Chapter 9
nine
Standing in the middle of the ballroom, Effie drew in a breath as she stared at the growing red stain on Lord Montcrest’s waistcoat. “That’s blood.”
“It’s nothing.”
“The stain is growing larger.”
“I have to go.” He walked towards the edge of the dance floor, hiding the stain with his hand.
She followed him at a close distance. He did his best to remain straight, but he kept hunching. She must have hit a freshly stitched wound or something similar.
Pressing the handkerchief against his side, he walked out of the ballroom with her at his heels.
“Montcrest.” She chased him along the corridor. “Let me see. I feel responsible for hurting you.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s nothing.” He sounded as if he were choking.
“I can help.” She caught up with him. “Trust me.” Even though the scene would be scandalous.
He came to a halt and studied her for a long minute. Pain drew deep lines around his mouth. “You shouldn’t worry about me. You shouldn’t waste your time on me.” The laboured and haughty tone was replaced with a vulnerable one.
Shock caught her at his resignation as if his statement were definitive. What had happened to him to make him so certain about his unworthiness? Guilt for having judged him gnawed at her.
She touched his arm as the instinct to pull him into a comforting hug rose. “Let’s discuss that after I’ve taken a look at that bleeding cut.”
“You take care of animals.”
“You would be surprised to know how many things we have in common with them.” She opened the nearest door and beckoned him inside a sitting room.
He didn’t move. In the semidarkness of the corridor, he looked pale and hurt, guarded like a wild animal.
“Trust me,” she said again.
He closed his eyes briefly before following her.
The moment she closed the door behind them, darkness fell in the room, and a certain stirring of uneasiness flickered within her. She was alone with a man she barely knew, in the middle of the night.
Her hand trembled when she locked them in. It was better to make sure no one entered, but being locked in with him meant she couldn’t get out easily.
The thick door muffled the music from the ballroom, and his uneven breathing sounded louder.
She lit a few lamps. Their yellow glow spread over a couple of armchairs, bookshelves, and a large Chesterfield sofa. The fear he might take advantage of her vanished when he gritted his teeth and hung his head. He was in pain and needed her help, and she wouldn’t refuse it.
“Over there.” She pointed at the sofa.
He didn’t move, his hand still on his stained shirt. “We’re alone.”
“Well spotted.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do, but you’re bleeding. The handkerchief is all red. If you cooperate, we’ll be quicker and leave this room faster.”
Exhaling, he sat on the sofa, not without wincing.
She sat in front of him. “Let me see.”
He removed the bloody handkerchief and unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt.
She shifted on the seat. If Papa saw her now, she would have a difficult time explaining what she was doing.
Lord Montcrest was a gentleman Papa wouldn’t be happy to consider among her suitors.
And if they were caught alone together, Papa wouldn’t appreciate the gossip. She wouldn’t appreciate it.
“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.”
He wasn’t going to see a doctor.
“I can stitch it now.” Her offer was a challenge to prompt him to see a physician although she could attend to his wound.
He propped himself up on his elbows. “Are you serious?”
“I stitched dozens of cuts on dogs, cattle, and bulls. It’s not that different.” It was. Animals’ skin was thicker than humans’, but the technique was the same. She closed her bag. “But if you prefer seeing your physician, as you should, I understand.”
“No.” He tilted his head back, exposing his strong neck and bobbing Adam’s apple. “He would ask a thousand questions. Yes, do it.”
“You’re welcome. I love it when someone I’m trying to help gives me orders.”
He lifted his head just enough to stare at her. “Thank you. I didn’t mean to order you around.”
“Honestly.” She prepared everything she needed to stitch the cut. “I would appreciate a bit of respect and good manners.”
“Fair is fair. Apologies.” He swallowed. “Did you study at a college?”
“Women aren’t allowed to study veterinary medicine. We can study medicine in many universities and can become surgeons, but heaven forbid if we touch a cow.”
“That sounds unfair. Like many other things in life.” He sounded genuinely sorry.
“Thank you for understanding. People don’t usually react like you did when I tell them about my aspiration.”
He flushed and mumbled, “You’re welcome.”
Had she embarrassed him? “You aren’t used to praise.”
He gazed around. “Not exactly. Let’s say people don’t praise my understanding.”
His abdominal muscles tensed when she took out the needle and the thread.
“Is it going to hurt?” he asked.
“No. I’ll apply cocaine to your skin to numb it. You won’t feel anything.” She worked quickly, applying the cocaine first, then stitching the wound with the thinnest curved needle she had. “The scar shouldn’t be very visible, but you’ll have one.”
“Why are you so kind to me?” His tone of voice was the same as the one he’d used for Zeus—sweet, calm, and patient. He stared at her as if she were his guardian angel.
“Because I feel sorry for you.” And she wasn’t referring to the cut.
“Pity then.”
“Compassion. It’s different.” She finished the last tiny stitches. “You’re always so defensive. Why? Not everyone is your enemy. I certainly am not.”
He lay down again and blew out a breath as if he were exhausted. When he met her gaze, the tense lines on his face smoothed. “I’m going through a rather difficult moment.”
“May I ask what exactly?” She wiped the cut again.
“You know the story of my family.” The guarded tone was back.
“I know you lost everything and rebuilt your fortune. I grew up in the country. I came to London twice a year. I don’t know much about what happened here.” She wiped the excess of disinfectant with a clean cloth. “Tell me. Everything I know about your family comes from other people.”
He released a long breath through his teeth. Maybe the attitude was reluctance, but she suspected it was more about shame.
“My grandfather made a few bad investments, then some more bad investments in the attempt to repair the damage. He was a good man but with no sense of business or understanding of the market. He bled so much money he bankrupted my family. One of those investments dealt with an enemy of the crown, so he was almost accused of high treason on top of everything else. His title and life were at risk, and his coffers were empty. The shame and the pain were too much. He died of a seizure.”
She stopped wiping his skin. “I’m sorry.”
He wasn’t looking at her as he spoke but at the ceiling. Perhaps he felt more comfortable talking about himself that way.
“You were the first person who helped us. I never forgot your kindness. My father and I started to rebuild our family’s status and money.
It was long and relentless work, made of late nights, begging people who hated us for favours, and humiliations.
We worked side by side with clerks and builders, broke our backs to keep our land, and succeeded.
People believed the relationship with my father was strained because I’d worked with him since I was a boy, thus they thought he’d forced me or been unfair to me.
But it couldn’t be further from the truth.
But I’m still fighting. I fear the fight will never end, as if I lived in a loop that gets tighter…
” He swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.
“People assume that, because I’m a lord, I don’t know what it means to be starving, be cold, or work so hard your body aches.
I don’t take my fortune for granted. I wasn’t always surrounded by servants and wealth.
I’m not complaining, but I’m not whom people think. ”
Emotion tightened her throat at his suffering. She put her hand on his, and he snatched it back like a scared animal.
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
A deep frown appeared between his eyebrows. He sat upright and buttoned his shirt. “I don’t know why I talked so much.” He tugged at his shirt and waistcoat hard enough to rip the fabric. “Bloody hell.”
“I’m afraid I can’t stitch that.” Her attempt to lighten the mood didn’t end well.
“I don’t usually bother people with my family’s history.”
“You didn’t bother me.”
He stood up, changing into the stony Marquess of Montcrest in the span of a moment. “Thank you for your assistance. I should leave now.”
“I should bandage the cut.”
He raked a hand through his hair, messing it. “No. It doesn’t matter. My lady.” He bowed formally and left the room in a hurry as if she told him she meant to neuter him.
She sighed and packed her tools.
Lord Montcrest’s problem wasn’t a cut on his abdomen.