her, followed by the sound of Nicholas’s angry cursing.
Reaching the privacy of his room, Nicholas swore to his heart’s content. He jerked out of his blood-spattered jacket and tossed it over the valet, his shirt following.
The safety of his workers was of supreme importance to him. He’d been working in his office at the foundry when he had heard the emergency bell and run to see what had happened.
Thomas Crane, one of the metal workers, had been injured when a pulley broke loose and struck him. He’d fallen several feet but had been conscious. Nicholas had immediately taken control of the situation, sending for a wagon and stanching the flow of blood from the man’s arm with his own hand while the foreman fashioned a tourniquet.
He’d accompanied Thomas to the physician in town, and waited while the wounds were stitched and dressed and his ribs were wrapped.
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