Page 44 of Ironvine

“I thank you.”

Landon’s chin lifted for a moment. He bowed his head once more and left the back way from whence they had come.

She returned to Malcolm and Charles, placing the brandy bottle on a table where bottles of herbs, tinctures, and powders stood. Malcolm wiped at his hands and helped Charles sit up. Charles seemed even paler, and something twisted in Georgie’s insides at the sight of him so weak.

Malcolm held the bottle to Charles’s pale lips. “Drink, man. To your health.”

“Dash my health,” he breathed, grabbing the bottle. “To the courageous and caring Miss Georgina for bringing me to your capable hands.” He gulped deeply, and Georgina took the bottle from him as his body shifted on the table. He let out a guttural gasp and a slew of curses.

Malcolm got to work inspecting, cleaning, dabbing. Georgina’s mouth dried, her lips pressed firmly together.

“Go, Georgie, you positively hate this. I know you do,” Malcolm murmured as he worked.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she bit out, her body pressing back against the wall.

Malcolm glanced over at her. “You’d better have a swig of liquor yourself.”

She took hold of the bottle and raised it to her lips. “To your health, gentlemen. And to mine.” She put the bottle back down with a plonk on the table, and Charles’s cold fingers grasped hers. She took his hand in both of hers, gripping it tightly, offering him the most relaxed smile she could muster.

“All right then. I’m going to sew the flesh.”

“What?” Georgina exclaimed.

“Otherwise, it won’t heal.”

“Of course. Yes.”

“Georgie…” Charles’s voice was husky, and he squeezed her hand as she lifted her gaze to his. “Take a breath. Look at me.”

Swallowing hard, she did as he asked, holding onto his molten golden brown gaze and letting it calm her. She let out a deep, long breath, and the walls of the room gave away around her.

At that moment, she didn’t think of her sister and brother and John and what they were doing, what they were thinking. If they had yet noticed her absence. If they were worried or if they were angry.

If news of the duel and William’s death had reached their ears and that of all the ton.

What Hugh thought of her, where he was, what he was planning.

None of it.

Her chest lifted in time with Charles’s, and her heartbeat eased. His lips parted as he took in a deeper breath. His hand had grown much warmer in hers, his eyes brighter, and his blond hair, now loose of its tie, was splashed across Malcolm’s table. How many different tones of blond it was, some light, some dark…it was beautiful.

“There. You’re smiling,” he whispered.

“Am I?” She bit her lip.

His hold was steady, and her pulse ceased its dreadful pounding. Charles closed his eyes as his jaw tightened with the pain of Malcolm’s work on his arm. The desire to help him, to comfort him, overwhelmed her.

She stroked his large hand. Charles Montclare was human, vulnerable.

Imagine that.

ChapterEighteen

Charles

Malcolm had cleanedup his bandages and instruments, prepared and packaged tinctures and powders for the wound, and left them alone.

“I must go home. I must talk to Hugh. I need to assure him that all is as he wishes,” Charles said, his voice low and tight. He was determined.

---