Page 86 of The Marriage Method

“Your bodice.”

Nell didn’t reply.

Miles feared she may have slipped into another faint. It was a mercy, really, given what was to come.

He cast about her bedchamber for her ubiquitous sewing bag. He found it wedged in the cushion of a chair by the fireplace. Rifling through its contents, he located a pair of sewing scissors.

And that wasn’t all.

The workbag held at least four unfinished samplers, all of which appeared to contain the same jumbled letters and the same curious black raven with the white-tipped wing he’d observed in the samplers Nell had lately been sewing.

Miles examined them with an arrested frown.

And it struck him, so suddenly he was amazed he hadn’t recognized it before. They weren’t sewing samplers at all, were they?

They were ciphers.

22

Nell came awake again at the feeling of cold steel brushing over the naked flesh of her arm. A jolt of pain shot from her shoulder all the way down to her fingers. “Oh!”

Miles loomed over her on the bed, her dainty sewing scissors dwarfed in his large hand. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to jostle you.”

“What are you—”

“It’s your blasted corset cover. It will have to go, too.”

“My what—?” She peered downward. Heat surged into her face. Her bodice was gone. All that remained was her corset and cambric corset cover and her thin muslin chemise beneath. It was nudity, practically. Or as close to it as she’d been in his presence. “But why?”

“I believe I know what the problem is.” He continued cutting. His face was set with concentration. “When Silas hit you, he may have dislocated your shoulder.”

Another wave of nausea swept over her. She briefly closed her eyes, feeling her corset cover fall away. Cool air whispered over her bare arms and the exposed expanse of her bosom that swelled over the top of her tightly laced corset. “Which means—?”

But Nell knew what it meant. There was only one way to mend a dislocated limb. She’d seen it years ago at the Academy when a girl had injured her arm in a cart accident.

“I can repair it,” Miles said. “Unless you’ve decided you’re ready for the doctor?”

“No.” Nell shook her head. “No doctors.”

Miles fell silent.

She cracked open an eye to find him studying her uncovered shoulder. A deep frown notched his brows. “Is it very bad?” she asked.

“It’s as I suspected,” he said. “I won’t lie to you, this is going to hurt.”

Her stomach knotted with dread. As if she wasn’t hurting enough already.

“Mr. Quincey?” Mrs. Bright entered the room. She was accompanied by the housemaid. “I’ve found a half bottle of laudanum left over from when Cook had a toothache. And Gladys has brought hot water, bandages, salves, and a pot of tea for the mistress.”

“Laudanum first,” Miles commanded. He met Nell’s eyes. “Once it takes effect, I’ll reset your shoulder.”

Nell gave a tense nod in reply. It was the only way. A dislocated limb couldn’t heal on its own.

Mrs. Bright crossed the bedchamber with the brown bottle of laudanum in hand. Miles took it from her. It was he who administered it to Nell. Cradling her head with extraordinary gentleness, he tipped her up to take a small quantity of the bitter, reddish-brown liquid.

Nell didn’t confine herself to a single sip. All things considered, she’d rather not feel it when Miles wrenched her arm back into place, even if that meant briefly losing control of her faculties. She took a second drink, and might have foolishly swallowed more had Miles not removed the bottle from her lips.

He lowered her back to her pillow, pausing just long enough to smooth the damp hair from her brow. “Almost over,” he said.