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Edward blinked the rain from his eyes. He stared blankly as the earl lifted Cassie into his arms.
“I believe, Lyndhurst,” the earl said quietly, “that the die has been cast. I, for one, certainly have no wish to be impaled on your foil.”
Slowly, Edward nodded. “Your shoulder, Cass,” he said, staring at the red stain that was spreading over her gown.
“If you wish, Lyndhurst, you can accompany me back to The Cassandra. I will take care of her there.”
“But you cannot. It’s I who must—”
“She has made her choice. Enough, let us leave this place before we all succumb to an inflammation of the lungs in this blasted rain.”
Cassie raised her head from the earl’s shoulder. “Thank you, Edward. You need have no more fears for me. I am going home.” She was smiling.
“It’s but a scratch, cara. I will give you two days before I lay you over my knee.” The earl straightened and pulled the bedcover higher on her back.
“Do you wish some laudanum, my lord?” Scargill asked as he handed the earl the basilicum powder.
“Nay, if she suffers any pain it will serve her right. I have had enough of your dramatic antics, Cassandra, to last me a lifetime.”
“He is cruel, Scargill, but I shall make him pay, never fear.”
Her grin became a wince as he gently bound the wound with a light bandage. He pulled her damp mass of hair away from her body and tucked the covers more tightly around her.
“We will give her a glass of wine for her breakfast, Scargill.”
“Yes, my lord, right away.” Scargill sprinkled a goodly amount of laudanum into the red wine.
As the earl helped her onto her back and puffed the pillows behind her head, she eyed the wine warily. “I really don’t wish any, my lord.”
“Nonsense, it will put you in a better frame of mind, and, I trust, calm your shrew’s tongue.”
“Oh, very well,” she said, and downed the wine. “I do wish that you would give me a nightgown.”
Before the earl answered her, he turned to Scargill, who sported a beaming smile. “Thank you, Scargill. I believe I can well handle our patient now. Go remove those wet clothes. I want none of us to become ill.”
“Now about that nightgown, Cassandra,” the earl said after Scargill had let himself out of the cabin. The smile disappeared as he gazed down at her white face. “For God’s sake, what is the matter?”
“It is the wine,” she gasped, and looked wildly about for a basin. “Please, my lord, I am going to be ill.”
He got her the basin with not an instant to spare. When at last she lay against the pillows, pale and blown, he said gently, “Lie still, love. This time we will try some water, no wine.”
After she had sipped at the water, she became aware that he was looking at her oddly. She thought of the child in her womb, but decided that now was not the time to tell him of her pregnancy. She stared up at him, and set her jaw.
“Should you not remove your wet clothes, my lord?”
His odd, assessing expression gave way to a grin. “Only if you will promise to spare my male modesty.”
“I assure you that anything you do will leave me unmoved.”
Indeed, her words were true, she thought. She started to feel very drowsy and the pain in her shoulder seemed to be easing. She heard his boots drop to the floor, but she was no longer paying attention.
* * *
The earl laid down the hairbrush and surveyed his handiwork. “You are presentable now, Cassandra.”
“What is the time?”
“Late afternoon, near four o’clock. You slept a long time, little one.”
