He arched his brow. “Shallow? It’s half an inch deep.”
“Tosh. I get more serious wounds with a paper cut.”
He grimaced as she applied a cloth soaked in some stinky liquid. “Blood hell! It bloody hurts.”
“I didn’t mean to shoot you. The arrow just went off.” She cleaned the wound that throbbed and burned like the flames of hell.
“What the hell is in that cloth?”
She tossed him a glare. “A tincture my mother prepared. She’s quite skilled with medicinal herbs. Trust me, the wound won’t get infected and will heal quickly.”
That would explain Mrs. Haywood’s interested in drugs, but not why she needed to pay Mr. Wright to buy them. He couldn’t hold back a shout as she applied more bloody potion to the wound.
“Dammit.”
She clicked her tongue. “The bigger they are, the harder they cry.”
A little shiver went down his back when she brushed his skin, and the stinging pain had nothing to do with it.
“I’ll admit it was a lucky shot,” he said, exhaling, “you could have killed me.”
She thankfully removed the stinging gauze. “I will ask again. What are you doing here?” She wrapped a bandage around his arm with snappy gestures.
His guilt soared. “I’m sorry. Coming here was a terrible decision on my part. I made it in a moment of weakness.”
He pushed down another curse, not sure about what he should tell her.
Oddly enough, all the good reasons he’d had about breaking into her house seemed hollow now.
“A moment of weakness? You chose this night of all nights, the night when the house was supposed to be empty.” She tied the bandage around his arm with surprising kindness.
He pushed down another grunt of pain.
She paused, bringing a finger to her chin and looking quite lovely. Also, she had a nice, pointed chin. “The other time, you ransacked my mother’s cabinet?—”
“I didn’t ransack it.”
“— to take Lord Havisham’s documents. Did he send you here? Oh.Hesent you here, didn’t he?”
Fantastic. He exhaled and rubbed his forehead. “It was my decision.”
“Why?”
“Your mother exploits young fallen women for her schemes, and you know that.” He huffed. “Are we really going to play the ‘who’s the criminal’ game?”
She stiffened. “I assure you my mother doesn’t exploit any fallen women. That’s ridiculous.”
He jabbed a finger on the table. “I asked Mrs. Walsh, the woman who runs the women’s shelter I finance. She confirmed your mother went there to recruit girls.”
“This is absurd. I’m sure my mother would never do that.” She tossed a kitchen towel on the counter. “Yes, my mother blackmails her lovers. Yes, it’s illegal, but she’s never, ever used poor women for her own gain. She isn’t that despicable. Believe it or not, she has principles.” She gathered her medical supplies, avoiding meeting his gaze.
“I have a witness,” he said.
She shook her head. “This story is poppycock. Mama has strong opinions about men, but she would never hurt other women. If anything, you should ask yourself who called the police because it wasn’t me, obviously.”
Yes, that was a valid point. “Only Lord Havisham knew about my nocturnal excursion. He planned it, actually.”
“Excursion. What a nice way to talk about robbery.”
