The doctor winked at Sophia and then turned businesslike. 'I'll need a large ewer of scalding-hot water, some good, strong soap, a pot of honey, and a glass of brandy. And I will require more light in here.'
Sophia hurried to fetch the required articles, and Eliza brought lanterns and candles.
By the time Sophia had returned from the kitchen, the room was ablaze as if it were midday. She arranged the ewer, soap, honey, and brandy neatly on the washstand. Going to the bedside, she saw the doctor carefully wiping a few silver instruments with a felt cloth.
Linley smiled at her obvious interest. 'A wound is not as likely to turn putrid and malodorous if it is kept clean, although no one can explain why this is so. Therefore I keep my instruments and my hands as immaculate as possible.'
'What is the honey for?'
'It makes an excellent wound dressing and seems to promote healing. It also keeps the tissue from sticking to the cloth when the dressing is changed.'
'And the brandy?'
'I asked for that because I'm thirsty,' Linley replied cheerfully, and took an appreciative swallow of the vintage. 'Now, Miss Sydney, after I wash my hands, I am going to probe for the bullet--an unpleasant procedure which will make Sir Ross swear like a sailor. I advise that you wait in another room if you possess a weak stomach.'
'I do not,' Sophia said at once. 'I wish to stay.'
'Very well.' Linley picked up a long, slender probe and sat at the bedside. 'Try to hold still,' he warned Sir Ross quietly. 'If it becomes too uncomfortable, I can send for Sir Grant to help hold you down--'
'I won't move,' Ross assured him testily.
At the doctor's bidding, Sophia held a lamp over his shoulder. She kept her gaze on Sir Ross's taut face rather than on Dr. Linley's diligent handiwork. The only sign of the pain he must have felt was an occasional twitch of a muscle in his cheek, or a slight catch of his breath as the probe dug deeper. Finally the implement clicked against the bullet, which had lodged against a bone.
'There it is,' Linley said calmly, a mist of perspiration causing his face to gleam. 'It's a pity you have such a strong constitution, Cannon. You'd have done better to faint before I extract this thing.'
'I never faint,' Ross muttered. His gaze hunted for Sophia's face, and she smiled reassuringly into his pain- darkened eyes.
'Miss Sydney,' Linley murmured, 'hold this probe exactly as it is positioned, and do not alter the angle.'
'Yes, sir.' She complied instantly, and he reached for a delicate two-pronged instrument that looked like a pair of pincers.
'Steady hands,' he remarked admiringly, resuming possession of the probe. Deftly he began to extract the bullet. 'And a pretty countenance to boot. If you ever tire of working at Bow Street, Miss Sydney, I am going to hire you asmy assistant.' Before Sophia could reply, Sir Ross interceded. 'No,' he growled. 'She's mine.' And with that he promptly fainted, the inky sweep of his lashes fanning his pale cheeks.
With the removal of the lead slug from Sir Ross's shoulder, an alarming gush of bright red blood came forth. Sophia bit her lip as she watched Dr. Linley press a clean pad to the wound. The low growl of Sir Ross's wordsShe's mine seemed to hang in the air. Lamely Sophia sought to explain away the phrase. 'H-how kind of Sir Ross to express his appreciation of my work.'
'That was not what he meant, Miss Sydney,' Dr. Linley replied dryly, still focusing on his work. 'Believe me, I understood quite well what he was expressing.'
When the doctor finished applying a dressing to Sir Ross's shoulder, he glanced first at Sophia, then at Eliza, who was gathering a pile of soiled rags to be washed. 'Who will be looking after Sir Ross?'
The question was greeted with silence as the two women glanced at each other. Sophia bit her lip, desperately wanting to take care of him. At the same time, she was alarmed by the awful tenderness that welled inside her. The revulsion she had once felt toward Sir
CHAPTER 6
Ross was crumbling steadily. It seemed impossible to fortify her hatred, and that realization filled her with despair.I'm sorry, John , she thought bleakly. Iam failing you. You deserve better than this . But for now, she was going to set aside her plans for vengeance. She had no choice. Later she would think about it all, and decide what to do.
'I will look after him,' Sophia said. 'Give me your instructions, Dr. Linley.'
He answered readily. 'The dressing must be changed twice a day. Apply it to the wound bed just as you saw me do tonight. If you notice a purulent drainage or foul odor, or if the shoulder turns red and swollen, send for me. Also, if the area right around the wound becomes hot to the touch compared to the surrounding skin, I will wish to know immediately.' He paused to smile at Sir Ross, who was beginning to stir and blink. 'Serve him the usual sickroom pap--beef tea, milk toast, mulled eggs--and for God's sake, limit his coffee so that he will rest.' Still smiling, Linley bent to place a hand on Sir Ross's good shoulder. 'I'm done with you tonight, my friend, though I will return in a day or two to torment you further. Now I will go tell Sir Grant that he is allowed to see you. I suspect he is waiting most impatiently downstairs.'
The doctor left the room, his footsteps quiet for such a tall man. 'What a pleasant gentleman,' Sophia remarked.
'Yes,' Eliza agreed with a chuckle, 'and Dr. Linley is unmarried as well. Many fine ladies in London want his services, both professional and personal. Whoever brings him to scratch will be a lucky woman.'
'What do you mean by personal services?' Sophia asked, perplexed. 'Surely you are not referring to--'
'Oh, yes,' the cook-maid said slyly. 'They say Dr. Linley is skilled in the bedroom arts as well as--'
'Eliza,' Sir Ross interrupted grumpily, 'if you must engage in prurient gossip, please do it in a room where I am not forced to listen.' He scowled at both women, his gaze settling on Sophia. 'Surely there is something better for the two of you to discuss than 'bedroom arts.' '
Sophia's laughing gaze met Eliza's. 'He is quite right,' she said. 'We should not lower ourselves to gossip in front of Sir Ross.' She paused before adding mischievously, 'You can tell me the rest about Dr. Linley when we're in the kitchen.'
As the ache in his shoulder subsided to a continuous pain, Ross accepted Sophia's help in undressing. He did as much as possible by himself, but the effort soon exhausted him. By the time she had settled a white linen nightshirt over his head and helped to guide his injured arm through the sleeve, he was sore and depleted. 'Thank you,' he muttered, settling back against the pillows with a grunt of pain.
Sophia straightened the covers and brought them to his midriff. Her gaze searched his, her eyes dark with concern and some other, unfathomable emotion. 'Sir Grant is waiting just outside the door. Will you see him now, or shall I tell him to return later?'
'I'll see him.' A sigh escaped Ross. He did not want to talk with Morgan or anyone else. He wanted silence, peace, and Sophia's gentle presence beside him.
Instinctively she began to reach for him, then hesitated. Not for the first time, Ross sensed her inner struggle, a conflict between intimacy and repulsion, as if she were determined to deny herself something she wanted badly. She extended her hand to stroke his forehead and smooth back his hair with cool fingertips. 'Don't talk with him for long,' she murmured. 'You need to rest. I will return soon with a supper tray.'
'I'm not hungry.'
She ignored his words as she left, and Ross grinned ruefully at the sure knowledge that she was not going to desist until he ate something.
Sir Grant Morgan entered the bedroom, ducking his head beneath the doorframe. His gaze flickered over Ross, lingering at the bulky shape of the wound dressing at his shoulder. 'How are you?' he asked quietly, lowering himself to the bedside chair.
'Never better,' Ross said. 'The injury is trifling. I'll be back at work by tomorrow, or the next day at the latest.'
For some reason Morgan laughed gruffly. 'Damn you, Cannon. I'd like to know whatyou would say to me , had I taken the foolish risk that you did this evening.'
'If I hadn't joined in the pursuit, Butler would have gotten away.'
