A Love Laid Bare (37 page)

“If it is dislocated, as I suspect, it will not be
fine.” He brushed back the hairs that had come loose from their
pins. “It hurts the very devil, I know, but you will feel better
once your shoulder is back in place.”

As swift and careful as his preliminary examination
was, Frances still cried out. Ashamed at her outburst, she turned
her face into the pillow to hide her tears.

“It
is
dislocated,” he said quietly, “and I
don’t care to give you laudanum with that head injury. Walton may
decide differently, but I am not going to wait for him to set this
shoulder.” He looked at the maid hovering nearby. “Send for Cholly,
Joan.”

The young woman hurried away. Frances opened one eye
and regarded him warily. “Cholly? Richard, he is a blacksmith!”

“The man is an expert when it comes to setting bones.
I trust him to do it right and swiftly.” He wrapped his hand around
hers. “You will want it over quickly as it is a very painful
procedure.”

Frances clung to him. “It cannot possibly feel worse
than it does now.”

“It can.”

“But I am not dressed.” Surely he did not expect her
to go through with this half-naked!

“The man is a grandfather five times over and I will
be here the entire time.” He turned her onto her back, took all the
pillows from under her head, and arranged the blanket so only her
shoulder was exposed.

“My lord.”

Halcombe stood and stepped aside to talk to the
friendly-faced man standing at the foot of the bed. The earl
advised, Cholly listened, and Frances, after a weak smile, tried
her best to put the upcoming ordeal from her mind.

And quite an ordeal it was, too. After Cholly
conducted his own brief examination, he agreed with the earl’s
initial diagnosis and smiled apologetically at Frances. “His
lordship has the right of it, my lady. That shoulder needs putting
back in place. I’ll be quick with it, if you’ll allow me.”

Frances managed a feeble nod and chose to ignore the
grave look that passed between Cholly and her husband. Richard sat
on the bed beside her. Shifting his position so that she was partly
on his lap, he put an arm around her middle to hold her still. His
free hand held hers in a tight grip.

“Now,” he said calmly.

Frances felt an unbelievable spear of pain and then
heard a muffled
pop
as the bone slid back into its socket.
She was vaguely aware of Halcombe’s broad fingers against her brow
as she slipped into a blessed…soothing… darkness.

“She’s fainted, sir, that’s all.”

Halcombe listened to the soft but steady breathing of
his injured wife for a moment, then looked at Cholly and nodded.
“Yes,” he said, trying to quell the cold sickness that had taken
root in his stomach.

“It won’t do any harm to let the lady sleep a bit,”
Cholly said bracingly. “Her ladyship is pluck to the backbone.”
Pride mingled with concern on his ruddy face and Halcombe nodded
again.

“Just so.” Even though he did not feel Frances was in
any physical danger as a result of her fall, his attempt at a
reassuring smile was less than a success.“Thank you, Cholly. It was
well done.” He moved her from his lap to the bed, covered her with
a blanket, and stood.

“Joan?”

“Here, sir,” the maid said from behind him.

Halcombe turned. “Stay with her. Mr. Walton should be
arriving soon. I will return when he does.”

Since Joan did not look like she could be sent from
the room even if he tried, Halcombe caught Cholly’s gaze and tipped
his chin toward the door.

“What happened out there, Cholly? Do we have any
details at all? Why in hell was Lady Halcombe riding alone?”

The blacksmith eyed him warily and Halcombe moderated
his tone. “Just tell me what you heard ” He knew the man was not at
fault in this. In fact, it was doubtful anyone at the Manor had a
part in it.

“Not a lot, sir. Mathew was delayed in meeting Lady
Halcombe when his hack picked up a stone and he had to go back for
a fresh mount. He hurried, of course, but since the Cauley groom
was supposed to be with her he didn’t make too much of it. When he
finally met up with her, she was tramping along with Lacey as
steady as could be.” His voice grew prideful again. “My lady took a
hard tumble, I’m thinking, but got right up and went on.”

“So she did.” Frances was greatly admired by their
people, Halcombe knew, and if there was any lingering coolness from
her long absence, it would certainly be gone after this. “Does
anyone know how it occurred? While it is true that your mistress is
not a very experienced rider, it would take something rather
extraordinary to actually upset Lacey. That mare is the most placid
animal I’ve ever known!”

“That she is,” Cholly agreed with a quick grin. “But
she has a goodly welt on her like she took a pretty hard hit. Even
Lacey might get riled up if so.”

The earl was silent while they exited the house and
crossed the yard to the stable where Lacey was housed. Mathew was
with her, brushing her coat, and he beckoned for Halcombe to enter
the stall.

“I haven’t touched the welt, my lord, figuring you’d
be wantin’ to see it first. It isn’t so bad a bit of salve won’t do
the trick.”

Halcombe saw that Mathew was right. It was not that
bad and would likely soon heal. But for a horse never struck in her
life, the shock must have been considerable. What had put it there,
and why, was the question eating at his gut. Regretting that he had
not pushed Frances for some more definitive answers, he thanked
Mathew, dispatched one of the men to the Cauley estate to question
the groom, and then returned to the house.

Mr. Walton had come, determined that Frances was not
concussed and agreed with the procedure that had been carried out
on her shoulder. He approved the treatment of the abrasion as well
and was gone before Frances was fully awake.

Except for a short visit to Flora, Halcombe stayed at
his wife’s bedside all afternoon. The swelling above her ear was
already subsiding. It appeared, too, judging from the easier
occasional movement of her arm, that her shoulder was less painful.
She was lucky and would recover in a few days. As for Halcombe, it
was going to take good deal longer for him to get over it.

He left his post long enough to order a light meal
and a decanter of port. Perhaps if he consumed enough of the stuff,
the shuddering fear he still felt might eventually leave him. He
poured a generous amount into a goblet and slouched back in his
chair.

When it was reported to him that Lady Merton had sent
the Cauley groom away, Halcombe had been seized with such anger it
was all he could do to refrain from immediately riding off to
confront her.
Damn
Victoria. He did not know just what she
had done to make Frances’ horse throw her. But there was no
question in his mind that the viscountess was responsible. It was
outrageous enough that she had dismissed the groom, leaving his
wife unescorted, but to callously ride off after Frances was thrown
was beyond reprehensible. And the viscountess
had
known of
Frances’ situation. Halcombe was convinced of it.

Knowing that he was partly at fault did nothing to
sweeten his temper. He knew Victoria was capable of malice and
still he had not curbed her. If he had told her frankly that any
affection he’d once held for her was long gone and that she best
turn her wiles on someone else, this attack on Frances might have
been prevented. Instead, he had avoided the issue like some
hen-hearted youth and his wife had paid the price.

Halcombe was staring dully at the swirling contents
of his glass when Frances’ soft, pleased whisper pulled him from
his thoughts.

“You are here.”

He set the beverage aside and went to sit on the bed.
“Indeed.” His use of the word made her smile, as he had
intended.

“It is not necessary for you to watch over me, but I
am glad you are.” She raised a hand to her head and tentatively
wiggled her shoulder. “I think I am feeling better.”

She sounded so surprised that he grinned, relief
coursing through him. “I thought you might be,” he said, “so I took
the liberty of ordering a meal.” He propped some pillows behind
her, then brought over a covered tray from a nearby table and
balanced it on her lap. “I will hold the soup,” he said, grabbing
the bowl before the contents slopped over the edges. “You, madam,
squirm too much.”

Frances pouted and shook her head. “I believe that
was you, sir—practically jumping on the bed,” she said with a sly
glance.

“I think not,” he said smoothly, spooning some broth
into her mouth.

Frances smiled, took the spoon from his hand, and
reached for a slice of buttered bread. When the soup was nearly
gone, she dipped the small piece of remaining crust into the bottom
of the bowl.

“Have you eaten?” she asked when she had finished and
the tray had been taken away.

“I had something earlier.” Halcombe frowned at her
and waited, his gaze intent.

When she had looked at the ceiling, the
walls—everywhere but at him—he cocked his head. “Frances…?”

Sighing, she lowered her eyes and peered at him
through her lashes. “I suppose you want to know what happened.”

He raised a brow and said her name again, this time
with a tone of dwindling patience. “
Frances.
”

She looked imploringly at him. “It was entirely my
fault, so you mustn’t blame Lacey,” she said earnestly. “We were on
the way home from Mary’s, and I
did
have a groom with me, as
you had ord…as you had
requested
,” she amended hastily.

He hid a smile at the slip and flicked his fingers to
urge her on.

Frances sighed. “It was a perfectly agreeable day for
a ride. And then we came upon Lady Merton.”

Halcombe’s mouth tightened. This much he knew
already. What he wanted to know now was exactly what Victoria had
said—and done.

Frances was quiet for a moment. Judging by the wary
gleam in her eyes, she was gauging his reaction. Halcombe kept his
expression noncommittal. Whatever the story, his wife was the
innocent party and did not deserve his wrath—however much he wanted
to rant.

She gave him an owlish look. “I don’t believe the
lady much likes me,” she said with feigned amusement. “Lady Merton
was very upset and said some spiteful things. I believe she thought
to make me angry, but I did not want to quarrel with her in the
road—or at all, given the choice.” Frances paused, her forehead
furrowed in thought. “She sent Mary’s groom away, and as her own
had stayed well back, there was no stopping her. She went on and on
about the two of you. I refused to argue with her, which made her
angrier still.”

Frances sat up straight, her expression and voice
turning grave. “I truly felt she might have a seizure or apoplexy
right there. It was sad—
is
sad—this fixation of hers. It was
mean of me to show pity for her. I’m sure it put her over the
top.”

“I think your sympathy is misplaced,” Halcombe said
with a twist of his lips, keeping a tight rein on his temper.
“Continue.”

Frances raised her hand and then let it drop onto the
bed. “There is little else to tell. Lady Merton struck Lacey with
her crop—very hard, poor thing—and since I was not paying the least
bit of attention, I was completely unprepared when she reared.”
Frances winced at the recollection and then appeared anxious.
“Lacey will not have a scar, will she?”

“No, the evidence will be gone in a few weeks.”
Halcombe rose. “Go back to sleep, Frances.”

She scowled at him. “No, I am much too grubby. I want
a bath.” She threw the quilt to one side.

“You are not taking a bath.” Brows bristling with
disapproval, Halcombe watched as she scooted across the bed and
swung her legs over the edge, ready to catch her when she fell.

“I certainly am.” Frances’ feet landed firmly on the
floor. “And if you do not summon Joan to assist me, then you will
have to do so yourself.” She smiled sweetly in response to his
glower. “That is, unless you want to join me in the bath, sir?”

Tempted by the sudden thought of her naked, he took a
step back. He knew full well what it would lead to and that she was
not in any condition for it. Conceding with ill grace, as he
suspected this spurt of strength would quickly fade, Halcombe
reluctantly agreed. “Very well. If you fall flat on your face, it
is entirely your fault.”

“I will not fall on my face, nor will I blame you if
I do,” Frances said with some irritation. “But the longer you delay
here the more likely it becomes.”

“Damn, you try a man’s patience,” Halcombe growled.
“I’m going! Immediately after
this.
” He framed her face with
his hands. The kiss was gentle, yet persuasive, and when he
released her, her eyes were misty with desire. He smiled. “Enjoy
your bath, Frances.”

***

Once the bath was prepared, and Joan and two other
maids had been called to assist his stubborn wife, the earl had his
horse brought around and he made the short ride to Merton House. It
was several hours ‘til full dark, but he expected to be back well
before then. He rather regretted the distance was not longer. The
initial roil of anger had eased to a simmer while he tended his
wife. Now, with his full attention turned on Lady Melton, the earl
felt his ire rise once more. And this time he had the means of
release.

A coach and four stood in the drive, a pair of
coachmen aboard and what appeared to a plethora of trunks were
being loaded in the boot. He handed his reins to the groom who came
running and strode rapidly to the open front door. More baggage was
stacked in the entryway. It appeared Lady Merton planned on a
period of extensive travel. Wise of her.