Page 31 of Cold November Rake

"I am certain they would," she said, "except his lordship is too stubborn to wake the servants if he is hurt in the middle of the night, and I am the only one beside him to patch him up after⁠—"

She pursed her lips mid-sentence, her cheeks flushing with color.

Was she about to tell the doctor that she would be the only one available to care for his wound after they had been in bed?

Sutton bit the inside of his cheek, holding back his laughter.

Whitlow became intensely interested in the ceiling, while Everly outright laughed.

"Ah." Dr. Grisham took off his spectacles, wiped them with his handkerchief, and grimaced as though the air in the room had gone sour. "In that case, my lord, I must insist that you cease any exertion of... of any kind. Particularly the nightly ones."

Sutton glanced at Temperance, and she met his gaze, her cheeks turning scarlet.

For one helpless second, the whole of last night passed between them in silence: her beautiful naked form, her silky skin beneath his hands, their ragged breathing...

His own neck burned.

"Gentlemen." The doctor turned to the men flanking the bed. "Please, help me remove Lord Sutton's clothes."

Dash was there at once. "Allow me, Doctor."

He and Whitlow eased Sutton's coat from his shoulders, one sleeve at a time, murmuring apologies each time he winced. The waistcoat came next, then his shirt and cravat.

The linen strip was the last and the worst. It had dried against the wound overnight, and when Dash drew it away, Sutton felt the crusted blood tear free with a wet, tugging pain.

Temperance settled on the edge of the bed so she could see what the doctor was doing.

"Very good, my lord." Grisham put his spectacles back on and squinted at the wound. "Hmmm... Her ladyship did an excellent job stitching you, yet you managed to pull a few. I will have to take them out, then clean the wound thoroughly. This will hurt."

It seemed his decision to bed his wife last night would cause him even more pain.

Still, worth it.

Snip. Snip.

Ah, that wasn't so bad.

I thought the doctor said it would hurt.

Grisham worked the failed stitches out one by one, clucking softly, and the edges of the gash parted, oozing fresh blood across the dark crust from the night before.

"Warm water, a splash of your best brandy, and a clean sponge," Grisham commanded.

Dash brought everything, and the doctor dipped the sponge into the amber mixture and washed Sutton's ribs with brisk strokes.

Now that hurt.

Temperance reached out and took Sutton's hand, weaving her fingers through his.

Sutton looked at her, startled.

"Just breathe," she murmured with a small, reassuring smile. "I have you."

"Oh, that is frightful," Everly said brightly, leaning in. "Does it hurt, cousin? It looks as though it hurts."

"Why are you still here, Everly?" Sutton ground out.

"Why, I am your savior, cousin. I must make sure you pull through."