Page 12 of Only Scandal Will Do

“Yes, my lady.” The butler kept his eyes forward now. “When Lawrence ran in with the news about the assault, we first tended to the earl of course, then everyone was looking to me for what to do. I remembered the old earl speaking of his relative who was at Bow Street. And I believed the family connection would persuade Mr. Matthews to help recover you. The previous Lord Manning was impressed with his thoroughness. No case unsolved, Lord William remarked more than once. Such a lucky happenstance for us that still holds true.”

They were on the stairs, heading for Jack’s suite when Simons cast another furtive glance at her. “Dr. Pritchett has been here twice since the earl was brought in. Will you send for him again, my lady?” Might Simons believe she needed the physician as much as her brother?

“No, that won’t be necessary. But have Margery prepare a bath for me and tell her to fetch me when it’s ready. I’ll be with Jack.” The last was uttered as she pushed open the carved, gilded door to her brother’s bedchamber. She walked unsteadily to the head of the massive mahogany four-poster, its bold crimson coverlet cocooning the still form lying there.

Jack’s dark head lay on the pillows, as if he were peacefully asleep. Kat lifted his hand, kneaded his warm, limp fingers through hers. “Wake up, Jack,” she commanded, raising his hand to her cheek. “I have such a tale to tell you! Some of it’s even true.”

Gazing at the beloved face, now slack and vulnerable, tears threatened once more. This time she knew she could not banish them. “Oh, Jack. Please wake up. I need you so very desperately.” She eased onto a chair drawn up next to him, laid her head on his pillow and let the tears come.

When the door finally opened, she raised her head, dashing her hand across her achy eyes, to find Margery beckoning. Kat followed the woman as wearily as if she had aged fifty years. Soon she slid into the welcoming water, delicious in its heat and scent of roses. Her sore, bruised body relaxed in the comforting warmth, while she tried to empty her mind of memories of the night past.

She was contemplating washing her hair when Margery appeared, more excited than Kat had ever seen her. “Oh, my lady. Your brother is awake and asking for you! Will you come to him?” The woman grabbed a piece of toweling to assist Kat, who all but fell out of the tub in her eagerness to get to Jack.

Ten minutes later, clad in fresh night rail, wrapper, and slippers, she burst into her brother’s room. The doctor straightened from the patient at the interruption to reveal Jack’s eyes were open. His head held gingerly--as he frequently did after a wild night of drinking--he cut his eyes toward her and cringed.

“No sudden moves, Kat, I beg you.” Jack recoiled from the sound of his own voice. “Are you all right?” he continued in a whisper.

She stalked over to the bed. “A damn sight better than you are.” She smiled, her first genuine one of the night. “But of course I always was.”

He gave a wan attempt at a grin, seeming to enjoy the badinage. God willing, it was a sign he would mend. “What happened to you?”

The concern in his weak voice plucked at her heart, so she hastened to reassure him. “That is quite a tale, but will keep for tomorrow. Or later today, rather. It must have gone three already and I’m dead on my feet. But as you can see, I am safe and whole and not much the worse for wear.”

“Your face is a mess, Kat.” His concern seemed to be escalating.

“I told you it’s a long story. But I will mend, never fear.” As the doctor took his pulse, she said, “He needs rest now, doesn’t he, Dr. Pritchett?”

The rotund little man nodded in agreement and replaced Jack’s hand on the coverlet. “Rest and no excitement is the prescription for his lordship, my lady. I’ve given him something to help him sleep, but do keep him quiet for the next week or so. Head wounds are touchy. We must make sure he does not excite himself and cause more damage.”

So much for her tale. She’d have to stall Jack on that; even the made-up version of her adventure might give her brother apoplexy. Kat nodded to the physician and leaned over to kiss

Jack’s forehead. “Rest first, adventure later.”

One brief, stubborn look, then he settled wearily onto the pillows and closed his eyes.

Kat escorted the doctor from the room and began to lead him down the corridor. “How is

he really, Dr. Pritchett?”

“I think he’ll do, if he’s kept quiet. But good God, my lady!” The doctor finally got a glimpse of her face. “Has anyone seen to you?”

“No, but there’s little true damage. My face is the worst of it. I was slapped rather hard.”

“Did you lose consciousness?” Pritchett grasped her elbow and led her to a nearby chair. “Hold this.” He thrust the lamp into her hands and proceeded to explore the swollen right side of her face.

“Ouch!”

He gently prodded flesh now tender beyond belief. “Did you lose consciousness?” he repeated, feeling her jaw, pressing her nose, searching for fractures.

“I believe I did, briefly. Not more than a minute I would guess. I awakened just before they carried me out to the platf--” She had finally blundered. A skilled interrogator could not get from her what this physician had discovered with one innocuous question. “I suppose it was a short amount of time.”

“Platform?” Dr. Pritchett’s brows furrowed in confusion, then his sharp brown eyes widened and he took a step back. His attention fixed on her hair, neatly braided for the night, the coppery auburn gleaming in the candlelight, and his puzzled expression turned to one of horror.

“It was you!”

Damn him! He had been there. She cursed the tired tongue that had betrayed her and raised her gaze to his, steeling herself. “I beg your pardon?”

“You were one of the girls in Madame Vestry’s auction.”