“I’m afraid it’s out of the question.” He said it softly as she leaned close, bathing his shoulder. “I’m too unsteady yet to feed myself. If you will be kind enough to bring me something to drink, that will suffice.”
She handed him a glass of water from the bed table and frowned at him skeptically. “And yet, you contemplated writing?”
Clever marmot. He pinched his brow together, struggling to compose his features and disguise his ulterior motive. “I hadn’t considered the matter thoroughly.”
“Very well then. I will feed you.”
He smiled.
If Valen had thought having Izzie dribble soup down his gullet would be romantic, he had erred. After the second time she dabbed at his mouth as if he were a helpless infant, he’d had enough. “Have you nothing of more substance? Meat for example? Something I might stab with one hand and eat on my own?”
His father, resting in the armchair, waved away his request. “The doctor said to introduce solids gradually.”
“Hmm,” he grumbled. “Doubt the sawbones has ever gone three days without a proper meal.”
Izzie perked up, an impish glint in her eyes. “This soup has meat. Only look for yourself. Here is a knuckle bone.” She held up a mangy boiled joint for his inspection.
“Not what I had in mind.”
She set down the soup dish and stood, brushing out her skirt. “Perhaps, my lord, if we were to bring you a leg of mutton, you might hold it in your good hand and gnaw it to your heart’s content?”
“That is ludicrous, surely he can’t...” Lord Ransley frowned. “Oh, I see. You’re jibing him.”
Yes. It was a ludicrous suggestion. Even so, it sounded infinitely better than the butter-and-broth soup Elizabeth was feeding him.
“Exactly the thing,” Valen ordered with the same firmness he would command one of his soldiers. “That and a firkin of wine will serve admirably.”
“As you wish.” She turned abruptly to leave.
He wondered if he had carried his surliness too far. “Wait. Izzie.” He leaned over to reach for her, but the sudden movement sent a hot stabbing pain searing into his injured shoulder. He fell back holding his breath.
She rushed back to his side. “What happened?”
“Hunger pains.” He tried to smile.
“I will get you something else,” she said in earnest.
He groped for her hand and found it. “First, my sweeting, the letter. Please. Then I promise to swallow whatever you choose. Saving, of course, no more of that knuckle soup.”
She arched her brow but submissively went to the desk and sat down, selected a piece of parchment, and dipped a quill into the ink. Valen dictated the details of that night to the best of his recollection, including the fact that he had noticed some movement in the shrubbery on that night, but had dismissed it as an animal.
“Do you really think it might have been him?” Izzie glanced up sharply. “I saw it too, when we were...” She glanced uncomfortably in the direction of his father.
“Yes.” Valen traced an invisible circle on the mattress with his finger. “When you were rejecting my offer.”
“What’s this?” His father sputtered, suddenly attentive. “You offered for her?”
“He did not.” Izzie’s chin and nose rose in their customary salute to the ceiling that meant she was on the defensive.
Valen nodded. “She spurned me.”
“It was not an offer,” she insisted.
He arched one brow. “I asked you to marry me, did I not?”
“Yes, but...”
“He did?” Lord Ransley sat on the edge of his seat. “And you said no?”
“Not precisely.” Izzie bowed her head into her hand and grimaced.
“She did.”
“May we please return to the letter?” She sniffed loudly.
Lord Ransley shook his head and sat back, his brow furrowed as he contemplated first one and then the other. “You said no,” he muttered.
“Rejected me out of hand.”
“The letter?” She poised the quill.
“As you wish.” Valen dictated the rest of his missive. “And in conclusion, Robert, if you will return to Ransley Keep at your earliest convenience, there is a matter of great urgency I must discuss with you.”
She glanced up, inquisitive. He loved that bright falcon-like look she acquired when she got wind of something. He loved, equally well, watching her suppress her keenness. “And what matter might that be?” she asked, careful not to affect too much interest.
“A private matter, my dear.”
His father chuckled and fell into coughing fit.
Three days went by, and Valen said nothing more to Elizabeth about her rejection of his suit. Whenever she broached the subject, he changed it. Deuced hard to get her to shift course. But Valen thought he knew best how to handle his wily little marmot.
Hardest were the interminable nights, when he lay awake from the pain, wishing desperately that she were next to him. Instead, he had the privilege of listening to one of the footmen sitting vigil in the armchair snuffle and snort uncomfortably throughout the long nights.
Pater and Thomas came to visit him on Monday, carrying a bushel of remedies that Meg insisted Lady Elizabeth administer to him. They both grinned at him as if they knew some secret he didn’t.
“Well?” Pater finally asked. “Did you figure it out?”
Thomas chuckled quietly and shook his head. “Women.”
“You told Thomas?”
“I didn’t say anything he and Meg couldn’t see for themselves.”
“Writ all over you, lad.”
Valen cocked a brow, signaling his displeasure at their overly bold interrogation. “I may have come to a conclusion or two.”
They exchanged knowing glances, and the conversation turned to sheep and grain.
Tuesday morning, the doctor appeared and said he had rarely seen a wound heal up with such vigor and that it was finally ready for a proper dressing.
That evening, while Izzie was downstairs, Valen’s father slipped into the room and sent the servant away. He sat on the edge of Valen’s bed. “Well?” He crossed his arms. “How do you plan to do it?”
“My lord?”
“Capture your bride?”
“Capture the...? Sounds like a new game of some sort. You’ll have to explain.”
Lord Ransley coughed and frowned at Valen over his kerchief. “You know perfectly well
