The Great Christmas Ball by Joan Smith Read Free Book Online Page A

sawbones. Did you bring a carriage, milord?”
    “No, I came in a hansom. I do not require an escort home,” Costain assured his young rescuer. “I shall find a hackney cab. You take your sister home, Sir Gordon.”
    “We cannot let you wander the streets alone in your condition,” Cathy said firmly. “We live around the corner. You must come home with us.” She turned to Gordon. “We’ll take him into the study. No one will know.”
    “A capital idea. A good thing I thought to leave the door on the latch.”
    Costain said, “Just accompany me until I find a cab. I shan’t bother you further.”
    There was no cab to be found, however, and when they reached King Charles Street, Costain felt so faint that it seemed best to stop a moment. He was helped along with great solicitude, guided up the steps and onto a sofa before the cold grate. While Gordon built up the fire, Cathy poured him a glass of sherry.
    “Ask Simmons for a bowl of water and a plaster, Gordon,” Cathy said. “Tell him you cut your finger.”
    Gordon wrapped his handkerchief around his hand and went after Simmons for the necessary supplies. Gordon took the water and plaster to the study.
    “I am sorry to be such a nuisance,” Costain said two or three times, while Cathy attended to his wound. He was very pale.
    “I hope I am not hurting you,” she said, daubing tenderly at his cut.
    He smiled wanly. “Our nurses at Belem, in the Peninsula, did not have such a gentle touch,” he said.
    As she worked over him, he noticed the sweep of dark lashes against her cheek. Then she glanced up, and he observed the concern in her youthful eyes. His look caused a flush to brighten her cheek. She moved to arrange his pillow, and he was struck by the litheness of her form. Something stirred in him. Miss Lyman’s beauty was not of the sort that leapt out and assaulted a man at first view. It was a more quiet charm that showed best under duress. He suspected she was shy.
    “You will be wishing me at Jericho,” he said.
    “I think the shoe is on the other foot, milord. It is our fault. If Gordon had not shouted your name, perhaps the man would not have discovered your presence.”
    “There is no saying. He did strike immediately after Gordon called, but he must have been creeping up on me before. I am a poor advertisement for a guerrillero. I was taught to be able to handle myself in such situations. I shall blame it on the snow. It muffled his footfalls.” He winced as she bathed his wound.
    “Sorry. You didn’t catch a sight of him?”
    “Not so much as a glimpse. He came from behind. Just as I heard him and turned, he struck me. I fancy he was only trying to get away unseen.”
    “Then he must have feared you would recognize him,” she said.
    “All I saw was a hand,” Costain said.
    “With stubby fingers?” she asked with a facetious smile.
    Costain felt an answering smile creep across his lips. He enjoyed her fussing over him, which was strange, as he had particularly disliked such attentions at Belem. It was because she was a woman, of course. Really quite an attractive woman when she smiled. “Actually he wore a glove. It may have been a common thief—but no. A thief would not have struck when he knew I had help close by.”
    “Help, or hindrance?” she asked, shaking basilicum on the plaster.
    “Let us say colleagues, to avoid calling a spade a spade.”
    “I wonder if a spade minds being called a spade. Is your money purse missing?”
    He felt for it. “No. And my watch is still with me. I think we can assume your intruder went to the park in hope that the lovers’ rendezvous was something else. A pity he saw me there.”
    She leaned over him and gently applied the plaster. “I hope that wound he inflicted is not too uncomfortable.”
    He lifted his hand to pat the bandage, and their fingers brushed. Cathy hastily withdrew hers. “You do it,” he said, lowering his hands.
    She pressed tenderly on the plaster. “Does that