Olivia raised her anxious gaze from Redcliffe’s face. He’d lapsed into a faint during the procedure. “Yes, of course.”
The doctor put his instruments back in his bag while Olivia picked up the bandage he’d brought. “Put a pad on the shoulder and bandage him like this,” Manners said, showing her. “To support the arm.”
She nodded.
“I’ll call again tomorrow.”
“Jack, see the doctor to the door.” Olivia cut off a large piece of bandage and fashioned a pad with it.
The door closed. She worked silently, carefully wrapping it as he’d shown her. A hand resting lightly on his broad chest, her fingers brushed over smooth skin and crisp, dark hair.
“Have you trussed me up like a chicken?”
He slurred his words, but his heavy-lidded eyes watched her.
“I have never trussed a chicken.” She kept her voice calm as she cut the end of the bandage. “But I suspect it would be easier than this.”
“Why?”
“You are a good deal larger than a chicken, my lord.”
“That’s true.”
“You must feel bad. You aren’t arguing the point with me.”
“I never argue.”
“Yes. You do. And I suspect you like to keep on until you win.” She would settle a few matters between them while he was in his cups.
“But I haven’t won yet,” he said, his voice husky.
She tied the knot, her fingers trembling. “Incorrigible.”
“You feel confident you can scold me, Olivia,” he said, surprising her, “because I cannot retaliate.”
She shook her head. “You don’t frighten me, even when you act like a thwarted lion.”
“Fighting words.” His lips quirked in an endearing grin. “I shan’t forget them.”
She expected he would. Certainly hoped he would. “Who shot you?”
“Devil if I know.”
She frowned. Then the man was still out there somewhere. “The parish constable has been called. He will want to speak to you tomorrow. If you are well enough.”
“I am well enough now. The gunman’s trail will grow cold if it rains tonight.” He tried to raise himself up and grimaced.
She pushed him gently down and smoothed his blankets. “You must sleep. Or you won’t be fit to speak to him tomorrow.”
He closed his eyes. “Will you lie down beside me? Keep me company?”
“I most certainly will not. Why must men behave like children when they are ill?” She remembered the fuss her father made over a badly bruised toe when, like Redcliffe, he was fearless in tackling more serious matters. “All that whiskey. You are cup shot.”
“Where did you learn that expression?”
“I heard my father’s stable staff use it.”
He glowered at her. “Well, you’re wrong. Come over here, and I’ll prove it to you.” He sounded alert and not the least bit drunk.
