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‘Fine. You know what head wounds are like for blood. Nothing we can’t take care of.’
Elinor wrestled the shotgun out of his hands and gave it to Hythe, then followed the man down the stairs, pistol in hand, until she was sure he had the two helpless in the back of the carriage. ‘One of them’s bleeding, I got him in the arm.’
‘He’ll live, miss.’
‘It is Mr Ravenhurst’s carpet I am worried about,’ she retorted, earning herself a broad grin and a wave of the hand as he whipped the horses up.
When she got back upstairs Theo was still leaning back against the wall, apparently keeping himself upright by sheer willpower. ‘Lie down this instant!’ Something inside her seemed to clutch at her heart, something primitive and fundamental. Something to do with the fact that here was her…her friend and he was hurt and he was brave and he was very, very male and she wanted…
‘Come here.’ He waited until they were toe to toe, then focused painfully on her. One eye was cut across the brow and almost closed, the other caked in blood. ‘Are you all right, Nell?’
‘Perfectly. It was a glancing blow, he caught me off balance. Now you—’ he was not going to be sensible, so she had to be. Think, Elinor. Bandages, a doctor, should I give him brandy? No, that is bad for head injuries…
‘Oh God, Elinor. They could have ra—killed you.’ Thank God. He had her in his arms and was kissing her with a sort of desperation before she could get any of her sensible words out. The desperation of his kiss echoed the way she felt, the wave of emotion that had run through her when she had seen him on the floor, battered, in pain and yet defiant. It was shocking that they should be clasped in each other’s arms like this, but nothing else could express what she felt.
Hazily Elinor was aware that they were holding each other up, and then they were not and she was tumbling on to the bed to end up sprawled on Theo’s chest.
‘Theo!’ Then she found his mouth and was kissing him back. It was clumsy, instinctive and the smell of blood and sweat was making her dizzy, but the heat of his mouth under hers and the thud of his heart against her breast told her that they were both alive, both so thankful to be alive. Mine, that echo in her mind said. Mine…
Chapter Eight
Theo’s head fell back on to the pillows and Elinor stared down at him, realising how battered he was, realising she should be tending his wounds, not behaving in an utterly wanton manner with a man who was barely conscious. Just because she felt like this about him did not mean he wanted her throwing herself at his injured, battered body.
‘God, Nell, where the hell did you get that pistol? I thought you were bluffing when I heard you.’
‘Mama and I carry one each. Mama says one can never rely on having a man to hand when one needs one, so we must be self-reliant.’ Mama had obviously never met this man in a crisis!
‘I can hear her saying it.’ He closed his eyes. ‘Have you ever fired it?’
‘No.’ Elinor swallowed. ‘But I would have done if they hadn’t stopped hitting you.’ She slid off his body and got, somehow, to her feet. ‘Now, you stay there—’ he gave an amused snort, apparently at the thought of doing anything else ‘—while I find some water and bandages.’
Where was Madame Dubois? Elinor called out her name as she opened the door at the back of the shop and found herself in a kitchen. There was no response. She filled a basin with cold water and carried it back. Over one end of the work table was a clean sheet, apparently used for covering sewing in progress. Elinor put it over her shoulder, hooked her finger through the handle of the cutting shears and went back upstairs.
Theo was sitting on the edge of the bed. He had pulled the shirt off over his head and was dabbing with the stained cloth at the cut over his eye. His torso was streaked with blood and covered in reddening marks that were obviously about to become bruises.
‘Are you hurt below the waist anywhere?’ she asked briskly to cover the fact that she wanted to put down the basin and weep. She never cried. Never. ‘He didn’t kick you in the kidneys or anything?’ Could she touch him? Dare she? She wanted to, so much. But that was self-indulgence. It would do him no good, it would satisfy only that jumbled mass of emotions she did not properly understand. He was her friend and he was hurt. That was enough.
‘No, I was rescued by a dragon before he got to those.’ Theo looked up and dropped the shirt. ‘Thank you, Nell. That was so brave.’
Now she was going to cry. Elinor bit her lip until she recovered her composure. ‘I could hardly leave you, could I?’ she demanded. ‘And why are you calling me Nell?’ She knelt down and began to cut up the sheet. ‘Let me see your eyes.’
Somehow he kept from flinching as she washed and dabbed. ‘Nell suits you. Elinor wears dust-coloured gowns and bundles her hair into a net and has her nose stuck in a book all day. Nell lets her hair out and walks by the river and has fun.’
He had only started calling her Nell after he had kissed her. She did not point that out; she didn’t know what it meant. She made him bend his head so she could search through the thick red hair for any cuts on his scalp, running her fingertips carefully through the springing mass, trying not to think about how sensual it felt. There were some vicious lumps, but the skin was not broken.
Obedient to the pressure of her hands, he bent further and she found herself staring down at the nape of his neck, the tendons supporting the skull, the recent scar that must be the result of the last attack when he had lost the Chalice. Her fingers hovered over it, a fraction of an inch from the skin, then she snatched them back, her breathing quickening.
Theo reached for a piece of cloth, wet it and began to clean the blood off his chest. ‘Less dramatic than it looks,’ he said lightly. ‘Most of that blood’s from the cut over my eye. I’ll be fine in a minute.’
‘Yes, of course you will,’ she agreed to keep him quiet, dipping another piece and beginning to work on his back. She had heard those muffled blows that must have landed solidly in his stomach. ‘There, no cuts on your back.’
Theo straightened cautiously and she put one hand on the bands of muscle just above the waistband of his breeches and pressed. He drew a sharp breath as though she had stuck in a knife.
‘I thought so. Fine, indeed! Lie down.’
‘I am fine.’ She shifted her hand to his chest and pushed. He resisted and she saw his lips tighten as the abused muscles were forced to work to counter her lesser strength.
‘Liar.’ He met her eyes and shook his head. ‘Theo, if you do not lie down and rest, I am going to fetch Mama. I mean it—I cannot think of any other threat you might pay attention to.’
