Then the shirt. Alasdair pulling his left arm out of the sleeve by bending his own elbow toward his torso as she held the cuff. Shirt gathered toward his neck, Alasdair’s chest exposed. And she was close to him now, her breasts almost brushing his face as she lifted the shirt over his head.
And then she wondered if shewasan aberration and Alasdair was right. Maybe women as a rule did not feel lust. Only she did. She and Catherine, her shameful mother. Because even now, when Arabella was angry at Alasdair and sure they had no future together, when he was hurt and she was worried, the appearance of his naked chest aroused her. She wanted to press her hands to it and feel him, his muscle, his ribs, his heart beating. And the smell of him made him want to bury her face in the copper hair of his chest and breathe deeply.
She bit her lip. She was wanton like her mother. She was bad like her mother. No wonder she had been seduced so easily two years ago.
But then she remembered her half sister Mary. How Mary had walked with Arabella on the shingle in Cornwall and spoken of many things regarding the mysteries between men and women. Mary felt desire, too, strong desire from what she had said. And Arabella knew that if she was an aberration, Mary was one, too. And Mary had none of Catherine’s blood in her.
Alasdair’s head was down and he was purposefully not looking at her bosom even though it was right in front of him. Oh, if only he would raise his head, his face and look at her and she could kiss him.
But it would do nothing for his pain. And it would only remind him that she could never be a good wife for him since she could control neither her lust nor her temper.
She very carefully brought the shirt down over the right arm and removed it and stepped back.
Standing in front of him, Arabella could see how the right shoulder was too squared off, too bony, in comparison to the smooth roundness of the muscle of the left shoulder.
“Is it broken?”
“Nae, I dinnae think so.” He finally raised his head and looked at her. “The shoulder is a joint where a ball sits into a socket. I ken the ball has come out of the socket. It must be put back in. The more quickly, the better.”
“Will,” she faltered here, “will you be able to use the arm again?”
Her blonde brows were knit together and there was a small crease just over the bridge of her little nose. Her voice trembled a bit when she spoke. She was worried. For him. That gave him a bit of hope that they would get beyond this frightful time. That when he was out of pain, he would be able to fix this mess between them. That he would apologize for any and all wrongs and she would be his Arabella again.
He wished she would step back closer as she had been just a moment before. When her perfect, high, round breasts had been where he would most want them to be—inches from his mouth. So beautiful and so close that he had had to look away. But now he wanted them back. He wanted to reach his left arm out and draw her to him but when he began to release his grip on his right arm, the pain surged, and he kept his left hand where it was.
“Aye.” He tried to smile to assuage her anxiety. “Aye, I mean I will not be able to use it for a few days but it will all come right as a trivet. Ye will see.”
The butler Andrews knocked and came in. He carried a basin of snow, some folded sheets, a bottle of amber liquid, and a drinking glass.
“I have sent for your coachman. I do understand your wanting your own people around you, but I assure you that I and all the footmen are more than willing to do whatever you require of us, Dr. Andrews.”
“Thank ye, Andrews,” Alasdair said and winced. “The snow should go on the shoulder, just until Paterson gets here.”
“And I have some whisky here, Doctor, for your pain.”
“Nae, thank ye.”
Arabella took the basin of snow from the butler Andrews and took a handful and pressed it against the anterior of Alasdair’s shoulder.
“Yer hand will get too cold, Mrs. Andrews,” he said.
“It is just until Paterson gets here, as you said, Dr. Andrews.” And he was very glad to have her close to him, her tending to him, her pressing the snow into his shoulder.
It was not long before Paterson was brought to the room by a footman. And apparently, Ewen MacEwen had also decided to come along.
In those minutes waiting for Paterson, Arabella had to gather more snow into her hand twice, and he saw that her hand had turned red from the cold. Oh, how he wanted to warm that hand in some way.
“The snow helped the pain,” Alasdair said, looking at her.
Her brows relaxed a bit when he said that. He carefully rose from the wing chair and walked to the bed. The bed where he hadcouriedinto her.
“I thank ye.”
As Alasdair sat on the edge of the bed and gave instructions to Paterson and Andrews, Ewen investigated the room.
“’Tis the size of a whole cottage, miss,” Ewen explained. He seemed to particularly like the drapes. “’Tis like the fur of an animal.” He stroked the velvet with his hand.
Arabella shushed him. She wanted to hear what Alasdair was saying.
