First Comes Scandal (Rokesbys #4)(38)

“Oh, that’s ink,” Georgie said. “I threw an inkpot at him. You can see it on his shirt, too.”

“Zooks!” Oakes suddenly exclaimed. “Is that you, Rokesby?”

“Indeed,” Nicholas replied, his voice tight. He could not recall if Georgie knew that he and Freddie Oakes had attended Eton at the same time, so he looked over at her and said, “We went to school together.”

“Best mates,” Freddie said with one of his signature grins.

“We were not best mates,” Nicholas said.

But Freddie was having none of that. “Oh, the times we had.”

Nicholas shook his head. “We had no times. None whatsoever.”

“Aw, don’t be a studge.”

“Studge?” Georgie echoed.

Nicholas shrugged. He had no idea what it meant. “Hold still,” he said to Freddie. “I need to look at your arm.”

“Haven’t seen you in a good few years,” Freddie went on. “What’s it been … six? Eight?”

Nicholas ignored him.

“Ten?”

“Hold still,” Nicholas bit off. “Do you want me to treat your injuries or not?”

“Ye-es,” Freddie said, drawing the word out into two hesitant syllables. “Although I should probably say I don’t have a rat’s idea what you’re doing here.”

“I live nearby,” Nicholas said.

Georgie poked her head in. “He’s studying to be a doctor.”

“Oh!” Oakes’s countenance brightened instantly. “Should have said so.” He looked back over at Georgie. “We’re best mates.”

“We are not best mates,” Nicholas snapped. He looked over at Georgie. “He was kicked out for cheating.”

“Asked to leave,” Freddie corrected.

Georgie looked at Nicholas. “Isn’t that the same thing?”

Nicholas shrugged. “Having never been asked to leave an educational institution, I wouldn’t know.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Freddie said. “Winchie gave me the wrong answers, the stupid arse.”

Nicholas rolled his eyes. God save him from idiots.

“But we are mates, right?” Freddie used his uninjured arm to give Nicholas a jolly slap on the shoulder. “Come round London some time. I’ll take you to the club. Introduce you. I know all the people.”

Nicholas gave him a sharp look. “I don’t want to be your mate, and I don’t want to be introduced to any of the people. I will, however, set your arm if you shut the hell up.” He looked over at Georgie. “My pardon.”

She gave him a wide-eyed little shake of her head. If anything, she looked fascinated by the exchange. “No pardon is necessary.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asked quietly.

“Later,” she said. “After we tend to his injuries.”

Nicholas carefully palpated Oakes’s injured arm.

“Gah!”

“Sorry,” Nicholas said automatically.

“Can I help?” Georgie asked.

“I don’t want her touching me,” Freddie said.

“You were going to marry me,” Georgie said in disbelief.

“Entirely different,” Oakes grunted. “You didn’t want to hurt me then.”

“Oh, I’ve always wanted to hurt you.”

Nicholas choked a little at that. “Do you really want to help?” he asked her.

“I do. I really do.” Her entire face lit up. “It’s like kismet. We were just talking about it.”

“You were talking about my broken arm?” Freddie asked.

“Not your broken arm,” Georgie said. She gave him a testy look. “For heaven’s sake, Freddie, be reasonable.”

“You threw me out of a tree!”

Nicholas glanced over at Georgie, impressed. “You threw him out of a tree?”

“I wish.”

“I believe a cat was involved,” Thamesly said, holding the lantern closer.

“Ah.” Nicholas took another look at Freddie’s face. “That explains the scratches.”

“Some of them,” Freddie said sullenly. “The rest were from the tree.”

“Did the cat bite you?” Nicholas asked. Ironically, of all Freddie’s injuries, a cat bite could prove the most dangerous.

“No. Damned sharp claws, though.”

“He was scared,” Georgie said.

“He should be shot,” Freddie spat.

Thamesly stepped on his leg again.

“I wouldn’t speak ill of Miss Bridgerton’s cat,” Nicholas recommended. “In fact, I’m going to ask that you not speak at all, unless it is to answer a direct question issued by me.”

Freddie’s mouth formed a flat line, but he nodded.

“Good. Now don’t move. I’m going to cut your shirt off you.”

Nicholas had brought a small medical kit home with him from Edinburgh—he never traveled without it—and he’d grabbed it before leaving Crake. He pulled out a small pair of scissors—hardly ideal for cutting through linen, but they would have to do. He could probably rip the fabric faster once he made the initial cut, but he didn’t want to jostle Oakes’s arm any more than he had to.