Page 108 of Tremaine's True Love
“Good to know.” Also awful to know, because Bellefonte was no longer teasing. Tremaine sank against the pillows, awaiting torture by ginger biscuit and spiked tea. He went back to work planning his apology but was distracted by the disturbing fact that Nita might well have taken a saw to him—a clean, sharp saw—had his injury been of a different nature.
She would have hated the entire ordeal but tended to Tremaine to the best of her ability anyway. When it was Tremaine’s life in jeopardy, he’d relied on Nita to use the very skills he’d expected her to deny others. A lifetime of apologies might not suffice, though he’d start with one good one and hope for a miracle.
* * *
The fourth day of Tremaine’s convalescence saw a change in Nita’s patient.
“What are you doing out of bed?” she asked.
“Hobbling slowly,” Tremaine retorted. “Impersonating my grandfather when his rheumatism acts up. No wonder wounded soldiers are eager to have at their enemies once more. Marching about is tedious, but a bullet wound is a damned inconvenience.”
A recovering patient was a damned inconvenience too, because as soon as he was hale, Tremaine might well be on his way.
“Please sit,” Nita said, when what she wanted to do was put an arm around Tremaine’s waist and wrestle him back to bed.
“I shall sit on the sofa,” he replied, wobbling off in that direction. George or some other traitorous brother had provided a pair of crutches. Tremaine’s skill with them suggested this treason had been committed at least a day ago.
“You may sit where you please, sir, but you’ll prop up your leg.”
Tremaine looked like he wanted to argue, a sure sign of recovery. His hair was combed, and his dressing gown neatly belted, though his feet were bare.
“I hate being invalided,” he growled, “and hate more that I’ve prevailed on you to tend me.”
As if Nita would allow anybody else near him. “I won’t be tending you much longer. Lord Fairly says your wound is healing beautifully.”
“Nonsense. An unsightly rip in a man’s flesh cannot be beautiful. Would you please sit beside me?”
A rip in a man’s flesh could be gorgeous, when little heat or swelling accompanied it, the scent lacked any hint of putrefaction, and the edges were already beginning to knit.
Nita set a hassock before Tremaine and took a seat beside him rather than argue.
“Nicholas let Edward Nash escape to his uncle’s,” she said. “I wanted to shoot Edward in the leg and leave him to Horton’s tender mercies.”
That sentiment was hardly to her credit as a healer, though Nita’s sisters, Leah, and Addy shared it with her. Susannah’s quotations were recently all drawn from the Bard’s bloodiest tragedies.
Tremaine took Nita’s hand. “I saw the knife Horton intended to use on me. George was to cut off my muddy boot with it, then pass it over to Horton.”
“I’m surprised you remember that.” Did Tremaine also recall telling Nita that his heart was already in her keeping? Nita would never forget those words.
A silence took up residence where Nita’s heartfelt confession should be. She held on to Tremaine’s hand and tried to recall how to begin her well-rehearsed speech.
“I was wrong.”
They’d spoken the exact same words at the exact same moment. Tremaine kissed Nita’s knuckles, though he was also trying to hide a puzzled smile.
“Any woman who rescues me from certain butchery or worse when I’ve castigated her for rescuing others can be as wrong as she pleases,” he said. “Nita, can you forgive me?”
She leaned into Tremaine’s solid warmth—she was on his good side, not that it mattered.
“There’s nothing to forgive, Tremaine. Nothing.”
Tremaine’s arm came around her shoulders. “I said I would not marry you if you persisted with your medical activities, then I expected you to save my life. How is this not gross arrogance, selfishness, bullheadedness, and a reason to hate a man?”
How was it not entirely understandable—now? But where to start? “My family loves me.”
“I love you too, lass.” A grumpy disclosure, not a declaration.
Nita waited, because the fingers stroking her cheek were as gentle as Tremaine’s tone was gruff.
