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 hostility? 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.
Truth be told, Joe was also feeling guilty for enjoying the sight of her ankles. Once that silk stocking had been removed, he had had a moment where he forgot to be a detached physician and had gazed upon her silky skin like a man. He never did that. He had sworn the Hippocratic Oath solemnly and took his responsibilities far too seriously to ever allow himself to be waylaid with inappropriate thoughts before. However, Lady Isabella’s habit of regarding him as she would a Viking marauder about to pillage a village soon put paid to his temporary lapse of judgement and he was back to being irritated by her attitude again in seconds. So irritated he almost forgot about her splendid legs.
Joe rapped the knocker smartly. This afternoon’s visit was strictly professional. If he happened to collide with the adorable Lady Clarissa in the process, then it would certainly make it more tolerable. As would the sight of those legs which were unfortunately attached to the other, vexing, Beaumont.
The door opened quickly.
‘Could you inform the Earl of Braxton that Dr Warriner is here to check upon his daughter? I attended her injuries this morning.’
The austere butler appeared confused. ‘The