“You hit an existing cut. That’s all.” He showed her a thin but long slash across his abdominal muscles.
The edges were puffy and raw, and judging by the lack of a proper crust, the cut had kept bleeding often.
“Heavens. How did you get that? And why didn’t your physician stitch it?”
He ignored both questions. “Now that you have seen it, you may return to the ballroom.”
“Absolutely not.” She rose. “The cut needs to be cleaned and stitched. I always carry with me the necessary equipment for an emergency. One can never know when something happens. Wait here.”
One of his golden eyebrows shot up. “You want to use animal medicine on me?”
“Medicine is a science that works whether your flesh is human or not.”
“You gave my horse chlorine of lime.” There was an amused tone in his voice.
“Yes, and it worked, didn’t it?” She waved a dismissive hand. “Medicine is complicated. I won’t give you anything lethal. Besides, this is a cut, and cuts are cuts.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that you have to wait for me.” She exited the room and darted to the cloakroom where she’d left her capelet, hat, and emergency bag.
“My lady?” A startled footman straightened when she stopped him.
“I need my bag, the big leather one.”
“Of course.” He left and returned with her bag in a moment.
“Thank you.”
When she pushed the sitting room door open, she half expected not to find him. Instead, he was sitting where she’d left him, shoulders hunched and a sad expression on his face. At that moment, he looked nothing like the cold man who had entered the ballroom earlier, but like someone fragile and in pain.
“You’re still here,” she said, her voice quivering a little.
“Well spotted.”
She locked the door again but with less anxiety. “So how did you get that cut?”
“I fell on a piece of glass.”
She gave him a sceptical look. “I remember you saying something about honesty.”
The ghost of a smile graced his lips. “Are you going to give me stitches?”
“I’ll clean the cut first.” She selected clean gauze and diluted iodine from her bag.
He pulled up his shirt to allow her to work. She wiped the blood, but since he was sitting and arching, the cut kept gushing blood.
“I need you to lie down.” She gave him a little push, putting a hand on his shoulder, but he didn’t move an inch.
After he gave her one of his ‘Are you joking?’ looks, he did as told. Once he was stretched on his back, she touched the wound and the swollen sides.
“There’s the beginning of an infection. What did your physician tell you?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t see him.”
“That’s irresponsible. You need stitches.”
“I’m sure I’ll live.”
