Falling for the Marquess - Julianne MacLean Page 0,119
examine you.”
“He’d be able to tell?”
“Yes.”
“Would he be able to tell if I was—” She stopped. She couldn’t go on.
“If you were what, Miss Wilson?”
“If I was with child?” The idea was unsettling, to say the least, but she had to ask.
“I believe it would be too soon to ascertain the answer to that particular question, but let us deal with one problem at a time, shall we?”
Grateful that Lord Alcester was direct and honest with her about this awkward topic, she considered what she knew about the English aristocratic code. A woman was expected to be a virgin upon marriage to ensure any child born of the union was the true heir to the man’s title. Perhaps Harold was worried. Perhaps Lord Alcester was worried, too. He was a member of that family, after all.
“I would like to be examined officially,” she said, remembering that she was to become an aristocratic lady herself. It would be her code, too. Best to follow the rules.
Lord Alcester held the cloth above her wound and squeezed water over it. “The Osulton family physician is a very good man,” he said. “I would trust him with my life, and you can rest assured that he will be discreet. I hope you are not unduly worried?” Alcester’s eyes met hers again. He often seemed to be assessing things.
“I am, but I will do my best to be patient.”
He nodded, appearing satisfied, then turned his attention back to the task of treating her wound. The droplets of water tickled her skin. A few times, her leg jerked upward from the intensity of the dribbling sensation—the odd combination of pain and tickling. She wished she could keep her leg still, but it was no use.
“Try to relax,” he whispered, glancing up at her again. “Breathe deep and count each breath.”
She did as he suggested, keeping her eyes locked on his. All the knots in her muscles began to untie themselves, while she stared at him.
Slowly, the blood washed away, along with the tension in her neck and shoulders. Her breathing slowed.
Lord Alcester bent to look more closely at the gash, then he reached for the bottle of whiskey. “This is going to hurt, but it must be done.”
“I understand.”
“Squeeze my arm if you have to.”
She didn’t want to.
He paused to give her time to prepare herself, then poured the alcohol over the wound. He might as well have poured liquid fire on her. Adele clenched her teeth together to keep from crying out.
As soon as he tipped the bottle upright, she leaned forward and squeezed her thigh. “Sweet Mary!” she ground out.
“Apologies.” He set the bottle down and reached for the long bandage he’d fashioned from her petticoat. “I’m going to wrap the wound now.”
Adele nodded in agreement. He tried to press a smaller bandage to the gash, but she had unconsciously pressed her legs together at the knees. She was clenching her teeth together, too.
He cupped her other knee in his hand and gently pushed her legs apart, again keeping his eyes fixed on hers the entire time. “It’s important to do this properly,” he said. “Relax if you can.”
She struggled to still her racing heart—for no man had ever parted her legs before—and forced herself to surrender to the gentle pressure of his hand.
“Perhaps you could bend your knee slightly?” he politely asked, then he reached for the bandage and wrapped it around her thigh.
His movements were swift and efficient. Before she knew it, he was tying a knot and sitting back. “There. All done. You can breathe now.” He lowered her skirt to cover her leg.
She hadn’t even realized she was holding her breath until he mentioned it.
He helped her rise but as soon as she attempted to walk, pain flooded through her. She felt suddenly nauseated.
“Let me help you.” He wrapped his arm about her waist. “Lean into me. That’s it.”
She began to limp beside him, and felt the thick, firm muscles of his shoulder and the solid, steady support of his body. He did not waver or lose his balance.
“It will be difficult to walk for a few days,” he said.
“But how will we ever get me away from here? For one thing, I don’t have shoes. And it will be torture to ride.”
“No shoes?” He paused. “Leave that to me. I will ride out at first light and return with a coach and driver for the journey, and I will bring shoes for you.”