When a Duke Loves a Governess (Unlikely Duchesses #3) - Olivia Drake Page 0,92
to do something. One thing was certain, she wasn’t budging before knowing how badly Carlin was hurt.
Jiggs cast a baleful glare at the hovering servants. “Out, all o’ ye. This ain’t no Punch-and-Judy show.”
The maidservant scurried from the room at once, as did the footmen, though Roebuck firmed his lips as if to argue. But apparently recalling that this chamber was the valet’s territory, the butler promised to leave a footman stationed outside the door should His Grace require anything. He himself would wait downstairs and bring up the physician the instant he arrived. Even Mrs. Womble was sent on her way by Jiggs, after being assured that he knew all of her remedies and then some.
Once they were gone, Tessa flung her bonnet onto a chair and went to help Jiggs, who was having trouble tugging the duke’s shirt up over his head without hurting his arm. The valet cast her a quick, one-eyed glance, but she was beyond caring what he might think of her presence.
She reached in her pocket for the scissors, then realized she’d left them behind for the excursion to Astley’s. “Pray fetch me a pair of shears,” she told Jiggs. “The shirt is already ruined, so it would be better to cut it off.”
“This’ll be quicker,” he said, whipping out a dagger.
“Give that to Miss James,” Carlin said. “You may be able to spear a grape from a distance of twenty-five yards, but I’d sooner trust her with my neck than you.”
Jiggs chortled as he passed the weapon to Tessa. “Mind, ’tis sharp.”
The small grip fit her hand perfectly. “Is this the knife you used to carve the wooden animals that His Grace gave to Lady Sophy? She plays with them every day.”
“’Tis pleased I am t’ hear it. Mayhap I’ll whittle her a few more.”
As Tessa leaned over Carlin, the blade sliced easily through the front side of the linen garment. Seeing the tightness of pain at the corners of his mouth, she chattered to distract him. “I’ve often thought it would be helpful for men to have buttons down a shirt. Tell your tailor, and you might start a new style.”
“A novel notion if only I cared a fig for fashion. Blast! Are you trying to kill me, Jiggs?”
Now that the shirt was cut, the valet had lost no time in peeling it off. “’Tis stuck t’ yer hide, is all. There, that’ll do.”
With Carlin’s broad torso bare, Tessa could see the long, ugly gouge on the outside of his upper arm. Blood oozed sluggishly from the wound, and she unrolled a length of soft lint, using it to apply pressure. Her mind grappled with the horror of how much worse the injury might have been. If the bullet had struck just a few inches over, in the middle of his chest … no, that nightmare did not even bear considering.
“Let me see,” Carlin said, craning his neck as Tessa obliged him by lifting the absorbent gauze. “What’s the verdict?”
Jiggs peered closely. “Bullet plowed a deep furrow, but went straight through, so I won’t be needin’ t’ dig it out. Demmed lucky, I say. Beggin’ yer pardon, milady.”
“Miss James,” she murmured.
“Might as well accept milady as your due,” Carlin advised. “Or would you prefer Your Grace? I can arrange for that if you like.”
Her gaze flew to his to see a glint of dark humor in the midst of his pain. She hardly knew whether to laugh or scold. “I’d prefer you keep silent and preserve your strength.”
Marching to the bed, Tessa brought several feather pillows and propped them beneath his injured arm. He flinched a little, then blew out a sigh of relief once it was elevated. Yet that telltale twinkle lingered in his eyes. “I’m surprised you aren’t trying to coax me into bed.”
His gravelly chuckle made her cheeks burn, and Tessa gave him a quelling frown. “You must be delirious, sir. All the more reason to be quiet.”
Luckily, Jiggs wasn’t paying attention. He’d gone to a nearby table to pour a glass of brandy, which he delivered to the duke. “Ye’ll need this when the sawbones starts pokin’ ye.”
“Might as well bring the decanter, then.”
Carlin was downing his second glass when a footman came in to report that the foremost physician in London, on retainer to the Duke of Carlin, was presently tending the Lord Chancellor’s gout but should arrive within the hour. Unless, of course, His Grace wished a different doctor to be summoned.