“Whitey!” Peter interrupted again and pressed a hand to his lips. “Cal’s secrets are his to tell. Remember?”
“Oh, yes, yes. His to tell. His to tell,” White said, then blurted, “I’m sore tired.”
She nodded. She was sore tired, too. “Why don’t you go lie down, White?”
He frowned. “What if someone comes?”
She sincerely doubted they’d have visitors this day. “It will be fine,” she said. He nodded and backed out of the room, bowing over and over.
When the door shut, Peter announced, “He cannot be the butler. He’ll never keep the secrets of this house.”
“Why, then,” she mused, “do you think Callum appointed him as such?”
Peter looked to Callum, and she did, as well. His chest rose and fell with his deep breaths. “That’s simple,” Peter said. “Cal’s too soft. White said he wanted to be a butler, and Callum couldn’t say no.”
“I would not have imagined my husband to be soft,” she murmured, her gaze inadvertently raking over his powerful body.
“You don’t know Cal very well, do you?” Peter asked.
His words pierced and stung, but he was right. “No,” she replied. “I don’t.”
“Well, the first thing you need to know,” the doctor said, “is that he will be desperate for more opium when he wakes. He knows it. That’s why he told me to tie him up.”
“And the tincture you gave him?” she asked.
“It has a small amount of opium in it. He needs to be weaned from it slowly to lessen the effects.”
She nodded, her mind turning. “Tell me what to do.”
The doctor nodded and went through the instructions with her. When he was done, he gathered his things and told her he’d check in tomorrow.
“Doctor,” she said when he was halfway out the door. He paused and looked back at her. “Would it not be better for him to be untied and wean himself off the opium of his own will? He cannot stay tied forever, after all, and cannot very well tie himself up every time he has the craving. Should he not master the urge right away? To show himself he can control it with his power of mind?”
“Yes,” the doctor agreed. “That would be preferable.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” she replied. Then to Peter, she said, “Help me untie him.” As she reached for the ropes, she stilled, her mouth parting and her stomach knotting. Part of his ring finger was gone, and the scar looked old, as if the injury had occurred some time ago.
“Peter, what happened to Callum’s finger?”
The boy shook his head, looking apologetic. “That’s Cal’s story to tell.”
She frowned. “Was it an accident?”
“No.”
She wanted to ask more, but Peter looked so uneasy, she forced herself not to. She would just have to ask Callum when he awoke.
Chapter Seven
The day had been long with Callum thrashing about but not waking. Somewhere between caring for him and worrying, she had also forced Peter to take a bath, after which she’d sat him at the foot of Callum’s bed and cut his hair. Peter had protested and carried on as if she were going to use the scissors to hurt him, and it occurred to her a few snips in that he very likely thought she was. So she’d allowed him to hold the scissors and cut a few locks of her hair, which calmed him enough to allow her to finish. It was exhausting, and close to midnight, she fell asleep.
Callum’s moaning jerked Constantine instantly from her slumber. Light was streaming through the window, and she sat up on the settee. She had not even straightened her night rail when the door was flung open and Peter rushed in.
“My lady?”
“It’s fine,” she assured him, noting how much better he looked with a proper haircut. “He may be waking. If I need you, I’ll call.”
Peter eyed her and then Callum before finally nodding. “White’s out here, too. If you need help…”
