Page 14 of The Hired Hero
Caroline’s stomach growled in protest.
Mrs. Collins cleared the tray, making room for Dr. Laskins at the side of the bed. He felt Caroline’s forehead, then took gentle hold of her wrist.
“No sign of fever,” he remarked. “And the pulse feels strong. You have a good constitution, miss, to have weathered the ordeal you have been through with no further ill effects.” His hand then moved to Caroline’s shoulder.
The mere touch made her wince.
The doctor’s expression turned to one of concern. “However, we are going to have to deal with that injury. The shoulder has come out of its socket. It must be set back.”
Caroline closed her eyes. She had seen such a thing happen to a groom at Roxbury Manor. She could still remember his screams as three men had wrestled to pop the offending joint back into place.
Davenport spoke up. “Is there no alternative?”
The doctor shook his head. “It must be done. Perhaps a footman might come up and assist me?”
Davenport pulled a face. “I have no footmen. I shall lend a hand—but wait.” He left the room and returned in a few minutes with a large tumbler filled with amber liquid.
“Drink this,” he ordered, thrusting the glass at her.
Caroline looked at him in consternation. “Wha…”
As soon as she opened her mouth, the earl grasped her jaw and unceremoniously dumped the entire contents of the glass down her throat.
Caroline sputtered wildly, sending a spray of tiny droplets over the front of Davenport’s shirt. “That…that was extremely unnecessary. You needn’t have forced me!”
“I have little time to argue,” he countered.
She glowered at him. “You are no gentleman.”
“So I have been told on numerous occasions,” he muttered.
“What was that foul…” Caroline sniffed the air, then shot the earl a scathing look. “Do youalwaysreek of brandy?”
“Only when driven to it by difficult females,” he answered through clenched teeth. He looked down at his soiled shirt in dismay. He glared back at her, then turned his gaze to the doctor. “A few more minutes and we should be able to begin.”
The doctor smiled grimly and folded his arms across his chest.
“What do you mean?” asked Caroline.
Davenport ignored her question and began to converse with the other man about the weather, the state of Squire Dawson’s broken leg and the price of wheat as if she weren’t there.
Caroline felt a rush of anger. How else to explain the sensation, for all at once, she felt hot all over. It was strange, however. In the past, even when she had really lost her temper, she had never felt so…odd.
She narrowed her eyes, for it was becoming increasingly difficult to focus.
And then, to her surprise, she started giggling. “S-stop swaying! You are making me dizzy,” she said to the earl—though it was her own head that was lolling from side to side.
The physician rolled up his sleeves. “I think we may begin.”
“I feel terrible,” announced Caroline, her speech slightly slurred.
“You are about to feel worse,” replied Davenport as he took hold of her good arm.
The doctor grasped the injured limb below the elbow and began manipulating it back and forth. At the first touch, Caroline gave a little cry of pain.
“Steady now,” urged the earl.
She gritted her teeth together and did not cry out again. Sweat began to bead on her forehead, and as the pain became worse, her nails dug into Davenport’s wrist, nearly drawing blood.
