“Your former captain, perhaps?” The question flew out before she could snatch it back—a trait that served her well when gathering information for a travel piece. But now? She bit her lip. What business was it of hers to inquire after his personal life?
“No,” he murmured as he tucked away his handkerchief. “Not my captain. A certain lieutenant, rather.”
Now she was intrigued. She’d heard stories of naval officers’exploits whispered by giddy females in London parlours. But she’d never heard of a surgeon entangled in such deeds, especially not one who appeared to be as upright as Mr. Lambert.
“What happened?” she asked, this time without one bit of remorse for her boldness.
Averting his gaze, he reached for his medical bag. “It is not a tale meant for a lady.”
“Come now, Doctor. We both know I am made of sterner stuff.”
“True.” The glimmer of admiration in his eyes twanged a response deep in her belly.
“Very well.” He shifted a wad of bandages from one hand to the other. “Though allow me to make our friend here a suitable resting place other than in my hat.”
“I have just the thing, for now, at least.” She padded over to the mantel, and though her foot still ached, what freedom there was not to have to depend upon a crutch or a cane. She removed an ornamental bowl with little blue sampans painted around the circumference and returned to Mr. Lambert. “I shall trade you this for a story.”
“Not a very fair trade, I’m afraid. Our friend here is the one who shall get the better end of that deal.” He smiled as he accepted the container, the captivating dimple making an appearance on the right side of his cheek.
“We anchored in Barbados to take on supplies.” He began to unwind the tightly wound cloth strip. “Which allowed plenty of leave for the sailors before a solid eight-week voyage. The night before we were to depart, I was called upon to tend one of the islanders’ daughters.”
All pleasantness drained from his voice, and a stranger looked out from his eyes, fierce and foreboding.
“The woman had been brutally abused. She claimed her attacker was one of ours and that she’d scratched the left side of his face quite severely. I filed a report and turned it in to the captain, then waited on board for the returning sailor to visit my quarters for care. None came.”
Amelia frowned. “Had she perhaps been mistaken? Surely other sailors roam those same streets. How could she have known it was a member of your crew?”
“She said the man made sure to impress upon her the name of the ship, that every time she saw it anchor in the harbour to be ready for him, for he’d be back.” He jerked the last bit of bandage free. “Of course, the man could’ve been lying—or she might have been—and that’s what I began to believe when no sailor came to my quarters to have his face tended. The next day passed in the flurry of setting sail, but that evening at dinner…”
A great sigh deflated his chest, and he said nothing more. Just padded layer after layer of the dressing inside the porcelain dish. Once it was all deposited, and with more tenderness than ought be possible with his strong fingers, he laid the sparrow carefully on the cloth bedding.
“What happened then?” she gently prodded, trying to put him as much at ease as he attempted to provide for the bird.
“Lieutenant Clerval arrived in the wardroom with severe lacerations on his cheek. Hisleftcheek. I questioned him. He made up a thinly veiled excuse, which later changed after liberal amounts of brandy. So I marked up the other side of his face with a left hook.” Mr. Lambert stepped back from the bird and fixed her in place with a stare so intense, she felt it to her toes. “There. Do you still think me kind, Miss Balfour?”
She shook her head, trying to make sense of the self-condemnation running rampant in his tone. “But the man deserved it. Why were you dismissed when the lieutenant was the true villain?”
The lines of his face hardened, sharpening into a fury she couldn’t begin to understand. “Because Clerval was a society man. The son of a baronet with large pockets.”
His words stole her breath. “How horribly unfair!”
“Indeed.” A muscle at the side of his jaw jumped. “But never fear, Miss Balfour. I am told God will have His justice in His own time.”
“That He shall. And, if you’ll forgive my forwardness, it seems to me the self-reproach I detected in your tone is highly unwarranted. You did the right thing.”
Something behind his eyes moved then, like the closing of a great pair of shutters. Gone was the righteous anger, and the calm-mannered doctor once again appeared. “Well, it is behind me now, and there are more important matters at hand, like your ailing sparrow. When it wakes, you should…wait. I’ll write it down.”
He pulled out a notepad from his pocket, then retrieved a pencil from his bag. After scratching his instructions, he ripped off the small sheet of paper and handed it to her. “Here is a prescription for full sparrow care.”
“Thank you.”
“Oh, and one more thing. If you will allow me?” Grasping her chin—his touch as gentle and firm as he’d employed with the sparrow—he tipped her face to the sunshine streaming in the window. “I should like to examine you. I fear you may be taking on too much.”
Good thing he wasn’t listening to her heart. That traitorous organ fluttered like one of Mrs. O’s free-ranging birds. She could feel the heat of him, so close did he stand, and couldn’t keep from admiring his fine strong nose and the handsome cut of his jaw.
“Hmm,” he murmured, an altogether pleasing sound, the sort that set the world right simply by the vibration of it.
She leaned towards him, drawn by his magnetism—until a throat cleared at the door and she jerked away.
