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Mrs. Redman sat on the edge of the mattress flipping her hair and generally making a nuisance of herself. A selfish creature to the core, I thought with unmitigated disdain. “You have no idea how scared I was when I was told that you’d been shot, Scout. My nerves can’t take any more surprises like this…can somebody get me a God damn martini like I asked for five minutes ago?!” She shouted the last part.
My gaze met Sebastian’s and a sympathetic understanding passed between us. It was mind boggling that she could be so oblivious to the fact that her son was injured and in pain. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the horror of growing up with a woman like that. I found Mrs. Arnaud inspecting her nails, Mr. Bentifourt quietly conversing with François. He caught my attention and his head tipped in the direction of the dresser, where he had placed the medical supplies.
“There are too many people in this room,” I declared, my critical gaze directed straight at Mrs. Redman. I wasn’t about to make any allowances for her rudeness because she had given birth to him. I waited patiently for her to get up. To no avail, she sat there watching me with a mulish expression that provoked me further.
“Allons-y, allons-y.” Mrs. Arnaud clapped her hands, herding everyone out the door and down the hall. Caroline Pruitt paused in the doorway and glanced at us pointedly before leaving. A shiver of unease rippled across my skin.
“Mrs. Redman, your son,” I paused meaningfully, “has endured a considerable amount of blood loss and pain. I need to clean the wound, kindly remove yourself.”
Her bright, green eyes transformed into two slits. After what I had been through, it would take a lot more than her poisonous glares to intimidate the likes of me. “Who do you think you––”
Bentifourt stepped forward, interrupting the list of insults she was about to hurl at me, and stated, “Mademoiselle Sava has a medical degree, madam.” I was so surprised by his unexpected gallantry that I turned to stare. A strange twinkle lurked in his dark eyes. I filed that away for later analysis.
“Diana,” Sebastian added in his imperious tone. That must have been the magic combination of words because she left in a huff.
“I’ve brought up all the necessary medication. Should I call for the helicopter to be readied?”
“No!” Sebastian shouted. “It’s a fucking scratch.” Bentifourt didn’t even blink at the outburst.
I placed clean towels under his arm and removed the binding gingerly. “It’s hardly a scratch, Mr. Horn. Stop moving or you’ll start bleeding again. You need antibiotics and you need to be seen by a doctor.”
He gave me a cynical smirk at the sound of the formal address, then his gaze darted back to Mr. Bentifourt. “Call Dr. Schultz. He’ll come to the house,” he grumbled like a petulant teenage boy. After a subtle nod, Bentifourt walked out of the bedroom, leaving us alone.
After preparing the Betadine solution, I said, “I’m flushing out the wound now…you almost fainted.”
“I know,” he muttered, his eyes downcast while he smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle on the bed cover. He was embarrassed––and ridiculously adorable. I bit the inside of my cheek to curb a smile. He wouldn’t find it amusing. When he looked up, concern was written all over his breathtaking face. “Are you okay? I fell on you pretty hard.” Gently, he tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. I quickly scanned the open doorway before meeting his eyes again.
“I’m fine. Who would have done this?”
“I don’t know. The police are on their way.” His eyebrows pulled together.
“Could it be a hunting accident?” The silence caused me to glance up. His face was stony, unreadable.
“Could be,” he answered, nodding absently.
“You don’t look like you believe that.”
“I’m not sure yet. Did Ben go check the woods?”
“Yes.”
“He’ll figure it out. I don’t want you to worry.”
While I wrapped the wound in sterile cotton, he placed his hand possessively on my knee, squeezed and held on tightly. He did that often. It was such a small gesture. But nothing Sebastian did was gratuitous, everything he did held purpose and meaning. My eyes darted back and forth to his hand as I worked, contemplating what it meant. And then it hit me…
He held on to me as a child would for reassurance––afraid to let go. Shocked by the discovery, my breath stalled and a sudden sinking sensation gripped me. How in the world could a man at the top of the food chain, possessing power and prestige in abundance, feel this alone? My gaze lifted from his hand to his solemn, brandy colored eyes. I sighed. Unknowingly, he had just stolen another piece of my heart.
Chapter Twenty
“The police wish to speak to you, Vera,” Mr. Bentifourt announced.
I looked up from slicing the chanterelle mushrooms for the risotto we were preparing for dinner and cut my index finger. Wincing, I dropped the bloody knife and it fell, clattering loudly onto the stone kitchen floor.
