The Bedding Proposal Part 15

"I don't believe so," she said automatically. Her nerves were still humming from her near fall-and perhaps from something more.

Knowing she should put some s.p.a.ce between them, she stepped back.

Pain stabbed through her ankle. "Ow!"

"You are hurt." Without waiting for her consent, Leo swept her up into his arms and carried her the short distance to the sofa. Carefully, he laid her onto the cushions.

She clenched her teeth against the pain, which began to subside from sharp to throbbing. Leo knelt at her side and reached down to unlace her boot.

It was only then that she noticed his sling, the black cloth dangling empty around his neck. Why wasn't he wearing it? And come to think, how was it that he'd caught her, and then carried her, when his injury still needed to be immobilized?

"Leo, your arm-," she began.

Her words were cut short when a fresh wave of agony speared through her ankle as he drew off her right boot. "Lie still and let me see if you've broken anything," he said.

She gritted her teeth again as he manipulated her ankle with gentle fingers. "Ow," she complained again. "That hurts."

"I am sure it does." He finished his examination, then laid her stocking-clad foot onto a small decorative pillow that he slid underneath it. "It's definitely sprained and already starting to swell. I expect you'll have bruising too, but it's not broken."

"Are you certain? Maybe we should call the doctor."

He reached out and pulled off her other boot, setting it next to its mate on the floor. "We can, but he's going to tell you what I just did."

"How do you know? Are you a physician?"

The edge of his mouth curved. "I don't need to be. Between my twin brother and myself and our six siblings, I've seen more than my fair share of sprained ankles and broken limbs. I know how to tell one from the other."

Just then, a quiet tap came from the doorway. It was Fletcher. "You rang, milady," he said, the butler moving farther into the room. His eyes widened when they fixed on Thalia stretched full-length across the sofa. "My lady, what has happened?"

Leo stood, calm and innately commanding. "Lady Thalia took a tumble and has suffered a sprain. I need some clean cotton bindings to wrap her ankle, a towel, and ice chips secured inside a piece of waterproof leather or oilcloth. Bring those up first, then have a hot poultice of bran mash prepared. Place the poultice into a covered tureen once it's ready so it will stay warm."

Fletcher stared for another moment. "I shall summon the doctor."

"No need. As I told Lady Thalia, I am well versed in these matters." Leo looked at her. "Unless you require something stronger than brandy for the pain? You don't keep laudanum around the house, do you?"

"No." Her lips tightened, remembering his views on laudanum. Truth be told, she didn't much care for the drug's effects either and the doctor would likely press her to take a draught. "I shall follow Lord Leopold's advice," she told the butler. "For now at least."

With a nod, Fletcher left the room.

She waited until she knew they were alone, then fixed Leo with a pointed look. "Do you really know what you're doing? Ice? And a hot poultice?"

"Cold will reduce the swelling and heat relaxes the muscles. I've found that alternating the two brings excellent relief."

She considered, realizing she was familiar with a similar technique for treating horses. She supposed one might not be all that much different from the other. Resigned, she let herself sink more deeply into the sofa cushions.

Her ankle throbbed. "So?" she said, needing something to distract herself from the pain, "you were telling me about your arm?"

"I wasn't, actually." He turned and swept his gaze around the room. "Are you cold? Here, let me get you a wrap. It won't do for you to take a chill."

"I am comfortable enough," she said.

But he ignored her and walked away.

She twisted her head around, frustrated at being trapped on the sofa. "I am speaking to you, Lord Leopold."

"Pray continue," he called from somewhere behind her. "I can hear you quite well."

She swallowed an oath. "I was just wondering if you have you been lying to me?"

A pause followed. "About what?" he said.

"You know full well what. Your injury. Or rather your supposed injury. Clearly your wound is not as severe as you have been leading me to believe. I am beginning to wonder if you were shot at all."

"Of course I was shot. You saw me bleeding, did you not?"

She had. An image of him ashen and smeared with blood flashed through her mind. Unquestionably, he had been wounded.

"Very well. But why the sling if your arm is healed enough to catch me and carry me?"

He returned, the cashmere shawl she kept draped over the fireside wing chair in his hand. He'd removed the sling, she noticed, his "bad" arm hanging naturally at his side.

He leaned down and placed the shawl over her, taking care to tuck it around her arms and shoulders. "Rest," he said. "We'll talk about this later."

"I would prefer to talk about it now."

He met her eyes. "Has anyone ever told you that you are amazingly stubborn?"

"I believe I could say the same of you."

A tiny smile played over his mouth. "See? Yet another thing we have in common."

A scowl creased her brow. "So?" she pressed after another few moments.

He frowned back. "You're right. I haven't really needed to wear a sling. My arm is still sore and the st.i.tches have yet to come out, but the wound is healing quickly. It's just a matter of waiting for my body to recover fully."

"Then why the charade? Why come here pretending?"

"I needed some means of fanning the flames of your guilt," he said, surprising her with his blunt honesty. "You've made no secret of the fact that you are only allowing me to call on you because you feel badly about your role in my shooting. I worried that if you saw me looking far more hale and hearty than you deemed appropriate, you would put an early end to our arrangement."

"Something I still might do. Did you not think I would discover the truth?"

He shrugged. "The risk seemed reasonable, and I thought seeing me in a weakened state might soften your rather formidable defenses. And it worked. Yesterday is the first time I ever heard you really laugh."

"It may well be the last."

"I hope not. I like your laugh." His voice deepened. "And your smile too. I long to hear and see more of both."

Her heart gave an annoying double beat and she looked away. "I ought to kick you out right now." She tried to put some force behind her words, but they sounded hollow, even to her own ears.

"Luckily for me," he said with quiet humor in his tone, "you cannot walk at present and Fletcher is too old to strong-arm me."

She fixed him with a look. "I could still find a way, if I wished to."

He smiled. "I am sure you could."

She said nothing further, plucking at the edge of her shawl with her fingertips. Why wasn't she tossing him out? After all, he'd lied to her and admitted it. She ought to be outraged.

She was outraged. And yet . . .

"Don't ever lie to me again," she said with complete seriousness. "There is nothing I find quite so repellent as deception. If I discover that you've told me another untruth, I really will toss you out of my house and make certain you never enter it again."

His expression turned solemn. "You have my word, Thalia. No more lies. I will be honest with you from this day forward. I trust I have your word that you will do the same?"

She studied him, wondering why she was even considering making such a bargain. Men lied; it was as simple as that. Heaven knew she had learned that lesson in the cruelest of ways. Yet for reasons that escaped her, she believed him.

"Yes," she said softly, "you have my word."

Before he could respond, footsteps sounded in the hallway.

"Your ice and bandages must be ready," Leo said.

He was right, she saw, as Fletcher walked in bearing a silver tray laden with the requested items.

"How are you doing, milady?" the butler asked after setting his burden onto a nearby table. "Mrs. Grove and the rest of the staff are most concerned. She is in the kitchen now, preparing the poultice that his lordship requested."

"Thank you, Fletcher," Thalia told him, while Leo walked over to inspect the items on the tray. "I am resting comfortably. Tell Mrs. Grove and the others not to worry. It is nothing more than a little sprain."

"Time will tell how severe a sprain it is," Leo said, addressing his words to the butler. "Lady Thalia will need to stay off her feet tonight and likely tomorrow as well. Alert the kitchen to have a supper tray sent to her bedchamber this evening-"

"I can eat in the dining room as usual-," she interrupted.

"-and inform her maid to arrange a bolster of feather pillows at the foot of her bed," Leo continued as if she had not spoken. "Her ankle requires elevation tonight to continue easing the swelling."

"Very good, my lord," Fletcher said. "The arrangements shall be made as you request."

Ingrained manners were the only thing that kept her mouth from falling open over the exchange. Thalia didn't know which man she found more vexing, Leo for giving orders to her butler-again-or Fletcher for following them a second time. Still, she said nothing until Fletcher left the room.

"Just because I am mildly discomposed at present," she said, twisting her fingers around her shawl fringe, "doesn't give you leave to order my servants about."

Leo lifted the tray and carried it closer. "I am only doing what needs done."

"So you say. I knew you were stubborn and arrogant, but I didn't realize you were overbearing too."

He shrugged. "Another Byron trait."

"Does your family have any positive qualities?"

"Many," he said, his eyes twinkling. "But we only display them when it is to our advantage."

She gave a soft snort and crossed her arms over her chest. "That I can readily believe. I met your brother once. I believe."

"Oh? Which one?"

"The duke. He was formidable to say the least."

"That's Edward. Although he's lightened up considerably since he married. Claire has a definite way about her and she doesn't put up with his bl.u.s.ter."

"His wife sounds like an excellent woman."

"Yes, you would like her."

Thalia fell silent, aware that she and the d.u.c.h.ess of Clybourne would never meet; they no longer ran in the same circles. Leo looked away, busied himself with the items on the tray. She supposed he must be thinking the same thing.

He turned and leaned over her. "This will work better if we remove your stocking." Without waiting for her consent, he reached for the hem of her dress.

She clamped a hand down on his arm. "What do you think you are doing?"

"Helping you off with your stocking."

"You'll do nothing of the sort."

He arched a brow. "Why not? Modest?"

"No. Just cautious. If anyone is going to put their hands under my dress, it will be me. Turn your back."

"Thalia-"

"Turn your back."

He raised his hands up in mock surrender and did as she bade.

She waited until she was sure he wasn't looking, then sat up so she could pull up her skirts to remove her garter. The moment she did, pain shot through her ankle as her foot shifted sideways against the pillow. "Ouch!"

Leo whirled around. "You've hurt yourself."

"It's nothing," she said through gritted teeth. "And you're looking. Turn around."

He took a step closer instead. "I thought you weren't going to lie to me, remember? Stop being obstinate and let me help you. It's not as if I'm the first man to ever see and touch your legs."

No, but it had been a long time, a very long time, since she'd let a man do either of those things. And strangely enough, even that minor intimacy seemed too intense with him. As much as she wanted to refuse, though, her ankle was throbbing like she'd twisted it all over again.

"You're sure it isn't broken?" she asked.

"Quite sure. But that doesn't mean the sprain won't hurt like Hades. Now lie back and let me tend to you."

She hesitated one final moment, then gingerly relaxed back.

She let her eyes close.