“As if I would believe that any more than I believe that you and your brother aren’t thick as thieves. Don’t try to garner pity for nonsense of that sort.”
She bristled. “I bet you don’t even know the meaning of the wordpity—and you probably even kicked puppies as a child. I assure you it’s been quite obvious that you are a man without grace or kindness. Really, you don’t need to work so hard at convincing me of that,” she added drily.
That got her such an icy look she shivered. So much for conversation and getting to know each other before they reached the altar. And when would that be? Was there a time limit involved?
She didn’t ask and said no more to him. When she was finished eating but still had two biscuits left, she put them on his tray. She did it out of habit. She was used to sharing her food with Alfreda. After taking her tray back to the dining table, she wanted to leave, but she had one more task to perform.
She approached him again. “Did your doctor leave a supply of bandages?”
He waved a hand at his night table. She hadn’t noticed the shelf underneath it until then, but a tall stack of white cloths was already cut into long strips.
She shook one out, then stared at his left thigh, wondering how she was going to get the cloth wrapped around it without getting too close to him. She didn’t think she could, was already blushing, and keenly felt his eyes watching as she hesitated.
“You should not stare like that,” she said curtly.
“You shouldn’t deign to tell me what I can and cannot do.”
“I didn’t. I wouldn’t presume. ‘Should not’ implies that what you are doing is making me uncomfortable.”
“Is that supposed to make me ashamed for doing so?”
“No, I—” She snapped her mouth shut. He wanted a fight, she realized, anything to get her out of there soon. He was simply still trying to get her to refuse to marry him. Was it going to be like this every time she came in here to help him?
Maybe it was. Maybe he hatedneedingher help, too, and that’s why he was so nasty about it. No. She had a feeling that his animosity was never going to end, even when he was hale and—
She’d hesitated so long he yanked the bandage from her hand. She sighed in relief as he started to wrap the cloth around his muscular thigh. “Be careful you don’t rub off the salve. Freda advises airing wounds, not covering them up. They heal quicker that way, and I have an herb to help with that, too. But until the wound has fully drained, you need the bandage.”
“Whatever will get me back on my feet sooner.”
That had been said tonelessly. She glanced at him. Though his brow was dry, he was still pale and likely tired.
As he tucked in the end of the cloth strip to hold the bandage tight, she tapped the potion bottle on his bedside table. “You can take a sip of this when you are ready to sleep. It will keep you from waking due to the discomfort of your wound. An undisturbed sleep is wonderful medicine. Or you can drink more whiskey, which will basically do the same thing. Just don’t mix the two.”
“Why not?”
“It will make you grow warts.” She grinned to show she was joking. He scowled, not amused, so she added, “It might make you queasy in the morning is all.”
“Take it with you. I don’t trust potions that haven’t been given by a doctor.”
He clearly didn’t trustherwas what he meant. She didn’t take offense. There was no point.
She picked up the bottle. “I will come in the morning to apply the salve again. Have hot water on hand. A hot compress should be soothing for you.”
With that she headed straight for the door. She didn’t expect any thanks and didn’t get any. Lines had been drawn. They were basically at war. Well, inhismind. She just needed to persevere, to be patient, and to fire only soft bullets in return.
So she forced herself to say “Sweet dreams” before she closed the door on whatever nasty rejoinder he would have for that.
Chapter Nineteen
WHEN BROOKE OPENED HEReyes in the large, darkened room, she didn’t know where she was. She sat up, startled, and looked around, then lay back down on the soft pillows, remembering she was in Yorkshire at the home of the angry, churlish, handsome man who was going to be her husband. She reached for her pocket watch on the night table to see that it was eight thirty. She’d overslept.
When she’d got back to her room last night, she’d taken a sip of that sleeping draft the wolf had refused, and when it didn’t work quickly enough, she’d taken another sip. She was afraid she was going to have trouble sleeping in this room every night. Because of the door that connected her room to his. Because while she couldn’t open it, he could from the other side.
She saw that Alfreda had already been here. On the washstand was fresh water, still slightly warm, though the drapes were still closed. Brooke opened those now and smiled down on the park below. It was quite lovely with the morning sun shining on it. She might read a book today, if she could find one, on one of the many benches.
The tall bookshelf in her room was empty, as had been all of the other furniture before she’d unpacked. The room’s decor made it obvious that a woman was the previous occupant. The large four-poster bed was covered with a thick white spread that was dotted with pink flowers and edged with a set of ruffles.
The carpet was a darker shade of pink, mixed with yellow and maroon, while the wallpaper on the walls was lavender and pink in yet another floral design. The sitting area by the two windows had a love seat and a comfortable-looking chair next to it, both thickly upholstered in silver-threaded lavender brocade. A low, intricately carved table was centered between them.
