“I could call for Miss White to look at it. I am quite certain it wouldn’t take long for her to arrive.”
“Absolutely not! I will not have that blasted woman in my house playing physician.”
He’d hurt his ankle and still he wouldn’t let her examine him? She really should help with him. She tamped down the idea of giving the man aid. He wanted her off his estate so he could rot for all she cared.
“Just get me a glass of brandy. That will fix me up.”
Brandy? At ten in the morning? That was not what he needed. She couldn’t ignore what she’d been raised to do. She pulled back the curtain and glared at him.
“You will not drink brandy at this hour. You need to get off that foot and elevate it.”
“What the bloody hell are you doing back in my house? And hiding behind a curtain!”
She paid no heed to the glare he leveled at her. “I was doing my job.”
“I told you not to come back here,” he said, hobbling for his desk. “No one needs you here.” He winced and sat in the leather chair.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “It appears that
you
need me.”
He shook his head. A lock of black hair fell upon his forehead. “I only need you to leave. My ankle will be fine.”
“Let me see your foot,” she said, walking closer to him.
“Get out of my house,” he ordered.
She smiled brightly at him. “There is something you should know about me right now, Your Grace.”
“Oh?” His blue eyes were as hard as sapphires as he stared at her.
She closed the distance between them and then picked up his right foot. “I don’t take orders from anyone.” She leaned in closer until she could feel his heated breath and whispered, “Not even a duke.”
She gently pulled his boot off as he clenched his jaw. “Damn you,” he whispered.
“Damn me? Look at this ankle.” Already it was swelling and turning black-and-blue. “You’re lucky I didn’t have to cut your lovely boot off your foot.”
“I want you out of my house,” he said again.
She glanced up at him with a little smirk. “I know you do.” Returning her gaze to his foot, she shook her head. “I do not like the speed of this swelling. Mr. Roberts,” she called, knowing he was right outside the room.
“Yes, miss.”
“Get me some ice from the icehouse, crush it up, and wrap it in a cloth. Ask your wife to get me some of the willow bark I gave to her.”
“Yes, miss,” Mr. Roberts replied before leaving them alone again.
“You have them all wrapped around your little finger, don’t you?” he asked petulantly.
She pretended to examine his ankle, preferring it to the look of loathing she’d see in his eyes. “Perhaps I do. But while you are gallivanting about town without a care, I am here taking care of your servants and tenants.”
He released a long breath. “I do not gallivant about town.”
She looked up at him from under her lashes. “Oh?”
“No. I have responsibilities in London to attend to . . . such as Parliament.”
“You have responsibilities here too,” she said and then wished she had kept her mouth closed for once.
“Do watch what you say to me,” he warned.
Selina stared at the swelling in his foot before gently pressing a finger into his ankle.
“Damn you,” he whispered as he clutched the arms of his chair.
“I was just testing the amount of pain you felt.”
“Oh? And I suppose hiding behind my curtain was part of the treatment? Do you do that for everyone or just me?”
Selina rolled her eyes and bit her tongue. “I am quite sure you know why I was here.”
“Yes, I do. Now . . .” He pulled himself up out of the chair to tower over her. “Get out of my house.”
“Here’s the ice, miss,” Mr. Roberts said as he walked into the room and then halted midstride.
“Escort Miss White out, Mr. Roberts,” the duke ordered.
“That will not be necessary, Your Grace,” Selina said with a smile. She walked over and took the ice and herbs from the butler. “Mr. Roberts, I just need some cloth to bind his injury.”
She turned back to face Northrop. “Your Grace, sit back down this instant. My duty is to keep you healthy and standing on a twisted ankle is not good for it.”
He started to rebuke her and took a step forward. He muttered a curse as he grabbed the desk for support.
“Now,” she ordered.
“Very well,” he said in a low voice. “Just wrap my ankle and be done with it.”
“No, we do this my way.” Selina crossed her arms over her chest and smiled down at him. “Put your foot on the desk to elevate it.”
With a low growl, he did as she asked. She pressed her fingers over the bone and down the length of his foot. Her hands trembled slightly as she lifted his foot and moved it. What was wrong with her? He was a patient just like any other.
“I don’t believe anything is broken,” she finally said.
“I could have told you that. It’s a sprain, nothing more.”
“How exactly did you sprain your ankle while out riding?”
His cheeks reddened slightly. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Tell me.”
“When I jumped off my horse, my foot landed on a rock. My ankle gave out and I went down.” He glared up at her. “I must have looked like a complete fool to my own groomsmen.”
A loud cough sounded from the doorway. Selina turned to see Mr. Roberts standing there staring at her hands on the duke’s foot. She stared down at the duke’s ankle as heat crossed her cheeks.
Oh, God, she had been caressing his foot.
Colin watched as Miss White’s face turned bright pink. Perhaps it hadn’t been his imagination that her light touch felt much more like a seductive caress than a clinical examination. As soon as Roberts entered the room, her critical focus returned.
As much as she irritated him, he was certain that she took her duty seriously. This was not the first time he’d sprained this ankle. Her scrutiny of his foot showed her skill.
“I will bind your foot now, Your Grace.” She picked up the linen cloth for binding and started at the arch of his foot.
When she lifted his foot, a spark skipped up his leg and all thoughts of her skill went out the door. Colin closed his eyes to get her out of his mind. That only increased his awareness of her every movement.
The scent of lavender wafted around him, enticing him. Her soft fingers moved across his calf as she wrapped his foot. He imagined her hands skimming over his body, touching his chest . . . his hard. . . . He blinked his eyes open.
Dear God, he certainly couldn’t find her attractive.
Her unbound hair fell over her face as she worked on the binding. He swallowed back the desire to brush the hair away so he could stare at her face again. His gaze moved to the floor only to see her stocking-covered toes peeking out from her skirts. Why did the sight of her toes make his heart suddenly drum against his chest?
She was the wise woman. It was her mother’s fault that Mary died that night. With Miss White gone, he could concentrate on the good things to come for Kate and not all the horrors he remembered.
“Thank you,” he said gruffly as she tied the binding into a knot.
“You are most welcome, Your Grace.” She backed a step away from him and then held out her hands as if waiting for him to rise. “You need to lie down and elevate your foot for the rest of the day. Keep ice on it for twenty minutes at a time, several times during the day. I’ll come back tomorrow and check on the swelling.”
“I do not have time to be resting. There are far too many things that need to be completed before the wedding.” Colin crossed his arms over his chest.
“You can direct the servants from the sofa in the salon. But you will need at least two or three days off that ankle.”
“I have sprained this ankle before and I know exactly what it needs,” he retorted. “Now take your leave.”
“As you wish.” She walked back to the windowsill and picked up her ceramic bowl with the burned sage. “May I at least continue with this?”
“No. I do not need my house cleansed.” He’d had enough of her fussing about him. All he wanted was her out of his house now. She brought back memories that needed to be forgotten. And desires he couldn’t act upon.
“Very well then. Good day, Your Grace.” She turned and left without another word.
Colin sat back in his leather chair and blew out a long breath. He needed to get rid of her forever. The longer she stayed on the estate, the more his memories would eat into him. Perhaps once she left he could be happy here again. Her departure might free him of the strangling recollections so he might enjoy his home again.
Determined to find her and tell her at once that she must leave immediately, he stood and took a step. Pain shot up the length of his leg. “Dammit!”
As much as he didn’t want to admit it, she was right. He needed to take a day or two off his foot. “Roberts,” he shouted.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Roberts said as he reached the entrance to the study.
“Get me a cane and help me into the salon.” Dammit. He hated feeling like an invalid in front of his servants.
“Of course, Your Grace. I’m so glad you are taking Miss White’s advice.”
“I am only doing exactly as I have done every time I’ve wrenched my ankle over the years.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
Miss White. He swore that if he heard that name one more time today, he would dismiss the person who said it.
Miss White.
He didn’t even know her Christian name.
“Roberts,” he asked as they hobbled toward the salon, “what is Miss White’s name?”
“Selina, sir.”
Selina. A lovely name for a beautiful woman.
He shook his head quickly. He could not allow his thoughts to go there again. She was just as bad as her mother.
He needed her gone immediately.
Selina approached the house with trepidation the next day. The duke reminded her of a wounded animal, ready to strike out at anyone trying to help him. She would need to handle him with extreme care. But no one, not even the Duke of Northrop, would dissuade her from her duties on the estate.
The door opened as she approached. Mr. Roberts stood in the doorway with a frown.
“Good morning, Mr. Roberts. How is he today?” she asked softly, in case he was within hearing distance.
“He’s a dreadful patient, miss. Bad-tempered, drinking, and swearing. At least he did stay on the sofa yesterday.”
“And today?”
“He’s in his study.”
“I do need to see him. I must check the swelling.”
Mr. Roberts opened the door and let her inside. Once inside, she handed a small bag to him. “This is for your wife.”
“Thank you, miss. She’s feeling completely well now.”
“Tell her to take it in a cup of tea once a week.”
“I will. Now, just let me see if His Grace is receiving callers.”
“Nonsense,” she replied, walking down the long corridor. “I shall announce myself.”
“That’s highly improper, miss.” Mr. Roberts whispered, “He’ll hate that.”
She smiled back at the butler. “I know.”
Selina tiptoed to the threshold of the study. Glancing inside the room, she noticed the duke sitting at his desk with his foot propped on a stack of books. At least he’d listened to her about elevating his foot.
She hesitated at the door, watching as he read a piece of correspondence. His black brows drew into a deep frown and he muttered something she couldn’t hear. He was truly one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. His broad shoulders filled the chair. She bit down on her lower lip, remembering the sensation of her fingers on his bare leg yesterday. He was all muscle and strength. It was a pity he was betrothed. He would have made a wonderful lover.
She smiled at the thought. Being a wise woman, no one cared if she married or had a child without the bonds of matrimony. The only priority was bearing a child . . . not just a child, a daughter to teach the ways of the healers.
While she hadn’t taken a man to her bed yet, she thought the duke might not be a bad first choice. But she would never do such a thing with a married man or even an engaged one. Pity that. She had a feeling he would be rather fine in bed.
“Is there some reason you are here today?” the duke asked roughly.
Selina blinked and heat crossed her cheeks. “I apologize, Your Grace. I was woolgathering.”
“Indeed? Or attempting to determine the best way to announce yourself?”
“A little of both,” she said and then walked directly into the room. Putting aside her mad desire for a man she could never have, she placed her wool satchel on the desk. “I am here to check on the progress of your foot.”
“And if I say no?” He stared up at her with those icy blue eyes.
His intense look almost intimidated her . . . almost. “Then I would have to take your foot like this,” she said, lifting his foot into the air and then placing it against her belly, “and unwrap your ankle with no assistance from you.”
She could have sworn she heard a low growl from his throat. Ignoring the sensation of his bare foot on her stomach, she focused her attention on his ankle. “The swelling is down from yesterday.”
“I am quite well.”
“How many times have you sprained this ankle?”
“At least five,” he replied. “The first time I was twelve when I fell out of a tree.”
Selina shook her head. “It must never have healed properly. Who wrapped it then?” She felt him tense under her fingers.
“Your mother,” he said in a low voice.
“Oh.” Selina said nothing else. Thinking back, she realized that was about the time her father had died. Mother never completely recovered from his death. It was not long after her father’s death that the drinking began.
“Perhaps there was nothing else she could do,” she finally whispered.
“Or perhaps my stepmother should have called a physician to wrap it correctly,” he retorted.
She remained silent and pulled out fresh linen from her satchel. After binding his foot again, she gently placed it back on the stack of books. “Do keep ice on it again today.”
“I know what to do for my foot, Miss White.”
“Excuse me, Your Grace,” Mr. Roberts said from the threshold. “Miss White, Mrs. Graham asked that you attend to her mother as quickly as possible.”
Selina gathered her things. “Of course,” she replied.
“Is there something wrong with Mrs. Graham’s mother?”
“I won’t know until I get there,” she lied. After all his talk about a physician’s abilities and training, she wasn’t about to admit that she was most likely going to watch a woman die tonight.
Colin sat at his desk with his foot propped up as dusk enveloped the estate. A cool breeze fluttered the curtains. He glanced over at them only to notice a woman sitting on the edge of the reflecting pond. Why would Miss White be sitting out there at this time of evening?
For a long moment, he just stared. The wind blew her blond tresses in front of her face. She quickly brushed the hairs away. He felt entranced when she was near. It made no sense. She was the exact opposite of Mary.
“Excuse me, Your Grace.”
He glanced over at the door where Roberts stood with a grim look on his face. “What is it?”
“Mrs. Fitzhugh passed a short while ago.”
“Mrs. Fitzhugh?”
“Mrs. Graham’s mother, sir. She had been ill for months.”
While he’d read the rambling letters his steward sent him every month, he had no real knowledge of his tenants. Their passing had meant nothing to him. He looked back out at Miss White and wondered if she was responsible for the woman’s death. She had left here to attend to her. And yet, the wise woman couldn’t heal her. “Thank you, Roberts.”
Wincing, he stood and reached for his cane. He ambled through the French door and down toward the pond. At first, she didn’t notice his approach; she continued to stare down into the water. When a twig snapped under Colin’s foot, she looked up and shook her head.
“You should not be on that ankle, Your Grace.”
“And you should not be on my land, Miss White,” he retorted and then sat on the edge of the pond to get his weight off his ankle. He did his best to conceal from her the pain he felt. She’d probably give him some damn herbs for the ache.
“I was assisting a tenant.” The breeze blew her muslin skirts about her slim calves.
“I heard Mrs. Fitzhugh passed.”
She nodded.
“Perhaps a physician—”
“Could have hastened her death? Yes, I’m sure that fool man in town would have done just that.”
“And yet, you couldn’t help her either.” He folded his arms over his chest.
A slight smile lifted her full lips upward. “You do not know the first thing about Mrs. Fitzhugh or her condition.”
“Do inform,
Dr. White.
”
“Very well, the woman was eighty-five years old and had lost her husband of over sixty years only last year. Once he had passed, she lost her will to live. She had loved him since they were both children. She couldn’t imagine life without him.”
Colin couldn’t help but snort. “And that is why you are not a physician. You believe nonsense such as people dying over broken hearts.”
“And no part of you died when your wife passed?”
Her barb hit its mark. “How dare you mention my wife! How I felt after she died is not your concern.”
“Then what exactly is your diagnosis for poor Mrs. Fitzhugh?” She cocked a brow at him as if daring him to answer.
He laughed slightly. “I would not dream of playing at doctoring. That takes training and education.”
“And I am simply an uneducated woman.”
“Education or not, you are a woman.”
She narrowed her eyes. “A woman could never be a physician, could she?”
“No,” he replied simply. “It is far too taxing.”
“You pompous ass,” she said as she rose. “You have no idea the number of lives I have saved.”
“Purely accidental.” He had no idea why he continued to verbally spar with her. Perhaps it was the fact that he could. In London, the women would never disagree with anything he said. But they all wanted the same thing from him: marriage.