
‘I most certainly will not,’ she snapped, her voice instinctively going up a decibel causing him to squeeze his eyes shut and collapse back against the pillow.
‘Sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘It’s just that… well, Jimmy came to me for help, and I thought… well he thought… you were dead… so I sent him to fetch Malcolm and I came here immediately.’
‘Alone,’ he interspersed wearily.’
‘Yes,alone,’ Hope retorted. ‘Should I have waited to find a suitable chaperone? I thought youdead.’ She bellowed the last word with no apology, feeling inexplicably close to tears.
