Miss Marianne's Disgrace Read Free Page B

Preston sneered.
    â€˜She’s acting like a common camp follower,’ Miss Cartwright hissed.
    Warren made the final suture, tied it off with a neat knot and used the scissors in the sewing kit to snip the needle free of the thread. ‘You’d make quite a surgeon’s assistant, Miss Domville. You have the steady nerves for it.’
    She frowned and glanced past him to the door. ‘Not everyone agrees with you.’
    â€˜Ignore them.’ He handed her a clean towel, eager to see her lovely white fingers free of the red taint.
    â€˜I spend my days ignoring them.’ She roughly scrubbed her skin.
    He wondered what had happened to turn the others against her. Perhaps it was jealousy. She was sensuous like a Greek sculpture with shapely arms ending in elegant hands. When her fingers were clean and white again, she handed him the stained towel, avoiding his touch. Then she adjusted the lace chemisette covering her very generous décolletage. The brush of her fingertips across her breasts proved as teasing as it was modest. It made him forget the dirty linen in his palm as he watched her straighten a pin in her golden hair with its faint hints of amber circling her face. It was arranged in small twists which were drawn together at the back of her head, emphasising her curving neck and the small curls gracing it. While he watched her, he was no longer irritated at being drawn back to the sickroom he despised. If he’d known this beautiful woman was waiting in the sitting room for the men to finish their port, he’d have insisted they leave the dining room at once.
    â€˜Warren, perhaps you should see to the bandage,’ his mother encouraged, interrupting his admiration of Miss Domville.
    â€˜Of course.’ Warren took up the roll of linen and wound it over the wound, attempting to ignore the blood covering his fingers and to focus on Miss Domville’s steady presence beside him. As he tied the bandage, a small spot of red darkened the centre, but it spread out only to the size of a thruppence before stopping. ‘There now, Lady Ellington, all is well again.’
    Lady Ellington looked at her arm and the dried streaks running down it. ‘To imagine, all this trouble because I tripped.’
    â€˜It was no trouble at all. I’m glad you summoned me.’ He patted her good shoulder, hoping his smile hid the lie. It didn’t and his mother caught it, offering him a silent apology, but he ignored it. The old fear humbled him enough without anyone noticing it. ‘Let’s help her up to the sofa so she can rest.’
    The moment Lady Ellington was settled against the cushions, the invisible dam holding the ladies back burst. They flooded into room, surrounding the Dowager Countess in a flurry of chirping and silk. Warren moved back, surprised to find Miss Domville next to him.
    â€˜She really will be all right, won’t she?’ she asked, her fear palpable. She wasn’t the first person to seek his reassurance about a patient.
    â€˜There was no cloth pushed into the wound to fester and, given her robust health, I think she’ll recover well.’ It was the best he could offer.
    Pink replaced the pale worry on the apples of her cheeks. He’d experienced the same reprieve the day he’d returned to Portsmouth and resigned his commission. He’d vowed that day never to climb aboard another Navy frigate again, and heaven help him, he wouldn’t.
    â€˜I’ll write out instructions for properly seeing to the wound while it heals and a recipe for a laudanum tonic to help ease any pain.’ He walked to the escritoire, the activity relieving some of the tension of having attended to a patient for the first time since his sister’s death over a year ago. He pulled out the chair, making it scrape against the wood floor, irked that a simple cut could affect him or dredge up so many awful memories. His reaction was as shocking as when