Page 33 of Marrying the Wrong Earl (Lords and Ladies in Love 2)

The wet, bloodied cloth still in her hand, she twisted her body to watch his march across the room. “Indeed? And when, pray tell, would I have had the time to disclose any information about myself? If you remember, we had about three days from the time we were discovered in the library at the Ashbourne ball and our wedding. And after that, I was delirious with fever for days.”

He waved the glass at her. “The hurried wedding was not my fault, I assure you. I had no intention of…”

“Of offering for me?” Her eyes snapped. “I know that, ’tis not a secret. And I asked you more than once to allow me to cry off.”

Although it was no more Arabella’s fault than it was his that they’d ended up married to each other, she still must learn to comport herself properly.

As he studied her, his body seemed to take notice of her appearance. Straggling curls fell about her face from her disheveled topknot, surrounding her flushed face. Her eyes were darkened, and she chewed on her lower lip. The last time he’d see her looking this way, she’d been underneath him, writhing with passion.

He drew in a calming breath, and trying to ignore what his body was doing, he placed the glass of whiskey on the table. “I doubt my feeble attempt at assistance will be of any service, but if it will help clear this mess up sooner, I will help.”

He tamped down his annoyance when Arabella cast him a glowing smile. He almost preferred the feeling of suppressed passion to the knot of something soft that teased his insides at the beaming look on her face. Something he preferred not to think about.

“But don’t let that cat near me.” He growled to cover his confusion.

…

A small twinge of happiness brought a smile to Arabella’s face. It appeared she’d won this battle. Of course, she was fully aware that countesses did not perform surgery. That was one of the reasons she’d eschewed marriage. She had wanted her freedom for as long as possible. As a young lady of the nobility, the only freedom afforded her was the choice of which gown to wear to a ball and which ribbon would match best.

“Here, Nash, hold this basket closer to the fire so I can see more clearly.” She pointed to the brown basket with Cleopatra.

“I am beginning to itch already.” He sneezed once. “It might be a better idea to go closer to the window.”

Arabella shook her head. “No, they need the warmth from the fire.” She held up a needle and pushed the thread through as Nash slid the basket over and knelt alongside her.

He grabbed his handkerchief from his pocket, shook it out, and placed it over his nose. “Are you sure you know what you are doing?”

“I’ve done this many times. Now you will need to hold Cleopatra down while I sew her up, since this will hurt.”

“Egad! I’ll be sneezing until Christmastide morn. Why not give her a shot of whiskey to calm her down?”

Arabella sat back on her heels and studied him. “Whiskey? Why I have never thought of that. I tried laudanum once, but since I was afraid of using too much and killing Caesar—that was one of the squirrels I tended—I’m afraid it didn’t do much, and I ended up getting bit. Thankfully, Sophia offered to hold him, so we got it done.”

“And why, might I ask, is Sophia not here helping now?”

“She is packing. As you demanded, my lord.” She smirked. “And, she might have been sick to her stomach for the rest of the day after the last time.” Those words were mumbled, but nevertheless Nash snorted, so he must have heard them.

He rose. “I’ll be right back. Anything to get this over with.” He headed to the sideboard and picked up the small amount of whiskey he’d poured for himself. “Here.” He handed the glass to her.

“You need to hold her head so I can pour it down her throat.”

“She’s bleeding!” He sneezed.

“Apparently, all this disturbance in your library has not diminished your ability to see and hear,” she quipped.

“Arabella…”

“All right. I will hold her and you pour.”

With very little trouble, they managed to get enough of the whiskey down so that after about five minutes the cat was snoring. Arabella watched the cat’s eyes close with amazement. “That worked quite well. You are an excellent surgeon’s assistant.”

Nash blew his nose and wiped his dripping eyes. “Not a role I intend to repeat. Let’s dose the other one, so we can finish up.”

After dosing Hercules, Nash tied his handkerchief around his nose and mouth and put on his leather gloves as he held one animal, then the other, while Arabella sewed. She wasn’t quite sure since she was busy, but it sounded to her as though Nash gagged at one point.

“There.” She sat back and admired her work. “All I need to do now is cover the wounds with a clean cloth and let them sleep.” She grinned at him. “Thank you so much for your help. The whiskey was a wonderful idea.”

Nash grunted and stood. “This needs to stop, Arabella. If you want to take up some type of hobby, try watercolors or embroidery. Or gardening. Something suitable to your station.” He removed the handkerchief and used it to wipe his nose.