Love With the Perfect Scoundrel Read Online Free PDF Page B

least thrashed a bit, or swooned, or at the very least shed a few tears.”
    “Sorry to disappoint.”
    He cocked his head and revealed an irresistible smile, one corner slightly lower than the other. The stubble of his beard carved a dark pattern on his face.
    “You’re the bravest patient I’ve ever had the privilege of serving, sweetheart. Of course, I suppose I had the benefit of reason in your case.” He chuckled. “My other patients almost always refused to do what I wanted until I brought out a twitch.”
    She jerked away. “A twitch? Whatever are you talking about?”
    “All my other patients were horses.”
    “Horses?” she asked faintly.
    “Or sheep. A cow or two on occasion. Went with the territory.”
    “And what territory was that?”
    “With smithing.”
    “You’re a blacksmith?” Her voice sounded reedy and thin to her own ears.
    “And most recently a farmer. Does that pose a problem?”
    “Well, I would have liked to have known—”
    “There’s one last thing I should do. Hold still.”
    “Now wait a moment, Mr. Ranier. I must know exactly what—”
    He uncorked Mr. Brown’s flask again with his teeth and his hand snaked out to snatch the shawl from her clenched fist.
    “Don’t you dare—”
    “I don’t have to find my twitch now, do I? Just when you were behaving so well, Countess.”
    “I do wish you’d stop interru—”
    He dashed some brandy on her injury and a splash of fresh pain washed over her side.
    “I can’t believe you just did that,” she said hoarsely.
    “Just a bit of Indian lore concerning firewater. A medicine man I once knew was a remarkably skilled healer as far as I could see.”
    Indian lore? Dear God. Could her current world become any further removed from what she knew? “So now I am being treated in the manner of horses and pagan ritual?”
    “I suppose you could say it’s your lucky day, Countess.” He deftly secured a bandage.
    Grace wished she could conjure up a nice long faint. She closed her eyes and shivered involuntarily. While some people often thought they were dreaming when bad things happened to them, Grace had never mistaken her actual world for reverie.
    It had happened too often.
    “You’re too pale, angel. You’ve lost more than a little blood. We’ve got to get you warm.”
    “W-w-w-would…” She clenched her jaw to stop her chattering teeth, and hissed, “Would it be too much trouble to ask for some tea?”
    “I’m sorry, but I doubt there’ll be any tea here—knowing its previous owner.” He crossed to the grate and added two logs to the fire, which crackled approvingly. “But, I do think we’ve got to face facts.”
    “I think I’ve had about as many facts as I can stand for one day, Mr. Ranier.”
    He continued without pause. “A cup of tea is not enough to warm you at this point. Let me see your hands.”
    She stared at him.
    “To check for frostbite.”
    She couldn’t make her fingers work properly and he finally took over the job of unbuttoning the ivory heart-shaped buttons at her wrists and peeling off the sodden pink kid gloves.
    Her hands appeared so small in his work-worn palms, the size of butter dishes. Faint streaks of scarlet marred her pale hands and fingers, which felt like wooden pins.
    He shook his head.
    “What?”
    He muttered something that was probably an Indian curse. She winced.
    He gave her his back and tugged off his boots. This boded ill. She couldn’t help but notice his massive shoulders strained against the seams of his roughhewn shirt. Grace wondered how tall he truly was. Surely, it was just her low angle of hazy vision that made him appear to stand at almost six and a half feet.
    “Isn’t there another bedchamber, Mr. Ranier? I’m not in a position to complain, mind you. But, oh dear Lord, you’re not going to…Don’t you think it would be—”
    “No.”
    There was no clarification while he proceeded to strip off his damp shirt and woolen stockings and lay them near