First Comes Scandal (Rokesbys #4) - Julia Quinn Page 0,42
the stick.
“Can one of you rip his shirt in two? We’ll use one part for the stick and the other to fashion a sling.”
“I can cut it,” Georgie said.
“It’ll be quicker this way,” Nicholas told her. “I would have just torn it before, but I was concerned about jostling the break.”
“Oh. Good. I would hate to think all my work was for nothing. Or worse”—she paused to make a snip in the edge of the fabric to make it easier to rip—“that you were just giving me something to do for the sake of giving me something to do.”
“Not at all. You were indispensable.”
She beamed, and for a moment Nicholas stopped breathing. It was the dead of night, pitch black save for the lantern and the moon.
And her smile.
When Georgiana Bridgerton smiled like that, he wanted to reach into the sky and grab down the sun, just to hand it to her on a platter.
If only to prove that it did not compare.
“Nicholas?”
What was happening to him?
“Nicholas?”
This was Georgie, whom he’d never thought to marry. Georgie, who, when he did think to marry her, had said no.
Georgie, who—
“Sir!”
He blinked. Wheelock was glaring at him.
“Miss Bridgerton has called your name at least twice,” the butler said.
“Sorry,” Nicholas mumbled. “I was just … thinking …” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. What is it?”
“The splint,” Georgie said, holding up a piece of Freddie’s shirt.
“Right. Of course.” Nicholas took it from her and looked down, both eager and relieved to have something medical upon which to focus.
He wrapped the arm, using the cloth to hold the makeshift stick in place. “You’ll want to see a doctor as soon as possible,” he said to Freddie. “He’ll be able to get you sorted with a proper splint.”
“You don’t think Mr. Oakes will wish to use a branch for the duration of his convalescence?” Georgie teased.
“It would work if it had to,” Nicholas said with half a smile. “But he’ll be more comfortable with something other than needs-must medicine.”
“Well, I’m impressed,” Georgie said, watching Nicholas as he fashioned a sling for Freddie’s arm. “Anyone can set an arm in the comfort of their home.”
“Anyone?” Nicholas murmured.
“Anyone with a little training,” she amended. “It takes talent to do it in the dead of night with nothing but a stick and a lantern.”
“And whiskey,” Nicholas said, holding up the flask in salute.
“I thought that was for his face.”
He took a swig. “And to salute a job well done.”
“In that case …” She held out her hand.
“That’s right,” he said. “You’ve never had it.”
“Mr. Rokesby,” Thamsely said with palpable disapproval. “Surely you are not offering spirits to Miss Bridgerton.”
Nicholas looked up at the butler. “We’re outside in the dead of night, tending to a man without a shirt, and that’s what you object to?”
Thamesly stared at him for a long beat and then snatched the flask right out of his hand. “As long as I have a drink first,” he muttered. He popped one back, then handed it to Georgie. “Miss.”
“Thank you, Thamesly,” she said, her eyes darting back and forth between the butler and Nicholas as if to say—Did that really just happen?
She took a dainty sip before handing the flask back to Nicholas. “That’s vile.”
“You get used to it.”
“Some for me?” Freddie asked.
“No,” everyone said in unison.
“Buggers,” Freddie said sullenly.
“Language, Mr. Oakes,” Thamesly said.
“Please don’t step on me again,” Freddie moaned.
“Keep your mouth shut and we have a deal.”
Nicholas caught Georgie’s eye, and they both stifled a laugh.
“If I might interrupt,” Wheelock said, “we do need to decide what to do with him. Much as I’d like to leave him to the wolves, we cannot simply abandon him.”
“One of us is going to need to see him home,” Nicholas said. “Or at least to a coaching inn. I assume he can take care of himself from there.” He turned to Freddie. “It goes without saying that you will never breathe a word of this to anyone.”
“If you do,” Georgie put in, “I’ll tell everyone you were felled by a housecat.”
Freddie looked ready to snarl, but Thamesly nudged him with his toe before he could speak.
“Load him into the cart,” Thamesly said. “I’ll take him to the Frog and Swan.”
“Are you sure?” Georgie asked. “It’s a two-hour drive at least. The Musty Duck is much closer.”
“Best if he’s out of the area,” Thamesly said. “Plus, he’ll be on the main road.