right now—his eyes closed, letting her minister to him.
“You are in need of a trim,” she said, taking a step back. She wrung the cloth out over the bowl, making the rose petals dance like tiny boats caught upon the waves. “I shall discuss it with Therese.”
He nodded, but his eyes remained closed and his body remained in soft repose.
Sabrina took another step away, and his eyes opened, capturing her and making her feel as though they were the only two people in existence. If other women felt this same way when he looked at them, no wonder they had come so easy to him in the past.
Nothing that came easy in life was worth having, however. She would be wise to remember that.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
She wasn’t sure if he meant the rescue yesterday morning or the ministrations just now. “You’re welcome.” She looked toward his legs beneath the cover, the bulk of the right thicker than the left due to the splint Therese had applied. “How is your leg?”
“Painful,” he said, sounding exhausted. “When I shift my position, even a little, fresh pain shoots up my leg.” He waved from his hip to his feet.
She was glad to see his shoulder was doing so well. Once a dislocated shoulder was returned to the socket, movement was no longer impeded, though the area would be tender for a few days. He would also be susceptible to reinjure it if he wasn’t careful.
“Therese says that in another day or two you will be able to sit up more fully, perhaps even transfer to a chair. We are attempting to find a Bath chair that will allow you some ability to move around the room. I imagine a young man like yourself would have difficulty staying abed this way.”
“I fear it will drive me mad,” he said, then held up his hand and hurried to add, “though I am very grateful for the chance.”
Sabrina smiled. “Grateful for the chance to go mad?”
He attempted a smile, though he could not manage much given the injuries to his face. “Madness is a fair trade for one’s life, I suppose.”
She laughed lightly. A man both handsome and witty was a powerful combination. “Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable, Mr. Stillman?”
He cleared his throat and licked his lips. When he spoke, the higher tone of his voice and quick delivery made her think he’d been waiting for her to issue the invitation. “Yes, actually, I wonder if I might have some . . . brandy or rum or . . . s-something.”
She had expected this request, and had planned to say no, but changed her mind. One drink a day would not set back his recovery, and it could help him sleep if administered at night.
“I shall have a glass of sherry sent up.”
“Sherry?”
The disappointment in his voice was rather overt, but then he attempted a smile that she suspected was designed to charm her, though the effect was subdued because his face was a mask of bruises. “Might I request brandy instead? It shall help manage the pain.” He clasped his fingers together, perhaps to contain the trembling, or maybe to show her how bad it was.
“You are being given regular doses of laudanum for the pain, Mr. Stillman.”
“The laudanum is helpful, yes, but I would also appreciate something more, um, familiar.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Are you not familiar with sherry?”
He attempted to smile again, but there was a tightness to his mouth. “Of course, I am familiar with sherry. Women drink it in tiny glass cups while discussing hats and springtime.”
Lady Sabrina took his sarcasm as an opening. “If you don’t mind my saying so, Mr. Stillman, from what I have heard, you are more than a bit familiar with liquor. Seeing how your body is coping with the lack of such drink these last two days”—she gestured to his trembling hands—“I would guess you are used to far more than is good for you.”
His smile fell and a look of desperation entered his eyes. It was essential that she establish her authority, so she did not give him a chance to speak. “Ale with your meals and a glass of sherry each night to help you sleep are all I will prescribe. Any more would interfere with your healing.”
“I need brandy, Lady Sabrina. Without it, I feel quite ill.”
“You feel ill because you have overindulged, Mr. Stillman. I would go so far as to suggest that your