Page 32 of A Courtesan Countess Worth the Scandal
Following the glow of Nora’s candle, they cut through a gap in some dilapidated wooden fencing and hurried across an open expanse of field, to reach the structure that squatted in the center. It certainly did not look like much, but as long as it kept them sheltered from the elements, she did not mind. She had slept in worse places.
I doubt you have, though.
She eyed Lord Keswick and saw him purse his lips as they approached the outbuilding in the middle of the field. It only had one story, and looked to be as dilapidated as the fencing surrounding the field, but it had most of a roof, a door, and some boarded up windows. It was bigger than it had looked from the road, too, and could easily house the two of them, as well as a ten-head of cattle, if necessary.
Nora tugged on the door until it gave on its hinges, swinging wide to allow them entry. She shone the candle in first, to make sure therewasno livestock inside. Finding it clear of unwanted visitors, though she could just hear the slight squeak of field mice in their homey crevices, she stepped further inside.
“It doesn’t look like it’s been used in a long while, so we probably don’t have to worry about a farmer coming along to shoo us out,” she said, finding nothing but old apple crates, a few moldering blankets, and the remains of what might have been straw, once upon a time.
Lord Keswick hung back, lingering in the doorway. “I do not think it proper that we share this… shelter together. You are a lady on your own. I would not want there to be any misunderstandings.”
“From whom?” she retorted, with a grin. “There’s no one here, and I’m not going to tell anyone. But I do need you to help me with my leg. It’s not going to fix itself, so you’re going to have to come in from the cold. We could also benefit from a fire, so we can stay warm.”
He looked puzzled. “Your leg?”
“One of those brutes cut me when I wouldn’t stop squirming. It’s not deep, but it’ll keep bleeding if you don’t help me.” She sat down on one of the apple crates, and tore a strip off the edge of her skirt. “Could you be a savior one more time, and come to my rescue?”
His frown deepened. “I am no savior. I would appreciate it if you did not call me that.” Reluctantly, he walked over to her and knelt beside the crate. “Where is the injury?”
“Up here.” Without a hint of embarrassment, she lifted the hem of her skirts up to her right thigh. She shimmied it a little higher, until she found the cut, only to find that Lord Keswick had turned his face away.
“You should not do that!” he protested. “It is improper for me to see so much of a lady’s… limb!”
She rolled her eyes. “If you were a physician, would you say the same thing? I am need of your aid, or I shall continue to bleed, and you will find there is a corpse in this hut come morning. It will not be the cold that kills me first if you don’t help.” She pushed the rag of fabric into his hand. “Think of me as a patient, nothing more.”
Slowly, he turned his eyes toward her, looking very uncomfortable indeed. A moment later, his gaze flitted down to the strip of fabric and then, with a loud gulp, to the soft white flesh of her exposed thigh. The cut had been slashed down the side, trickles of blood running all the way down her leg, and she dearly hoped it had not injured anything that would actually cause her death. Although, she did feel somewhat lightheaded.
“Are you certain I will not cause you more harm?” he said quietly.
She shook her head. “I don’t think that’s possible, Lord Keswick.” She hesitated. “Tell me, do you have a name with that title? I wouldn’t normally ask, but I feel it is vital that we know one another better if I am to be your patient, and you are to be my physician and rescuer.”
“It is… Liam,” he replied. He said his name with an odd stiffness, as though he were not accustomed to saying it, or hearing it, out loud.
She smiled. “Then you can call me Nora.”
“Nora…” he spoke her name with equal discomfort. “Really, I do not think this is appropriate. No one has called me by my name since I was… well, I do not think they ever have.”
Nora chuckled. “Not even your Mother? She must’ve called you something.”
“She… called me… uh… ‘Boy’ or ‘Son.’ I had no pet names.” His forehead furrowed, as if the memory caused him pain. “Anyway, I shall reiterate—I do not think this remotely appropriate.”
Nora gave a small shrug. “It need only be for tonight, Liam. Come tomorrow morning, when I am sure we’ll part ways, you can return to calling me Miss Black, and I will call you Lord Keswick.”
“I never did ask where you were going.” He canted his head, his hand hesitating above her thigh, as though one touch might topple him over the edge into debauchery.
“I was traveling to Northcrop. It’s a village, I believe, on the way to Stratford-Upon-Avon,” she replied, resisting the urge to laugh at his reluctance to touch her. Did he really think she was contagious, or was he merely so appalled by her employment that he would rather have touched the filthy ground beneath them? She did not know.
He narrowed his eyes. “I do not know of any Lord in such a place.”
“Why would you? I wasn’t going to visit with one,” she replied, a touch curtly. “I was going to meet with a publisher, as it happens. Apparently, the fellow is the only man who might be mad enough to publish the incendiary words of a courtesan.”
Liam dropped his gaze again, staring at her thigh as though it might somehow heal itself. “I think it is quite extraordinary.”
“My thigh? Why, thank you.” She chuckled to herself, though she could not deny that the injury hurt a great deal.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, evidently trying to control his retort. “I meant your memoir. I had the opportunity to read the first installment in that scandal sheet, and… I rather think Sir Arnold deserved the punishment. His wife and children certainly deserved to know, though I hope it will not cause them too much anguish.”
“You might be the only fellow in London who thinks favorably about my work.” His words surprised her, for she had fully expected a scolding. “The rest are all begging for a reprieve or sending me threatening letters.”
