Anita Mills by Miss Gordon's Mistake Read Free Book Online

where it clung to his chest. “At least the ball did not pass through,” she observed with some satisfaction.
    “’Twould have been better if it had,” he muttered, wincing as she stripped the stiffened shirt from his shoulder. He tried to look down, but the angle was wrong. “Still bleeding?”
    She lifted the soaked pad gingerly, then peered at the welling hole. There appeared to be the rudiments of a clot forming. “Not so much as ’twas, I think,” she murmured, dabbing at the edges to check it.
    “Thought you might he on it again.” This time, when he swayed, he leaned over, then lay down. “Pardon—too tired.” The oiled cloth that protected the bed crackled beneath him.
    Mercifully, the doctor arrived, bleary-eyed but sober. Surveying his patient, he asked only how long ago Mr. Smith had been shot, then shook his head. “Ball’s got to come out.”
    “But the bleeding has just stopped!” she protested.
    “Lead—at least two hundred grains of it—festers if ’tis left inside.” He looked up at her. “Don’t want him carried off with a fever, do you?”
    “No, of course not.”
    “Didn’t think so.” Even as he spoke, he rolled up his sleeves, then dug in his bag for an evil-looking probe. “Fetch the washbasin, will you?” He eyed her curiously, noting the expression on her face. “If you ain’t got the stomach, send up Mrs. Turner.”
    “I have the stomach,” she answered, swallowing the gorge that rose in her throat.
    “Good. Like to see a woman as stands with a man. These days, there ain’t too many of them.” Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “Best get a cup for the laudanum, ’cause he’s going to need it.”
    “No.” It was the first time the baron had spoken since the physician had arrived. “No,” he repeated succinctly. “Too much rum.”
    The doctor shrugged. “He’ll swoon then.”
    Later, Kitty would be hard-pressed to describe anything about the procedure. She washed away the clot, then held the basin while Dr. Burke probed for the ball. Finally, he inserted an evil-looking pair of thin tongs and pulled it out triumphantly. Haverhill had gone rigid for a moment, then fainted. It was a mercy, for Kitty discovered that the wound had yet to be cauterized to stop the bleeding. It was not until his shoulder had been neatly bandaged that she had the stomach to look again.
    In the end, Burke stood up. “Lost too much blood, but the body’s a wonderous machine, Mrs. Smith. If he keeps quiet and drinks enough, the blood will replace in a matter of days. He ought to feel better by day after tomorrow— unless there is an infection,” he hedged, qualifying his rosy prognosis. “Ought to get him out of his wet clothes, though, and keep him warm. Let him drink broths and avoid wine.” He looked from Haverhill to her, seeing the utter fatigue in her eyes. “Want me to help you undress him? Don’t suppose a little thing like you can manage, can you?”
    “Thank you,” she murmured gratefully.
    “Don’t know why big men like him always pick little females,” he went on, reaching to unbutton the baron’s tight-fitting breeches. “Makes ‘em feel strong, I suppose.” As Kitty turned away, he peeled the pants down. “How’d he get wounded?” he asked conversationally.
    “I told you—robbers—”
    “No. No, I meant this.”
    Despite her resolve, she looked to where Burke pointed at an angry scar that dented deeply into Haverhill’s thigh, thinking it explained why the baron favored the leg. The muscle puckered around it.
    “Suppose it was the war,” he decided. “Nearly lost the leg by the looks of it—broke the bone.”
    “Yes.”
    “Peninsula?”
    “Er—yes, I believe so.”
    “Haven’t been wed long, have you?”
    “No.”
    He stood again. “Can always tell the newly married ones.”
    “Oh,” she asked cautiously. “How is that?”
    “They still blush.”
    Long after the doctor left, Kitty sat on a chair pushed against the wall.