A Warriner to Tempt Her Page 2

  She forced herself to smile politely at one of the market traders who greeted her, ignoring the irrational panic which occurred whenever she was close to a man. If she had been a little more observant and a little less terrified, she would have noticed the precarious basket of potatoes on his stall. But because she was feeling exposed and her tenuous grasp on logic was slipping, she did not see the laden basket topple, nor did she see a surge of muddy potatoes as they cascaded from the table like a waterfall and rolled haphazardly across the ground towards her. Too late, Bella turned, allowing a couple of the careening vegetables the opportunity to disappear, like mice in a haystack, beneath her trailing skirts and tangle hopelessly beneath her feet.

  Her body lunged sideways when she stepped on one. Her heavy basket tilted, aiding gravity to pull her towards the floor at an alarming rate. Bella landed awkwardly on her front with enough force to knock all her breath from her lungs. The subsequent sharp pain in her ankle brought tears to her eyes. The palms of her hands, now muddied, burned angrily in protest. The puddles floating on the hard cobblestones were already seeping through her clothing whilst humiliation relentlessly seeped into her soul. If there was one thing Bella now hated above all others, it was being the centre of attention when invisible was safe.

  Several market traders and locals rushed to her aid, but she assured them that she was quite all right and tried to stand. White-hot pain shot up her leg and forced her to remain exactly where she was. To make matters worse, she helplessly watched the back of the Braxton carriage turn out of the market square as it headed home and her only means of escaping this dreadful spectacle leaving with it. She smiled weakly at the growing crowd of onlookers and tried to pull together the tattered shreds of her dignity whilst fighting the panic of being at the mercy of others. Most of them male.

  ‘My lady—I am so sorry.’ The stallholder twisted his felt cap in his hands nervously. ‘Are you seriously hurt? Shall I fetch Dr Warriner? His office is just across the square.’

  Mortified by the prospect of even greater humiliation in front of the brilliant Dr Warriner, Bella shook her head. The very last person she wanted to witness her clumsy stupidity was the handsome doctor. The man who, despite being a man, made her silly heart flutter every single time he spoke to her, thus rendering her mostly mute. Probably because of his brilliance, rather than his handsomeness, but it was difficult to be sure. ‘That will not be necessary—I think I will be able to stand in a moment or two.’ She would crawl home if she had to.

  Two things soon became apparent. Firstly, standing was an impossibility. Bella tried three times and each time fresh, blinding pain shot up her leg and brought tears to her eyes. Secondly, despite her protests to the contrary, somebody had called the good doctor after all. The crowd of onlookers were parting like the Red Sea and he was suddenly striding purposefully towards her.

  ‘It’s just my ankle... I would prefer you not to waste your time on such a triviality.’ Bella tried to push herself up once again using her hands and failed miserably. The poor man had genuine sick people to heal and certainly far more important things to deal with than a clumsy, irrational girl’s superficial injury. ‘I shall put some ice on it when I get home and keep it elevated.’ She turned her head away and silently willed him to disappear.

  ‘Please do not try to stand, my lady.’ He knelt beside her. ‘I will need to take a look to properly assess the damage first.’ One arm slipped beneath her legs, making her flinch.

  He was touching her!

  Instinctively, she stiffened and tried to shuffle away. Undeterred, he continued. ‘Place your arms around my shoulders. I promise I won’t drop you.’

  Good gracious! He intended to carry her and create even more of a spectacle. ‘I am sure I can manage to hobble to your surgery, Dr Warriner.’ Perhaps then everyone would stop gawping at her when nowadays she preferred to blend in. Except she wouldn’t hobble towards his surgery. She would drag herself back up the lane to the safety of home and never leave it again. Logic could go to hell in a hand cart. She never should have listened to the voice. She never should have come out all alone, but staying home after her sister had claimed a sniffle and remained in bed had felt like defeat. Clarissa had made no secret of the fact she was beyond tired of being her sister’s keeper. Not when it had been over a year and it wasn’t Clarissa’s fault Bella had suffered the incident. Bella had to get over it because it could have been worse.

  Worse didn’t bear thinking about. Unfortunately, she thought about it all the time.

  The doctor slanted her a superior glance. ‘Hobble, will you? And create more damage for me to fix in the process, no doubt? No, my lady—I will carry you if you don’t mind.’

  But she did mind. He was a man and she was now a spectacle. A spectacle who was on the cusp of bursting into tears and apprising everyone of the fact that she was no longer capable of being rational, not quite right in the head any more, yet so desperate to be right again.

  Chapter Two

  You are being ridiculous! Bella scrunched her eyes tightly closed, gripped his shoulders and willed herself lighter in the faint hope it would all be over soon. He hoisted her into the air and began to walk across the square. Less than half a minute later, he gripped her harder still and his breathing became more laboured with exertion. It was then she decided that willing herself lighter was not working in the slightest and began to wish herself invisible instead. Mercifully, he covered the distance to the surgery quickly, and once inside, he deposited her gently on an examination table.

  ‘I need to fetch some things. I will only be a moment.’

  He returned with his housekeeper in tow, no doubt for propriety’s sake. Bella was ridiculously grateful for the woman’s presence and tried to relax.

  ‘Where does it hurt?’

  She touched her left leg in response. ‘My ankle. I was sabotaged by a potato.’ She smiled weakly, praying the fear did not show in her face. Think logically! He was simply doing his job. He had no intention of hurting her. Perhaps if she repeated that mantra, her heartbeat would begin to slow and the tight bands of fear constricting her ribs would loosen.

  Bella bit the inside of her cheek as he matter-of-factly lifted the hem of her ruined dress and carefully pushed it to her knee.

  He has no intention of hurting you. He is simply doing his job.

  To her own ears her breathing was laboured. Dr Warriner appeared to sense her rising panic, although he thought it was caused by pain rather than the acute reminder of another time when a man had lifted her skirts...one filthy hand clasped over her mouth while the other was fumbling with the buttons on his breeches. Touching her.

  The unwanted memory made her whimper.

  ‘Breathe slowly and deeply. That will help.’

  She did as he suggested, her eyes never leaving his hands.

  He has no intention of hurting you.

  His gentle touch around the bones of her ankle did not feel like the worst sort of violation.

  He is simply doing his job.

  He was a doctor. A man of science. He had the deepest blue eyes Bella had ever seen. Bluer even than Clarissa’s. They were kind eyes, she realised.

  Patient.

  The voice deep inside of her soothed that she could trust him and she forced herself to believe it.

  Slowly, and with surprising tenderness, he removed her half-boot and gently examined the swelling around her ankle. His dark brows were drawn together slightly. He had a good nose, Bella mused to avoid thinking about the past, neither too small nor too large, and a strong chin that was already showing evidence of a very dark beard, even though he had clearly shaved it this morning. His black hair curled slightly at the snowy-white collar of his shirt and fell softly forward over one side of his brow in a slightly boyish manner. The natural style reminded her that the good doctor was not one for pomades or unnecessary frills like the dandies in town. She liked that about him.

  Not that he needed them. He was incredibly handsome.
Bella had surprised herself by thinking it the first time she had seen him at the local assembly, because it had been over a year since she had thought such things about a man. She had never seen him wear anything other than stark, dark black or navy blue, and although he was always smartly turned out, his attire gave off the air of a man both comfortable in his own skin and far too busy with important things to pay much attention to his wardrobe. He was a true man of science and it showed.

  He had handsome hands, too, if indeed hands could be described as such. Clean, sensibly trimmed fingernails, but capable. So very different to the hands of that scoundrel. Healer’s hands. Just like hers.

  She found herself scrutinising his technique as the panic began to wane. After all, he had been properly schooled in the precise art of medicine whilst all her knowledge had come from whatever books she could find. Those books were no substitute for practical experience.

  ‘Mrs Patterson, would you mind...’ His words trailed off and he wore an odd expression as he gestured to his housekeeper to remove the stocking on Bella’s left leg. Feeling horribly exposed and conscious she had been intently staring at him, she lay back on the bed and fixed her gaze on the ceiling as his large hands meticulously prodded and probed her foot, calf and ankle.

  He is simply doing his job. Stop being a pathetic coward. It’s irritating. You’re irritating. Be logical.

  Once she had succumbed to the inevitability of her situation, and repeated her new mantra another dozen times silently in her head, it turned out not to be such an unpleasant experience. He had lovely warm palms and his deft touch left a trail of tingles on her skin which caused havoc with her pulse. Bizarrely, it had nothing to do with fear or panic. Bella knew those emotions too well and this was nothing like them. How peculiar.

  His fingers suddenly left her skin and the real her willed them back. In fact, the real her was positively swooning. ‘The good news is that it is not broken.’ Bella watched those capable hands as he absently returned her skirts to order. He had obviously touched a significant number of ladies’ legs on a regular basis, she concluded, because he looked decidedly nonplussed with hers. ‘But it is badly sprained and bruised, so you will have to keep your weight off it for a few days.’ He smiled his detached doctor smile and spoke quickly to his housekeeper.

  ‘Mrs Patterson—could you fetch some ice and some towels, please?’

  They would be alone! She missed the end of the conversation due to the hammering panic in her head and the older woman left to do his bidding. Bella levered herself to sit, just in case she needed to run, wincing as cuts on her hands protested at being used to lever her.

  ‘Let me see.’ He said this in a reassuringly detached and professional way as he took both her hands in his. Instantly, her silly pulse leapt even as she froze, then continued to bounce around frenetically as he turned them palms up to examine the filthy grazes caused by her fall. Strangely, there was no urge to run at being so intimately close to him. She hoped that was more evidence of progress. ‘These need cleaning.’

  He dropped her hands dispassionately and went across the room to a large washstand. After pouring water into the bowl, he added a generous dash of clear liquid from a bottle next to the jug, and after tossing a clean towel over his shoulder, he carried the basin towards her.

  ‘Put them in here, please.’

  Bella plunged her hands into the water and immediately snatched them out again as it stung so very badly.

  ‘What is in there—acid?’ She eyed the water warily.

  ‘Gin. I have noticed that wounds regularly cleaned with alcohol are less susceptible to infection. Besides, it is also very cheap. And I would prefer not to waste good brandy.’

  He was attempting to put her at her ease as he did the children in the infirmary. He had such a lovely voice. Deep. Kind. Yet Bella blinked back at him rather than smile at the little joke and saw his own smile slide off his face within seconds. He did not like her and who could blame him when she could not stand her new self either?

  A blush of shame bloomed instantly. Here he was, being nothing but nice, and all she could do was blink? Once upon a time she would have responded with something appropriate. Friendly. Usually funny. She missed that girl and willed her back every single day. But the old Bella was missing, presumed dead, and the new one was not quite right in the head.

  For the only time in living memory, she fleetingly wished she was her sister. Clarissa would have replied with something witty and charming, happy to talk. Bella remained mute. Even her real self could think of nothing to say, so the silence was quite deafening. Once again the atmosphere became uncomfortable, something she was painfully aware was brought about at her doing, and she wondered if she could drown herself quickly in the shallow basin of water—putting them both out of their misery—while he continued to dab at her hands with the towel.

  Satisfied that they were thoroughly clean, he then patted them dry and went to the wall of shelves at the back of the consulting room and rummaged for a pot of salve. He opened it and gently applied the ointment to the worst of the grazes.

  ‘That smells like honey.’ She willed the words out. It was a desperate and feeble attempt at normal conversation, but at that moment it was all that she had. At least she was conversing with him. A man. Surely she could take heart it signalled progress?

  He resealed the pot and put it to one side. ‘That’s because it mostly is honey. We waste it on bread, but the Ancient Egyptians realised that it has exceptional healing powers. Like the gin, I have found honey acts as a barrier against infection. And is perfect on bread, of course.’

  He smiled briefly and it did funny things to Bella’s insides. She tried to ignore it and forced herself to stop biting her lip and reply. ‘The Egyptians had metal scalpels, bone saws...’ This comment earned her another odd look, as if she were the most peculiar of females, and made her voice trail off. ‘Or so I have read...’

  ‘You pass the time by reading about surgical instruments?’

  ‘I am not an empty-headed ornament.’ And now she sounded snippy and defensive. Clarissa would certainly never try to engage a gentleman in discourse about bone saws! She would smile and compliment him on his superior knowledge. But then Clarissa had been born charming and Bella had lost that part of herself, and her current circumstances were particularly trying.

  He was saved from having to respond by Mrs Patterson returning with the ice. It had already been smashed into small chips, which he wrapped in a thin square of linen and placed over her swollen ankle. ‘Your curricle will be five minutes, Dr Warriner.’

  He intended to take her home!

  Just her and him. The lane to her house was long and deserted. There were trees and bushes on either side. Trees and bushes would hide her from the world if he had a mind to drag her behind them... Fresh fear began to claw in her gut.

  ‘No! Send a message so that my father’s carriage can collect me directly.’

  He straightened, frowned and pinned her with his deep blue stare. ‘Suit yourself. Mrs Patterson will show you to the parlour, my lady. I have other patients to attend.’

  * * *

  Good lord, she was rude! Joe was still smarting from her peculiar behaviour hours later as he walked towards her front door. She hadn’t even thanked him for his time. Just glared at him as if he was offensive, her face wrinkling in disgust every time he had touched her, and she spoke to him worse than to a misbehaving servant. Whilst he knew full well some folk dealt better with pain than others, he had never seen anyone behave quite so badly over a sprained ankle in his life. Or perhaps it was not the injury at all which had made her so curt and obnoxious. Perhaps that was exactly how she always was? It was a pity. She was lovely. If she learned some manners and smiled occasionally, she would be as dazzling as her sister. Perhaps more so. Those dark almond eyes, framed with even darker lashes, were quite beautiful. When they weren’t narrowed suspiciously at him.

  Maybe it was his surname which elicited her h
ostility? Despite the best efforts of all four Warriner brothers, the memory of their infamous father and grandfather still left a sour taste in the mouths of the locals. Nobody trusted a Warriner. It made no difference to some that his eldest brother, Jack, and his wife, Letty, were now hugely philanthropic within the area. Nor that his brother Jamie and his wife, Cassie, were responsible for bringing many tourists to Retford as their readers travelled across the country to see with their own eyes the locations of the hugely successful Orange Blossom books. Only a few had truly thawed enough to accept the family were decent. A great many more were waiting for them to return to type.

  Lady Isabella had obviously been swayed by the malicious gossip and he disliked her for that. She had lived in Retford little more than a month but had already passed judgement! If he were as nefarious as his ancestors, would he have taken time out of his busy day to visit the most ungrateful patient he had ever attended?

  However, Lady Isabella’s injury did give him the perfect excuse to call at her home, something he had desperately wanted to do since dancing with the delectable Clarissa at the assembly last month. In fairness, the physician inside him needed to check on his patient more, which was the main reason he was knocking on the Earl of Braxton’s door. He sincerely doubted the dour Isabella would be grateful, yet he was still compelled to do it. Sometimes his own diligence irritated him. As much as he wished he wasn’t so soft-hearted and desperate to help people, especially those who treated him with nothing but disdain in return, Joe could never seem to help himself. He would never get to sleep if he had not first reassured himself she was feeling better. It had been a nasty sprain and occasionally a bad fall caused clots to form in the blood. Such a complication was a rarity, especially in one so young, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Another brief examination of those splendid legs was necessary, no matter how distasteful the patient was.