“You never did tell us how you broke your nose, Shrewsbury,” Tilson called up just as he was about to reach the bunches of mistletoe.
Percy’s foot slipped from the limb and he had to grab hold to keep from falling as his knee slammed into the branch sending pain into his thigh. It wasn’t the fact that Tilson had called up to him that startled Percy and caused him to lose his footing, but the question.
“Bloody hell.”
“Percy?” Deborah cried out.
At least she cared if something happened to him.
“Are you injured?”
“I will be fine,” he returned not certain if he answered the truth and would not know until he tried to put weight on his leg.
He hauled himself over the wide limb then settled, with his back against the trunk, reached out with the clippers and freed the mistletoe. He didn’t warn them because he just wanted out of the blasted tree and the first test of his leg was when he began his decent. Pain shot into his thigh each time he put pressure on his leg, which forced him to hold tighter to the tree so that he did not fall until he reached the ground.
“I hope that is enough mistletoe because I am not climbing another tree.”
“I believe it should be sufficient,” Deborah offered with a frown.
Then Tilson looked inside. “We could do with a bit more.”
“Then you can retrieve it,” Percy grumbled and took a step with every intention of marching back to the house to pour himself a brandy, except he stepped on the injured leg and his knee nearly gave way.
Deborah rushed to him and wrapped an arm around the middle of his back to offer support and Percy gladly accepted it as he draped an arm across her shoulders. “I thought you said that you were not injured.”
“I never made that claim,” Percy grunted, hating that he was limping and in pain in front of Deborah.
“I am sorry that I cannot pick you up and rush you to a settee as you did for me.”
Despite himself, Percy chuckled. “I would happily allow it if you were able.”
Her jade eyes filled with concern. “I can see you settled on a bench and find servants to carry you in.”
“You misunderstand my meaning,” he offered quietly.
“Should I ask Tilson to assist? He is stronger.”
“No, Deborah,” Percy said as he squeezed her upper arm. “Your assistance is more than enough.” Though, in truth, if Tilson were helping him Percy would not need to put as much weight on his leg, but he would rather suffer the additional pain in his knee to have Deborah by his side.
Eleven
Oh, she truly hoped that Percy was not too terribly injured. She recalled how much pain she had been in after she had fractured her ankle and how she had not been allowed to move for weeks and then she was still limited to the use of crutches and then a cane. The entire healing process took nearly three months before she could walk unassisted.
If Percy had to endure the same, at least he would be healed in time for the Season when he would not ask her to dance again.
She wanted to be angry with him, but not while he was in pain. Further, she enjoyed being this close to him. They hadn’t touched since he had removed her from his lap after so thoroughly kissing her.
What did he mean that her assistance was more than enough?
Did that mean he did not really need her? Or she was the only one he wanted?
Oh, she wished she understood and she hated these churning feelings of wanting to be angry with him for all the reasons she had stated, and the ones she had not voiced, and still loving him despite it all.
It hurt that she still wanted more than a friendship when that was all he cared to share.
Tilson hurried ahead and left the bag of mistletoe on the terrace and opened the door to the parlor where they found Miss Damaris, standing not far from the settee and wringing her hands with worry as Miss Chloe wrapped Claxton’s hand with a bandage. Beside her on the table were bloodied cloths.
“What happened?” Percy asked as Deborah led him to the opposite settee, where he lowered himself down and blew out a sigh. He kept his leg straight and she was concerned that he could not bend his knee.
