Lady Sophia's Lover (Bow Street Runners #2)(27)

Sir Ross gave her a narrow-eyed glance. “For some reason the suspect didn’t want to come down to the ground so that I could catch him more easily.”

“It was my impression that the runners are supposed to give chase,” she replied tartly. “Whereas you are supposed to stay safe and tell them what to do.”

“It doesn’t always work that way.”

Sophia bit back another sharp reply and leaned over to unfasten his cuffs. “I’m going to remove your shirt. Do you think you can manage to pull your arm from the sleeve, or shall I fetch the scissors?”

Sir Ross extended his arm in answer, and Sophia drew carefully on the cuff. She tugged the shirt away from his good side, revealing his thickly furred chest. He was more muscular than she had expected, his shoulders and chest well developed, his midriff furrowed with rows of tightly knit flesh. Sophia had never seen such an imposing masculine body. She felt her cheeks prickling with a flush as she leaned over him. Gently she slid her arm behind his neck. “I’ll lift you up enough to pull the shirt away from your back,” she said.

“I can do it myself.” His pain-hazed silver eyes stared into hers, while his neck tightened against her arm.

“Let me do the work,” she insisted, “or you will make the bleeding worse.”

Slowly she lifted the weight of his head and tugged the shirt out from under him. Sir Ross’s breath puffed against her chin. “When I pictured being in bed with you,” he muttered, “this was not how I had envisioned it.”

A surprised laugh caught in her throat. “I will overlook that remark, as you are no doubt delirious from loss of blood.”

Sophia was grateful for the appearance of Eliza, who came bearing a ewer of hot water and a pile of clean, folded cloths. Sir Ross grumbled but did not move as the two women washed the bloodstains from his chest and throat.

“It appears the bullet is still in his shoulder,” Eliza said pragmatically, easing away the wadded-up pad and replacing it with a fresh one. “A pity, as Dr. Linley will have to remove it. But the wound is not close to the heart.”

Sophia leaned over Sir Ross and adjusted the pillow behind his head. The bullet could easily have pierced his heart, had the suspect’s aim been any better. She was amazed by her reaction to the thought, the mixture of fear and anguish that engulfed her.

“I am fine,” Sir Ross said gruffly, somehow reading her unspoken thoughts. “I will be up and about in a day or two.”

“Oh, no, you will not,” she replied. “You will stay in this bed until you are completely well again—no matter what I must do to keep you here.”

Sophia was not aware that any sexual connotation could be attached to her promise until she saw the sudden glint of mockery in Sir Ross’s eyes. She glared at him in silent warning, and he kept obligingly quiet, though his lips twitched in amusement. Nearby, Eliza developed a sudden interest in folding all the clean rags and cloths into tidy squares.

The tension in the room was broken by the welcome appearance of the doctor, Jacob Linley. He was lean and handsome, with gleaming blond hair and a ready smile. Sophia had heard of him before, since he was often summoned to Bow Street when medical attentions or opinions were required. However, this was the first time she had actually seen Dr. Linley.

“Cannon,” he said easily, hefting a weighty brown leather bag and setting it on the bedside chair. “It seems that you had a bit of an adventure this evening.” He went immediately to Sir Ross, his attention focused on the wound. “Hmm. A percussion cap shot at fairly close range, judging from the peppering around the wound. How did it happen?”

Sir Ross frowned slightly. “I joined in the pursuit of a murder suspect.”

“He chased him across a rooftop,” Sophia added, unable to hold her silence.

The doctor turned toward her. His hazel eyes contained a friendly twinkle. “A rooftop, you say? Well, I think that Sir Ross had better stay on the ground from now on, don’t you?”

Sophia responded with a vigorous nod.

Still smiling, Dr. Linley made a brief but elegant bow. “I presume you are Miss Sydney, the assistant I have heard so much of? I admit that I thought the runners’ rapturous descriptions of you were exaggerated. Now I see that they were in fact understating the case.”

Before Sophia could reply, Sir Ross’s sour voice came from the bed. “Are you going to prattle all evening, Linley, or are you going to remove this bullet?”

The doctor winked at Sophia and then turned businesslike. “I’ll need a large ewer of scalding-hot water, some good, strong soap, a pot of honey, and a glass of brandy. And I will require more light in here.”

Sophia hurried to fetch the required articles, and Eliza brought lanterns and candles.

By the time Sophia had returned from the kitchen, the room was ablaze as if it were midday. She arranged the ewer, soap, honey, and brandy neatly on the washstand. Going to the bedside, she saw the doctor carefully wiping a few silver instruments with a felt cloth.

Linley smiled at her obvious interest. “A wound is not as likely to turn putrid and malodorous if it is kept clean, although no one can explain why this is so. Therefore I keep my instruments and my hands as immaculate as possible.”

“What is the honey for?”

“It makes an excellent wound dressing and seems to promote healing. It also keeps the tissue from sticking to the cloth when the dressing is changed.”