Secrets of the Heart (4 page)

“Are you ready?” Ravensmoore asked.

Startled from her pain-filled thoughts she said, “Yes.” But that was a lie. Madeline’s head throbbed simultaneously with the beating of her pulse. She fought for control and blinked back tears when the three of them reached the steps leading into the arched entrance. She nearly crumpled when Ravensmoore dismounted, and she clung desperately to the pommel of the saddle. He reached for her. “It’s all right. I’ll help you.”

“There is no need to coddle me, sir. I assure you, once again, that I am perfectly able.”

“Excellent! Then this should not be too difficult for you.”

Madeline fell into his arms, light-headed and shaky. She wobbled when her feet touched the ground. He held her, keeping her safe.

“Allow me to carry you, Lady Madeline.”

Pain sliced through her arm from the jolting ride. “There’s nothing wrong with my legs, sir. I
can
walk.” She took two steps and swayed precariously.

“I think not.” Ignoring her protests, Ravensmoore scooped her into his arms again. His warmth and scent—spice, leather, and sweat—mingled together in a balm for her pain.

Her mother, Grace, the Countess of Richfield, ran down the steps to meet them. “Madeline, you’re hurt!” Her mother placed a hand on Madeline’s cheek. “What happened?”

Madeline bit her lip, trying not to reveal the depth of her pain. “It’s nothing, Mother. I took a spill off Shakespeare.” She would not be the cause of further anguish. Mother’s grief over the past two years had been more than many tolerated during a lifetime.

“She’ll be fine, Countess,” Hally said. “We’ve brought a doctor with us.”

“A doctor? Thank God. Follow me, sir.”

Now, beyond caring, she laid her head on his shoulder. Once again his breath whispered past her cheek as he took the stairs and delivered her safely into the embrace of her home.

“Phineas, bring some willow bark tea,” Grace instructed the butler. “Bring her into the sitting room, sir.” The countess continued her directions while fussing over Madeline. “The settee will do nicely. That’s it, gently.”

Ravensmoore’s hand lingered a moment on hers as Madeline sank gratefully into the plush green velvet cushions. Surely the man would leave her in peace now.

Her mother pushed back the gold damask draperies, and muted light filled the room. A fire burned in the hearth, and Madeline shivered, perhaps from the lack of the body warmth she had shared with her rescuer on the ride home.

The butler returned with a pot of tea. He poured the hot liquid into a rose-patterned cup and cautiously handed it to her. “There you are, Lady Madeline.”

“Thank you, Phineas.” Steam rose from the cup. Madeline watched her mother. “Please don’t worry so. It’s not serious.”

Ravensmoore knelt beside her. “I recommend you take a swallow of that tea as soon as you can.”

“Sir, your services are no longer needed. And I will drink my tea when I am good and ready, thank you very much.” Madeline spoke more curtly than she’d intended, but she longed to be alone.

“Drink the tea, young lady,” Mother ordered. “The willow bark will help you relax and ease your pain. And you
will
permit the doctor to examine you. Do not argue with me on this matter.”

“But Mother, you don’t understand. He—”

She touched her daughter’s hand and their eyes met. “I understand enough.” She turned to Ravensmoore. “What can we do, sir?”

“Allow her to rest a few moments. Then remove her riding jacket so I may examine her arm. Is there a place where I might wash up?

I must have left my gloves on the field, and I don’t want to cause further distress by smudging a lady’s clothing.”

“Of course. Phineas will show you the way.”

As soon as he’d left the room, Madeline looked at her mother. “Let me explain. You must know that he”—she pointed in the direction he’d just gone with cup in hand—“was the
physician-intraining
who allowed Papa to bleed to death in York.”

“I didn’t recognize him.” A veil of sadness shrouded her mother’s eyes. “I didn’t think to see any of them again.” Even the worry lines that creased her mother’s brow could not diminish the sculpted features of a woman who resembled a Greek goddess, though she seemed utterly unaware of her beauty. The name Grace suited her.

“He’s not a doctor… yet.”

Grace plucked a pair of shears from a nearby sewing basket. “You have made that perfectly clear. Now, allow Lady Gilling and me to cut away your jacket. You might have broken your arm, and there’s no point in causing you any more pain.”

“You still want him to examine me?”

“Of course. I must think of your welfare. The past is the past.”

“But—”

“He may be able to help you. It will take a servant a long time to ride into town, locate a physician, and return with him. Let this doctor help you.”

Madeline looked from one to the other, then handed Hally the teacup. “Do be careful.”

“Of course we’ll be careful, dear.” Grace cut away the jacket in moments.

“Oh, Maddie. I’m so sorry this happened.” Hally handed her the teacup again. “It’s entirely my fault.”

“That is not true.” Madeline finished the tea. “Don’t be silly.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I am quite dizzy.”

Ravensmoore returned, and she willed herself to open her eyes. He looked taller. His black hair, thick and unruly, increased his appeal. A dark curl fell over his forehead when he leaned toward her. Madeline’s heartbeat ricocheted in her chest, and confusion merged with pain.

“How are you feeling?” His brilliant green eyes searched hers.

“I think I should go to bed.” A sudden wave of nausea attacked her. She groaned and prayed not to get sick. “Please leave.”

“Lady Madeline.” He sank to his knees next to her. “Does your head hurt?”

“Yes.” She could no longer fight back the pain. “Dreadfully.”

“A possible concussion. Is your vision blurry?” He placed his hands on both sides of her face and stared into her eyes as if he were trying to read her thoughts. An unpleasant prospect.

“Yes.”

“You may indeed have a concussion. You’re unstable on your feet, and your vision is blurred. In addition to that your head aches. If the pain continues beyond two days, I will want to see you again. Now… for the arm.” He gently examined her arm, his fingers sliding skillfully over the silk fabric.

“I don’t believe your arm is broken, although it may feel as if it is. I’m afraid the sprain is most severe.”

Madeline wondered why the room tipped. She had not moved. A moan escaped her lips. Then she felt all strength drain from her body like the emptying of the soul. The cup slipped from her limp fingers and tumbled to the carpet.

C
HAPTER 2

For courage mounteth with occasion.

—S
HAKESPEARE
,
K
ING
J
OHN
, A
CT
II, S
CENE
I

N
IGHT DESCENDED, AND
only the moon lit the way. Devlin knew he must get back to the inn and prepare for the week’s classes. Exhaustion, more numbing than the cold, threatened to overtake him as he rode away from Richfield. The countess requested that he return soon to check on Madeline’s progress. But he knew the week would be so crowded with rounds at the hospital that he’d barely have time to breathe, let alone return to his charming and puzzling patient. Perhaps he could find a way.

Meeting Lady Madeline had been an unexpected mixture of shock and pleasure, but her harsh words had staggered him. She blamed him for her father’s death, and she was partially correct. The medical crisis that had brought her father to the hospital was not one he’d soon forget.

Lord, what shall I say to her?
The enchanting woman had accused him of murder!

He couldn’t push the image of her from his thoughts. Tall and lithe, she had a mind of her own and didn’t attempt to hide her thoughts, a flaw to some, but in his opinion an asset. She’d been devastated by her father’s death and her words were harsh, but hesensed an underlying vulnerability that she guarded from further hurt. Sometimes people in pain said things they didn’t mean.

When their horses collided, something sparked in those astonished hazel eyes, whether attraction or annoyance, he didn’t know, but he’d thought her fascinating: the way her rich brown locks smelled of jasmine on a warm summer breeze, the way her hair loosened from its confines and tumbled across her proud shoulders, the way she leaned against him during their ride to Richfield.

The closeness of the ride with a high-spirited female ensconced between his arms had caused him to rein in thoughts of a nature he hadn’t seriously considered for a very long time. Even now he yearned to bury his face in those silken tresses and feel their softness against his cheek.

“Madeline,” Devlin whispered as though someone might hear the soft caress of her name on his lips. “Maddie,” he breathed into the night, enjoying the intimate sound. He tried to shake off the unexpected and tender emotions. He must tame these feelings. He tried to push thoughts of her from his mind. Dr. Langford would show no mercy if he came unprepared for class because an enticing female had cast a spell over him.

Finally, he stood in the shadow of the Blue Swan Inn, where he rented a room. This had caused much gossip, but he didn’t care; it suited his needs. The inn was close to the hospital, yet, if necessary, near enough to his estate to travel home in a day’s ride. He’d established an arrangement with the stable boy. Whenever he returned late, there would be an additional coin for him if he’d take very good care of Hippocrates. Devlin smiled as he climbed the stairs to his room. The boy had waited up for him.

He lit a lamp and illuminated the sparsely furnished space: a couple of chairs, a table, a bed, and a wardrobe. He chose to live simply here in York. Devlin then lit the fire in the hearth and rubbed his hands together above the slow growing flames to ward off the chill that had settled in his bones.

Gathering his books and papers, Devlin tried to focus on the urgent task of study. He stared absentmindedly into the fire watching the flames dance. His elbow slipped off the edge of the table, rudely jolting him out of his reverie. He fought off fatigue and intrusive thoughts of a lady who clearly disliked him.

Ignoring his bed and a deep need for sleep, he pored over the medical books spread out on the rickety wooden table. But the image of a woman with brown silky hair continued to distract him. The scent of jasmine lingering on his clothes forced his mind further from his studies. He could understand why she blamed him. When someone died in a hospital, family members usually blamed the physician in attendance or God or both. He wondered if he could convince her otherwise.

Devlin woke with a start and squinted at the clock. “Confound it!” He shot out of his seat, every muscle in his body screaming in protest, his shoulder blades cracking aloud from too long a period hunched over his desk. “Sleeping in a chair all night… not very intelligent,” he grumbled, closing his books and piling them one on top of the other.

“Langford is going to dissect me. This is just the kind of opportunity he’s been waiting for.”

He quickly changed his clothes, transforming himself from earl to student physician. The required cravat was coarse, not silk, the black coat simply cut and not nearly as elegant or fashionable as his usual tailor-made attire. The dark breeches were nearly worn out, and the boots remained spattered with dry blood from previous surgeries.

Devlin raced down the stairs and out the door, yearning for his landlady’s cooking: fresh bread, bacon, and coffee. The aroma made his stomach growl, his mouth water, and conjured tempting images that made him want to ignore his responsibilities this one morning.
Oh, for a swallow of hot brewed coffee
. He forced the temptation from his mind and focused on what lay ahead.

Hurrying through the cobblestone streets to the Guardian Gate Hospital, he tore through the front door and then purposely slowed his steps to a respectable pace as he came to the reception area. He glanced at William, the clerk, who shook his bald head.

“You’re doomed this morning, your lordship. Your absence was noted forthwith,” he said, standing behind an oak desk that hid his considerable girth.