“Oh, stop, I beg you, Mrs. Dews.” Lord Caire grunted. “You’ll turn my head with this flattery.”
“And,” Temperance continued, ignoring his words, “you’ve behaved abominably to me since the moment we met—when you broke into my home, might I remind you.”
Lord Caire had made it to the street, where he paused, panting, his hand on the shoulder of the young footman who gaped at the two of them. “Is there a point to this diatribe, or are you merely venting your spleen?”
“I have a point,” Temperance said as she helped him up the steps to his imposing town house. “Despite your treatment of me and your own foul personality, I intend to stay with you until a doctor sees to you.”
“Flattered though I am by your martyrish impulses, Mrs. Dews, I have no need of your help. Bed and a brandy will no doubt see me right.”
“Really?” Temperance eyed the idiot man, swaying on his own doorstep. Sweat dripped down his reddened face, the hair at his temples was plastered to his head, and he literally shook against her.
In one swift move, Temperance elbowed him in his wounded shoulder.
“God’s blood!” Lord Caire doubled over, choking.
“Send for a doctor,” Temperance ordered the butler, who was standing wide-eyed at the door next to another footman. “Lord Caire is ill. And you two”—she jerked her chin at the footmen—“help Lord Caire to his bedroom.”
“You,” gasped Lord Caire, “are a vindictive harpy, madam.”
“No need to thank me,” Temperance said sweetly. “I’m merely doing my Christian duty.”
The sound he made at her words might’ve been either a laugh or a grunt of pain; it was hard to tell. In any case, Lord Caire made no more argument as the footmen helped him up the stairs to his room.
Temperance followed behind, and although her motives for making sure that Lord Caire was properly seen to were almost entirely altruistic, she still couldn’t help herself from noting his home. The staircase they mounted was marble, but even more grand than the one at Lady Beckinhall’s town house. It curved elegantly into the upper floor. Huge portraits of men in armor and haughty women in fabulous jewels lined the walls, their eyes seeming to examine with disapproval her intrusion into this home. Beneath her feet, a lush crimson carpet lined the stairs, cushioning their footsteps. In the upper hallway, life-sized marble statues peered eerily out of niches along the walls. Tall double doors were thrown wide as their procession neared. A slight servant of middling years stood anxiously by as they entered Lord Caire’s rooms.
Temperance turned to him as the footmen took Lord Caire to the massive bed in the center of the room. “You’re Lord Caire’s valet?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He looked between her and Lord Caire. “My name is Small.”
“Good.” Temperance turned to the footmen. “Fetch some water, as hot as possible, and clean cloths, please. Also, a bottle of strong spirits.”
The footmen left hurriedly.
“Just let me be, man!” Lord Caire’s irritable voice rose from the bed.
Temperance turned to see the valet backing away from his master. Lord Caire sat on the side of the bed, his head hanging, his body listing against the green and brown embroidered bed curtains.
“But, my lord… , ” the poor valet protested.
She sighed. What a very exasperating gentleman Lord Caire was!
She advanced on the bed with determination. “Your wound has grown foul, my lord. You must let Small and me help you.”
Lord Caire swung his head sideways and glared at her out of the corner of his eye like a wild thing. “I’ll let you take care of me, but Small must leave the room. Unless you enjoy an audience?”
“Don’t be disgusting,” she said, far too gently, as she raised his uninjured arm and drew the coat sleeve off him. She frowned at the stain on his right shoulder. “This will be painful, I’m afraid.”
Lord Caire had closed his eyes but he smiled crookedly. “All touch gives me pain. And besides, I have no doubt that any pain you cause me will at least bring you vast amusement.”
“What a terrible thing to say.” Temperance was unaccountably wounded. “Your pain brings me no joy.”
She gently eased the coat sleeve from his shoulder, but despite her efforts, he hissed.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered as Small deftly unbuttoned Lord Caire’s waistcoat. Caire seemed to have forgotten that he’d ordered the manservant to leave, and she was relieved—undressing him would be hard enough with just the two of them.
“Don’t be,” Lord Caire murmured. “Pain has always been my friend. It reminds me when I venture too near the edge of reason.”
He sounded delirious. Temperance frowned as she examined his shoulder. His wound was seeping and the poisonous fluids had glued his shirt to his body. She looked up to meet the gaze of the valet. From the manservant’s anxious expression, he’d seen the problem as well.
The footmen returned with the hot water and cloths at that moment, trailed by the short, stout butler.
“Set it there,” Temperance directed, pointing to a table by the bed. “Has the doctor been sent for?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the butler said in a sonorous voice.
Small cleared his throat, and when Temperance looked at him, he whispered, “We’d best not wait for the doctor, ma’am. He’s unreliable after seven of the clock.”
Temperance glanced at the elegant gold clock on the bedside table. It was nearing eight at night. “Why not?”
“He drinks,” Lord Caire slurred from the bed. “And his hands shake. Don’t know if I’d let the blighter near me in that state in any case.”
“Well, isn’t there another doctor we can send for?” Temperance asked. For goodness’ sake! Lord Caire was wealthy. He should have plenty of people to look after him.
“I’ll make inquiries, ma’am,” the butler said, and left.
Temperance took up one of the clean linens, soaked it in the near-boiling water, and gently placed it on Lord Caire’s shoulder.
He jerked as if she’d laid a white-hot poker against his bare skin. “God’s blood, madam, do you mean to parboil the flesh from my bones?”
“Not at all,” Temperance replied. “We need to loosen your shirt from the wound so we don’t tear open the stitches when we remove it.”