clear liquid, a length of rubber tubing.
“What is that?” Merritt asked apprehensively.
“Oxygen apparatus,” Garrett replied as she worked. “I’ve used it before to treat an asthmatic patient. I decided to bring it after Jeffrey described Mr. MacRae’s symptoms.” She connected a rubber bag to the contraption, turned a knob on the cylinder to start the oxygen flow, and fitted a cup over Keir’s nose and mouth. He jerked and tried to turn his head, but she held the cup against his face persistently. “Breathe in,” she coaxed, “slow and steady.”
After only a minute had passed, the oxygen had wrought a near-miraculous change. Keir’s color had lost its blue cast and returned to a healthy pink, and his desperate gasping had eased.
“There we are,” Garrett said quietly, her slim shoulders relaxing. “Better?”
Keir nodded slightly, reaching up to grip her hand with the cup more firmly over his face as if fearing she might take it away too soon.
Merritt blotted her stinging eyes with a handkerchief and let out a shaking sigh.
The doctor glanced at her with a slight smile. “Go set yourself to rights, my friend,” she suggested gently, “while I continue the examination. A cup of tea might do you some good.”
Merritt realized the doctor wanted to protect her patient’s privacy while she examined him. “Of course,” she said, even though the last thing she wanted to do was leave Keir’s side. “Ring the bellpull if there’s anything you need.”
Reluctantly she left the guest room, and found Jenny waiting in the hallway. The young maid gazed at her in worry. “Will the gentleman be all right, ma’am?”
“Yes,” Merritt replied distractedly. “He has to.”
“I’ll help look after him, milady, if you need me to. I nursed my father through a fever once, and I know what to do in a sickroom.”
“Thank you, Jenny. For now, if you would bring some tea to my room …”
“Right away.”
Merritt wandered to her bedroom. The huge bed was pristinely made with fresh linens and blankets, the counterpane perfectly smooth. She glanced in her bedroom mirror, and was taken aback. Her face was soot-streaked, her eyes were red-rimmed, her hair was straggling down from its pins, and her dress was filthy. Grimacing, she pulled the pins from her hair and set them on her vanity table.
She could hardly catch up with her own thoughts. Her brain seemed to be working at twice its usual speed. She brushed her hair with vigorous strokes, twisted it into a simple chignon, and anchored it with pins. Although she still didn’t know the extent of Keir’s injuries, it was clear he would need a great deal of rest and care while he recovered. There would be a scandal if she kept him at her house. Perhaps she could take him down to the Marsden estate in Hampshire? Yes. It was safe and secluded there, and her family would help her. The idea was vastly comforting. She would take Keir there as soon as possible, depending on what Garrett said about his condition.
Jenny returned with the tea and helped her to wash and change into a clean dress. After gulping down a second cup of tea, Merritt glanced at the clock on the mantel. Forty-five minutes had passed since she’d left Keir with Garrett Gibson. Surely that was enough time to have finished examining him.
She went to the guest room and stopped at the closed door. Her heart leaped with gladness as she heard the sounds of conversation. Keir’s familiar baritone was rusty-sounding and broken with coughing, but he was conscious and able to communicate.
Eagerly she knocked at the door with a single knuckle, pushed it open, and peeked around the edge. “May I come in?” she asked.
Garrett, who was sitting at the bedside, gave her a perturbed glance. “Yes, for a moment.”
Merritt came to the bedside, while a mixture of joy, worry, and longing nearly overwhelmed her. Keir was partially propped up on pillows, regarding her with those cool, light blue eyes. Although battered and bruised, he appeared to be in remarkably good condition, considering what he’d been through.
“I’m so glad you’re awake,” she told him unsteadily.
Keir hesitated an unaccountably long moment. Instead of replying, he turned to Garrett with a raspy-voiced question.
“Who is she?”
Chapter 13
MERRITT’S STOMACH PLUMMETED.
Who is she? Was he joking? No … he was staring at her as if she were a stranger he didn’t particularly want in the room with him. Was something wrong with his vision?
Garrett made a subtle patting motion in the air, signaling