The fact that he’d used her full name indicated he meant what he said. There was no point in arguing now. Belle took a wrapper from a hook on a wall, then, with a last look at the injured man, carried it to the parlor. He certainly was handsome. Her body tingled at the memory of the feel of his weight against her chest. Belle settled into a chair and pulled the warm wrapper around her. She hadn’t intended to sleep, but she must have, because when she opened her eyes again, her father was calling for her.
And his tone was one of panic that made her jump to her feet and run.
Chapter Four
Jumping to her feet might not have been the best idea. Forgetting to eat dinner probably wasn’t a good plan either, though to be fair, she hadn’t planned not to eat. She had just forgotten with all that had happened last night.
Belle swayed unsteadily then took a deep breath. The parlor came into focus. “Belle, come quickly!” her father called again. Her heart thudded hard against her chest. His tone was unusual. He was always so calm and collected, even when the shop was full of customers demanding this tea or that biscuit. Now her father sounded alarmed.
“Coming!” Belle rushed across the parlor and pushed open the bed chamber door. She saw immediately why her father had sounded panicked. Arundel was standing in the middle of the room, stumbling about drunkenly. Her father was attempting to take hold of his arm and guide him back to bed, but every time her father managed to grab onto him, Arundel shook him off.
Her father was not a large man, but he was taller than she, and Arundel seemed to dwarf her father. She’d known he was a large man. It had taken three footmen to carry him up the stairs and his feet hung off the edge of her bed. But seeing him in the middle of her room, bare-chested and broad-shouldered, he looked like a giant. A well-built, powerful giant. Belle bit her lip as her eyes took him in.
She should stop ogling him and try to help. “What happened?” she managed to say.
“He’s burning with fever,” her father said, moving so as to avoid Arundel’s waving arm. “He insisted on rising from bed. I couldn’t convince him otherwise.”
“I imagine not.” Belle winced as Arundel bumped into her dresser, causing the contents on top to topple over and fall to the floor.
“Where is it?” Arundel asked, his speech slurred. He turned again—a veritable bull in a china shop—and knocked over the ewer, causing it to shatter. The sound must have caused him to focus because he stared down at the floor then stooped and lifted the washbasin. “Here it is.”
Then to Belle’s shock, he loosed the fall of his trousers. She realized what he was about and hastily turned and stumbled out of the bed chamber. She heard the sound of Arundel relieving himself. It went on for some time, which had explained why he’d been rather desperate to find a chamber pot.
Finally, there was silence and then the murmur of her father trying to coax Arundel back into bed. “Belle!”
She poked her head into the chamber. Arundel was seated on the bed, one hand cupped over his bandage, which was again tinged red with seeping blood.
“Laudanum,” her father said, indicating the bottle, which had fallen to the floor but mercifully not broken. She went to retrieve it as her father took the washbasin to the window, opened it, and tossed the contents out on the street. She glanced over at the sound of the rain. It was still coming down in sheets and, though it must be nearly dawn, the sky was as dark as night.
“Lie back, Mr. Arundel,” she said, focusing back on her patient. Thank God he had fastened his trousers again. She would never have been able to keep her gaze from that part of his anatomy. She was too curious. “This will help with the pain.”
“No,” he said through clenched teeth. “I won’t become an opium addict.”
“I hardly think a spoonful of laudanum will cause you to start down that road.”
He gave her a narrow look, and his eyes were clear blue. He looked completely lucid, and the directness of his gaze made her swallow hard and want to duck her head to hide her scars. “And how would you know? Friendly with scores of opium-eaters, are you?”
“No, but—”
Her father snapped the window shut, muting the sound of the rain. “How about some medicinal sherry then?” he asked. Belle glanced up at him. She hadn’t known he kept any sherry—medicinal or otherwise.
“I wouldn’t say no,” Arundel said in a tone that was more like a growl. He was obviously in pain and also obviously quite unwilling to take the laudanum.
“I’ll fetch it, but you must do as Belle tells you.”
Arundel’s gaze went from her father to her. “Belle?” he asked.
Her cheeks felt hot, and the urge to turn her face so he would only see the right side all but overwhelmed her. She resisted, feeling defiant. Why should she care if this man thought her ugly or not? She might admire his beauty, but that was all.
Liar, a voice inside her said. You want him so much you all but pant every time you’re in the same room.
“Short for Isabelle,” she said, ignoring her rogue thoughts. “Obviously not a sobriquet I was given for my beauty. Now, lie back. You’re bleeding through the linen, and I’d rather not have to change the sheets in addition to the bandage.”
To her surprise, he did as she asked and laid down. As soon as he did lie flat, he seemed to deflate like one of the hot air balloons she’d seen in Hyde Park a few summers ago. He closed his eyes and went still, making a small sound of pain as she began to unwrap the linen from about his chest.
Knowing he was in pain quashed any sort of lecherous thoughts. She noted his skin was hot and dry to the touch. With such a high fever, she was surprised he was not delirious. But he was a large, strong man, and it would take more than a few hours of fever to fell him. “You are burning with fever,” she said as she unwrapped the linen that held the bandage in place. She hadn’t intended to speak, but she needed to say something to avoid the awkward silence. Had he seen her face? He hadn’t commented on it. Was he recoiling at her touch, even as she watched his muscles flex when she ran her fingertips over them in the course of her work? She wondered, if she wasn’t so disfigured and if he wasn’t injured, if he would have been aroused.
And then she wondered what the devil was wrong with her. Why was she thinking of arousing the man? Even if he wasn’t burning with fever and likely to die, she was a pockmarked spinster virgin of five and twenty. Her hopes of arousing a man were long past.
