She just couldn’t let him die before they arrived.
The man moaned in pain, and Belle reached over and took his hand in hers. She had only thought to offer him some comfort, but she heard her father clear his throat. “Do not become attached to him, Belle,” he said.
Ha! As though she would ever become attached to some man unceremoniously thrust into her care. Of course, her father had said the same thing when she’d been about nine and brought home a sickly kitten. That kitten had not lived, and she’d cried so much her father had given her another, a healthy kitten, a few weeks later. But if this man died, he would not be so easy to replace. Belle narrowed her eyes. “What was it the doctor said to you before we left?”
Her father sighed. “I was afraid you’d ask about that.”
“Go on then.”
Her father glanced at Mr. Arundel and lowered his voice. “He said the man would be fortunate to live through the week. He gave him a fifty percent chance of survival.”
Belle glanced at Mr. Arundel. Squeezing his hand, she said, “I hope you’re a fighter.”
Chapter Three
Arundel did prove to be something of a fighter as he made it through the trip across London in the coach and through being carried upstairs by the footmen. Unfortunately, the Howards’ stairs were narrow and steep, and the footmen had to dispense with the pallet and carry the man bodily. Belle thought it was fortunate he was unconscious because with his injury, the jostling could not have been comfortable.
Finally, they had the man upstairs, in the tiny flat. The stairs led to a small living area and the bed chambers opened off opposite sides. “This way,” her father said, gesturing to the footmen to bring Mr. Arundel into his chamber.
“Absolutely not,” Belle said, jumping to block their path. “Put him in my chamber.”
“That hardly seems appropriate, my dear.”
“You are not giving up your bed. I can sleep in the chair in the parlor.”
“You need your privacy,” her father objected.
“And you need your rest.”
The footmen were looking from one to the other, the injured man suspended between them. “This way,” Belle said, using the voice she employed when negotiating at St. Katharine Docks with the tea sellers. “Follow me.”
The footmen followed, and Belle stripped back the bedclothes then instructed them to lay Arundel on her bed. She removed his shoes, wondered if she should remove any other garments, but decided to cover him instead. The fire in the parlor had gone out, and she hadn’t been upstairs to start a fire in her chamber, so she did that now. Just as she had it going, her father came in with a chair from the dining table.
“Good idea,” Belle said, replacing the fire poker. “I can sit here and watch over him tonight.”
“You have been on your feet all day. I will watch over him.”
Belle shook her head, but she stopped short of flatly telling him no. He was still her father, and if he insisted on sitting up with Arundel, she would not be able to dissuade him. She tried another tactic. “Why don’t we take shifts? All of this excitement has me wide awake, but I’m sure in an hour or so I will not be able to keep my eyes open. I’ll take the first watch and wake you when I tire.”
“Oh, no. I know you, Belle. You won’t wake me to relieve you.” He did know her too well.
“I will. Don’t forget I have a shop to manage in the morning. We both do, and we must rest if we are to muddle through. I’ll wake you.”
He gave her a dubious look.
“I promise,” she said. Wonderful. Now she would have to wake him...but she hadn’t promised when she’d wake him.
“Very well,” her father said. He pulled the slip of instructions from his pocket. “This says we must keep the wound clean. I’ll need to remove his shirt as he was stabbed on the side of his chest.”
“I’ll help,” Belle said.
“I suppose you must,” her father said, clearly not liking the idea of his maiden daughter undressing a strange man. For her part, Belle was rather intrigued. Not that she would ogle an injured, unconscious man, but she was curious about the male body. She had only ever seen it in books with illustrations of art from the British Museum.
“I’ll unfasten his cuffs. You deal with the fastenings at his neck.”
Belle did as she was instructed. The man’s neckcloth had been removed already and the buttons at his throat loosed, but she undid the remaining ones so that his shirt was open halfway down his chest. He had a smattering of dark hair on his chest and that was as much as she dared look.
“How should we do this?” her father mused aloud. “The best way is probably for me to push him up from behind and for you to pull his arms out of the shirt and the garment over his head. Carefully, yes?”
