Page 25 of Dared By a Lyon
“Here, try this,” Gabriel said, handing a small, flat, leather wallet to Ashlyn.
She opened the wallet and then looked at him.
“They’re lockpicks. It’s a long story, but my friends at Eton called me ‘the pick’ because several times when we should have been locked out of the dorm, I was able to get us back in using an old hairpin I kept on me. We used to skip out for shenanigans, and there wasn’t a door I couldn’t unlock to keep us from getting caught.”
Billy gave a quick whistle. “I ne’er met an earl that picked door locks.”
“I learned it out of necessity, since the headmaster could have expelled my friends and me for our pranks if he had locked us out and proven our guilt. But I don’t want to seeyouever trying something like that, Billy.”
“I promise, my lord. I don’t never want to disappoint you or Mr. Grimes.”
“Good lad,” Gabriel said, ruffling Billy’s hair.
“I’m wondering why you still carry it around with you after all these years,” Ashlyn said with a curious smile.
“You never know when you need to pick a lock,” he said with a crooked grin. “Or in this case, remove some debris from a wound. It’s mostly sentimental now. The friend who gave it to me died in the war with Napoleon. He was my best friend at Eton.”
“I see,” she said softly. She chose the longest pick and carefully rinsed it with water. This unexpected side of him had caught her off guard, but her practical mindset was grateful for it. And she held on to hope that the pick would work. “Ideally, itwould be better if I had some spirits to clean the pick properly and the wound more thoroughly,” she added.
“Wait. I know where Mr. Grimes keeps his bottle of scotch. I’ll replace it.”
Gabriel was gone for a few minutes but returned with an almost full bottle of whiskey. “Mr. Grimes was happy to help the cause,” he said, smiling.
“Billy, this will sting, but you have a piece of debris in that wound that will continue to fester, and it will end up hurting a lot worse if we don’t remove it now. Here, bite on this stick when I start cleaning the wound,” Ashlyn said, passing him the stick.
The boy nodded.
Carefully, Ashlyn splashed the whiskey over her hands, the pick, and the wound, gently cleaning both until she felt her father would agree they were ready.
The boy hissed through his teeth.
“I think that should do it.” She looked at Billy. “I’m sorry it hurt. It’s going to hurt again when I fish out that bit of debris.”
“Don’t worry, none, miss. You done what you had to. And for that I’m grateful. Besides, I don’t know what my pa’s talking about. That whiskey’s painful. I’m still smartin’,” Billy said, his voice shaky.
Gabriel roared with laughter and withdrew a short stick from his waistcoat. “Whiskey can be the devil if you’re not used to it, even if you drink it in proper amounts. Here you go, young man. This should help with the pain. It’s oak, and if you bite down on it, it diverts your attention to the stick.”
“I hope it works. Thank you, my lord,” Billy said warily, accepting it.
Using the dull tip of the small probe, Ashlyn quickly located the tiny piece of gravel and, leveraging the tip of the pick, carefully removed it from the wound.
“My goodness,” she said, holding the small, jagged piece of gravel in her hand.
“Incredible! Miss Vickers, you did it.” Gabriel looked at her with such admiration that Ashlyn felt a wave of guilt at her perfidy about who she truly was. That it was her dear father, a gifted and caring doctor, who had taught her so much. That she was truly Ashlyn March, daughter of a highly respected Connecticut physician, and not Elizabeth Vickers, daughter of one of the richest men in the world.
“We can show it to Dr. Baker when he arrives. I’ll be sure to speak with him about it. He’ll be most impressed, I’m certain,” Gabriel said. “Well done, Miss Vickers, well done.”
She felt herself blush at his praise. “Thank you, my lord. Please, if you could explain to Dr. Baker that I didn’t see any other debris, and I looked carefully,” she said. “Do you think the doctor would mind if I sewed up the wound? We don’t know when he might return, and leaving the wound open makes it vulnerable to infection by dust or dirt. It will also help the wound to clot.”
Gabriel gave a quick nod. “I agree, Miss Vickers, with your assessment. Let us proceed.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“You learned a great deal from your uncle,” he mused.
“I did. I enjoyed spending time with them. And Ashlyn was forever rescuing wounded birds, cats, and dogs. He would help her save them. She had a menagerie in his stables.”
“And it won’t get me a fever if I let you sew me up?” Billy whined.
