But beneath that angelic appearance was a feisty, headstrong woman who needed a strong man to tame her.A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it was quickly extinguished by the pain in his arm.He had intended to be that man.He couldn’t die now.
Blackness closed in on him too rapidly.
“Jonathan!”He pushed himself up to listen.“Jonathan!”
Was someone calling his name?With a great effort he tried to rise to meet her, but he didn’t have the strength.
Who was that fool running across the field?
He couldn’t hold on much longer.
Again he reached out to touch Elizabeth, but his fingers wouldn’t close over her hand and everything faded to black.
Now Jonathan Hird, the Earl of Longdale, had lost everything.
Chapter 2
New Orleans - January, 1815
What was that god-awful smell?
And just how long had he been lying here?Surely, a week had gone by, and they had yet to take care of his wound.Perhaps they were hoping he’d die.Then they wouldn’t have to bother operating on an Englishman.That is, if he was in a hospital.He wasn’t too sure about that part.
Some friend Adam was, to leave him in a place like this.
There was that smell again.
Jonathan twisted his head from side to side, trying to escape the odor.No matter which way he turned, the smell assaulted him.
Something cold brushed his face.He jerked at the unexpected sensation.His eyes flew open, but several moments passed before he was able to focus on the white cloth someone was trying to put over his nose and mouth.
Chloroform!
Looking around him with blurry vision, he noticed he was on a table and there was a smaller table beside him where medical instruments had been laid out.He couldn’t seem to clear his mind, but he did faintly remember being in another room with rows of beds and men near him, babbling with delirium.
Again, a white cloth covered his mouth.He tried to shove it away.
Good!At least he hadn’t died.The unbearable pain shooting up his arm told him he was very much alive.A lesser man would be screaming.
“You must hold still, sir!”a stern voice sounded above him.“I don’t have enough orderlies to hold you.”
‘‘Bloody hell!Get that stuff away from me,” Jonathan shouted, struggling to raise his good arm.He tried to shove the man away from him.That’s when he realized just how weak he really was.He had barely lifted his arm, only to have it fall limply back down.
“He’s British!”the doctor shouted.“Get him off my table and bring me a good American soldier.”
“No!”A strange yet familiar voice came from a distance as Elizabeth swept past the orderly who attempted to grab her arm.
“Jonathan fought for New Orleans, not against us, Dr.Blackman.This is my brother’s friend,” Elizabeth Trent said as she drew alongside the bed, placing her hand on Jonathan’s shoulder.She looked at the haggard doctor who had been working many hours.His bushy eyebrows were arched together and beads of sweat dotted his brow.
“Who let her in here?”Blackman snapped at the nervous orderly.
“She insisted,” the man replied.
“Get out, Elizabeth,” Blackman ordered as he pointed to the door.“I’ll not have a female fainting when I cut off this man’s arm.”
“No!”She reached out and grabbed the surgeon’s arm.
“You will not take my arm off, sir!”Jonathan managed, despite a dry mouth.Damn, he needed water.And he needed to get out of this hospital, and fast.He attempted to sit up.
