It was inelegant and exceedingly painful, but they managed the manoeuvre with a lot of swearing on Rhys’s part. ‘Say nothing to her ladyship or that maid of hers, do you understand?’
‘Yes, my lord. You need some liniment on your back, I reckon. Got just the thing in my baggage.’
‘Horse liniment? Do you want to take the skin off my back, man?’
‘If it’ll do for your thoroughbreds, I reckon it won’t do you much harm, my lord,’ the coachman said. ‘But they’ll be getting a doctor to the other gentleman and he’ll prescribe some fancy French potions for you that’ll set you back a bit of gold, I reckon.’
‘Hot bath is all I need,’ Rhys muttered. It took him the width of the courtyard before he could walk with the appearance of ease, but he managed the stairs and found Althea and Mr Benton in the private salon he had written ahead to reserve.
They were, it seemed, on first-name terms already. ‘The landlord has sent for a doctor and is making up the spare bedchamber in this suite for Giles. Is it not fortunate that they gave us such a spacious one?’ Thea did not turn round as she attempted to press Benton into a chair while she stayed on her feet. ‘Giles, it is foolish to stand on ceremony. You must take care and, really, I am such good friends with your sisters that you may treat me quite as one of them.’
Rhys cast a swift glance at Benton, whose faint air of dizziness seemed to owe at least as much to the effect of being organised by Thea as it did to his head wound. Or perhaps, he thought, narrowing his eyes at the other man, it was more than that. Thea, enchanting a clergyman? Surely not.
‘What are you laughing about?’ Thea demanded, her attention still on her patient. Apparently his huff of amusement had been audible.
‘Just relief at the thought of a hot bath. I’ll see you both at dinner,’ he added, and caught sight of his own grey face in a mirror. Lord, he’d better be out of there before she noticed he was looking like death warmed over.
‘Your chamber is here, my lord.’ Hodge at least had the sense not to exclaim at the sight of him until the door was closed behind them. ‘I’ll send the doctor to you when he arrives.’
‘Certainly not. There is nothing wrong with me that a good soak and basilicum powder will not put to rights. Which is probably more than can be said for that coat,’ he added as Hodge eased him out of it and then held it up to inspect its battered back.
The sting of the hot water had made him hiss between his teeth as he lowered himself into it, but half an hour’s soak had loosened the abused muscles, and he felt rather more human when he climbed out of the tub and wrapped a vast bath sheet around his waist.
Hodge began to dab cautiously at his back with a towel while Rhys hitched one hip on the edge of the table and contemplated his bruised and splinter-stuck hands. ‘I need a needle to get these out, Hodge. Can you find one?’
‘In my baggage next door, my lord. I won’t be a moment.’
The door behind Rhys opened and he added, ‘Tweezers might be a good thing, too.’
‘Rhys Denham! Look at the state of your back!’
‘I can’t, can I?’ he said reasonably, without turning. ‘Thea, you should not be in here. I am not dressed.’ In fact, he was damn near naked. Rhys reached for a towel to toss around his shoulders.
‘Don’t do that,’ Thea said sharply. ‘It needs dressing properly. Why on earth didn’t you say it was this bad?’
‘Hate fuss,’ Rhys muttered. ‘Will you please—?’
‘Hodge, kindly tell the doctor to come in here as soon as he has finished stitching Mr Benton’s head.’
Rhys took a deep breath. Unfortunately, getting the man out of the room was essential before this went any further. ‘Hodge, go and see if you can assist Mr Benton.’ He waited until the door was closed behind the valet before he added, ‘Thea, go away.’
‘You always were dreadful about admitting you were sick or hurt,’ she said, deaf to both orders and propriety. Rhys heard the rustle of her skirts and then a towel was pressed gently over his back. ‘I’ll just get this dry and then you can get half dressed at least before the doctor comes in.’
He should get up and put her outside, but, clad in only a thin towel, Rhys had no confidence in maintaining even a vestige of decency. ‘If I promise to let the doctor see to my back, will you leave?’
‘Of course.’ Thea came round to face him, her eyes sharp as she studied his naked torso. ‘Your front does not appear to be injured.’
Rhys clutched a towel to his chest before she saw his nipples tightening. He did not dare look down to see how effective the towel around his waist was at concealing his sudden arousal. ‘All I need is a light dressing on my back,’ he began, but she reached out and took his hands in hers.
‘Oh, look at these! How could you have held the reins? I will get a needle and some tweezers and take those splinters out while the doctor sees to your back.’ To Rhys’s enormous relief she released him. ‘I’ll leave you in peace to put your pantaloons on and come back when he has finished with Giles.’
‘Thea, has no one told you that a young lady should faint before mentioning a man’s nether garments?’ Rhys demanded as she bustled away. He was not certain whether he was more relieved that she had taken no notice of his near-naked state—let alone the effect she was having on him—or whether he was indignant at being bossed around by her. The temptation to get up and let his draperies fall where they might was considerable. That would stop her ever trying such tricks again.
‘Of course,’ she said with a gurgle of laughter. ‘Oh, poor Rhys, am I embarrassing you?’
‘Shocking me, more like.’ But she had gone.
It was quite obvious that she regarded him in no other light than the friend of her childhood. Grown-up to be sure, but no more to be treated with reserve than his fourteen-year-old self had been.
The only positive aspect to this trusting innocence, he concluded as he reached for his trousers, was that he was alone in the unfortunate physical attraction that being close to her provoked. If she felt the slightest awareness of him as a sexual being she would never be so open and so unselfconscious.
The doctor was ushered in ten minutes later. Monsieur Benton needed only a little rest. He had not even felt it necessary to bleed him. Ah, but monsieur le comte required a dressing on those abrasions and to rest for two or three days.
‘Be damned to that,’ Rhys said in English and was tutted at by Thea, who sat in front of him wielding a darning needle and tweezers to efficient, but painful, effect on his hands.
‘Do listen to reason,’ she scolded, her eyes fixed on what she was doing.
Rhys tried to sit still while the doctor prodded his bruised back and fixed his eyes on her bowed head, the neat centre parting of her hair and the intricate twists that secured it. How long is it? he wondered. If I pull out those pins…
Thea was still lecturing. ‘…or I will tell him to bleed you. Besides, Lyon looks delightful—what is the rush to get south?’ She did not wait for his reply. ‘May we suggest to Giles that he travel with us? I do not think he should travel on the diligence until he is well again, do you?’
Rhys