Chapter 17
The knock at her bedroom door shocked Bridget so badly that she dropped the book she’d been holding.
Dr. Roberts had told her that he might check in on her later. She probably should have expected it. But she’d let herself believe that he had gone for the night, since it was starting to get late. Emma had already gone to bed. She cleared her throat. “Come in,” she said.
The door swung open.
It wasn’t Dr. Roberts. Instead, Reeves stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe. Bridget gasped, fumbled for the book, and shoved it under her pillow.
His eyes narrowed. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly, feeling her face grow hot. She would die if he knew that she had gone ahead and taken the book Agnes had suggested for her. She took a risk, got up from the bed, and crossed the room toward the window seat, hoping he would be distracted by the movement.
It worked. He turned and watched her cross the room. “You shouldn’t be on your feet,” he said. “I came to see how you were doing after your injury.”
“I’m all right.”
“You’re limping.” He was by her side in two steps, and to Bridget’s shock, he swept her up in his arms without so much as a by your leave.
She cried out. “What are you doing? Put me down.”
He did, but only after closing the distance between them and the window seat.
Carefully, he bent and set her down there, then grabbed the blanket at the foot of the seat and spread it across her lap.
“I want to examine it,” he said. “Your ankle, I mean. I want to see for myself and make sure you’re doing all right. ”
“I’m fine,” she said. “The physician already looked.”
“Well, you’re still limping, and I want to check.”
She folded her arms. “You aren’t a physician.”
“And? What of that?”
“And I don’t need you to check my injury,” she sputtered. “It’s already been looked at, Reeves. I don’t need you to look at it.”
His eyes met hers and held her steady. “I would feel better, though, if you’d let me,” he said. “I don’t imagine I’m going to get much sleep tonight worrying about this.”
“Worrying about my turned ankle?” She gazed up at him, and what she saw surprised her.
He was serious. He meant what he was saying.
This wasn’t some ploy to exert control over her, or to try to make her feel uncomfortable.
He truly was so worried about her ankle that he was having trouble focusing on anything else.
She could tell by the intensity in his gaze and the way his eyes kept cutting from her face down to her leg.
This was a matter of concern for him, and he really wasn’t going to rest easy until she had indulged him.
A wave of awkward discomfort washed through her.
None of this was normal. None of this was decent.
A man in her room, insisting that he needed to examine her ankle…
that was odd, to say the least. Improper.
And what was worse was the growing realization in the pit of Bridget’s stomach that she was going to allow it.
She was going to let him do what he wanted to do, despite knowing she shouldn’t.
“All right,” she said, her voice low. “A quick look, then.”
He didn’t move, and after a moment, she realized what the issue was—he was waiting for her to take the initiative. He wouldn’t lift her skirts himself. He was too much of a gentleman for that.
Not that it made her feel much better to be the one to do it. She gritted her teeth and pulled them up just a few inches, tucking her good leg up beneath her so that only the injured ankle was exposed.
She hadn’t looked at it herself since Dr. Roberts had departed. Seeing it now, she let out a gasp. The skin was discolored, and it was swollen to nearly twice its normal size. No wonder that was so painful to walk on.
Reeves bent over it and brushed his fingertips gently over the discolored area.
She flinched as a bolt of pain shot through her.
“I apologize,” he murmured. “This won’t take long. Can you bear it?”
She gritted her teeth and nodded.
The truth was that the pain was bearable—it was no worse than what she had experienced when the physician had been examining her.
In fact, in spite of the hideous appearance of her ankle, it hurt slightly less now.
She was encouraged by that. Dr. Roberts had warned her that it might start to look bad, though she hadn’t been prepared for this level of atrocity.
He’d said it was nothing to worry about, and that it would mean she was healing.
That wasn’t the sole reason she had flinched.
It was something about his hand on her leg.
It made her feel as if she were being burned.
The strangest part, though, was that the fire licking at her wasn’t painful.
It was radiant, as if she were staring into the sun, but it didn’t hurt her.
Instead, a shocking warmth spread through her body, from the place he had touched her all the way up her leg and straight to her heart.
She sucked in a breath and tried to remain as still as possible, hoping that he wouldn’t see how affected she was.
Fortunately, he wasn’t looking at her face.
His gaze remained on her ankle. That wasn’t exactly soothing—it made her heart race to have his eyes and his hands on her leg like that, even if he were just examining her injury.
She closed her eyes and tried to forget that it was happening.
She took deep breaths in the hope of steadying herself.
Finally, his fingers withdrew. “I think you’re going to be all right,” he murmured.
Bridget wanted to say that, of course she was, that she’d told him she was, but words escaped her. She swallowed hard and opened her eyes, twitching her skirts back into place so that her ankle was covered once more.
“And you’re feeling all right?” he asked her.
Bridget found her voice. “I’m feeling fine,” she said. “I think it will be much better by morning.”
“But if it isn’t, you’re to tell me at once,” he said firmly. “And I’ll call Dr. Roberts back so that he can treat it for you. We aren’t going to take any chances with your health while… while you’re under my care.”
There had been a hesitation there. She had the feeling there was something he had wanted to say that he hadn’t said.
But she was too timid to ask him what it was.
This whole interaction had already been much more than she had bargained for.
She withdrew from him, pressing her back to the wall so that there was as much distance between the two of them as there could possibly be without Bridget leaving the window seat.
She could have left. She could have stood and gone back to her bed. Something was stopping her. It was as if she were being pulled toward him, or held there by him, even though he was no longer touching her. It was strange.
She cleared her throat. “You don’t need to worry,” she said.
“Even if I had been badly hurt—which I wasn’t—I wouldn’t consider it to be your fault.
You don’t need to worry about being blamed for something happening while I’m in your charge.
That’s not the way I see it. I was the one who fell, so I’m responsible for it. ”
He shook his head, his brow furrowed. “That isn’t what I meant.”
She wanted to ask him what he had meant, if not that, but for some reason, the question made her nervous. It felt like something she didn’t genuinely want to know the answer to, and so she kept her mouth shut.
“You’ll be wanting to get back to your bed,” he said. “Let me help you.”
Bridget realized a moment before he acted what he was about to do. “No—hold on—”
But she’d spoken too late. Reeves had swept her up in his arms once again, and before Bridget could issue another word of protest, she found herself being carried across the room and deposited gently on the bed.
Her hand immediately slid under the pillow, almost of its own accord, to make sure the book was still concealed. This whole encounter had already been beyond embarrassing, even if it had been strangely exciting as well.
Reeves’ eyes tracked her. “What are you hiding from me?” he asked.
“Can’t a lady have anything personal?” Bridget asked, her cheeks flaming.
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t know,” he said. “You didn’t bring much with you to this house. I imagine if you’re hiding something, it’s something I ought to know about.”
“I think you should go,” Bridget said, sitting up straighter. “You came here to see to my well-being, and now you’ve done that, so I think it’s time for you to leave me in peace. I was planning to go to bed.”
“Well, if you’re certain …” He wandered in the direction of her bed.
Somehow, she didn’t see it coming. She would curse herself later for the foolishness it had taken not to realize what he was up to.
But in the moment, being near him only set her heart beating rapidly again, just as it had when he had been examining her ankle, and it was all she could do to keep from shivering with the anticipation of another touch.
When his hand came close to her, her breath stopped for a moment—she believed he was going to touch her again.
And this time, he wouldn’t be able to pass it off as wanting to make sure her injury wasn’t too severe.
Her head spun with questions—why would he do it?
Did she want him to do it? Was she going to allow it?
His hand moved past her. Surprisingly nimble fingers darted under the pillow, and the next thing Bridget knew, he was holding up the book.
“Hey!” she objected, reaching for it, but he held it out of her grasp.
“So,” he said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “This is what you’ve been hiding from me?”
She struggled to maintain her dignity. “May I have it back, please?”
“And what would a lady like you need with a book like this?” He flipped it open and read aloud.
“‘Lord Chancery was tall, with broad, muscular shoulders and big hands that sent a shiver down Lady Eleanor’s spine…’ Well, my goodness, I don’t know what Lady Eleanor is going to do under these circumstances. ”
“If you’d like to read the book when I’ve finished, you’re certainly free to do that.
” Bridget was aware of the blush creeping across her face.
She felt hot all the way down her torso.
“Reeves, may I have the book back, please? I said I would read it so that Agnes and I could discuss it, that’s all. There’s no need for these theatrics.”
His grin only grew wider. He handed her the book.
“Of course,” he said. “You’re only reading it for Agnes’ sake.
I completely understand. Even though I saw her leave the room before you did in the library the other day.
You can tell me the truth, you know. I’m sure lots of ladies enjoy books like this. ”
The embarrassment was nearly too much to take. “Please leave,” she said. “I need to get some rest tonight.”
She looked down at the book in her hands, her vision drifting out of focus.
It was too difficult to keep her attention on the cover when she was so aware of him in the room with her.
Perhaps he sensed that he had gone a bit too far, though, because he didn’t say anything else, and after a moment, she heard the door close.
Bridget felt as if all the air had gone out of her lungs. She slumped on the bed and closed her eyes, doing her best to re-center herself and breathe evenly.
The whole encounter had been more than she could take, and she wished he had never come into her room tonight.
Except—except that even now that he was gone, she couldn’t stop thinking about the moment by the window when his fingers had rested on the skin of her bare ankle. When he had told her, for reasons she still couldn’t understand, that he didn’t like seeing her hurt.