Mad for Love Read Online Free PDF Page B

thief.”
    “I really don’t know about such things, either.” He was rambling in his near delirium. “They don’t let thieves into the army—gentleman or not.”
    She almost smiled before she stood, and reached for his arm. “ Allors , we must have you up before you bleed onto the carpets.”
    “Yer pardon, Miss Blois.” He let her assist him off the floor.  
    Up close, she was even smaller, and more adorably attractive, fussing at him in such a bossy, concerned way. And if she would let him lean on her, he was sure he could find a way to see down the front of her marvelously translucent gown. “I’m afraid I’m going to need something to staunch the flow. Head wounds bleed terribly, don’t ye know.”
    “I do not know.” She was all practical necessity. “Can you stand alone? There are some bandages in the kitchens, in Madame ’s pantry. Here, let me assist you.”  
    Even though she probably weighed less than a hundredweight, and wouldn’t even come up to his collarbone, she slipped her arms around his waist, and heaved him up, like a stevedore shouldering a bale. She had altogether too much strength and self-possession for a wisp of a lass in a night gown.  
    He had best be on his guard. “Ye won’t whack me again, will ye?”
    She proved immune to his charm. “Of a certainty, I might. So mind yourself.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” He slung his arm across her shoulder, and leaned gently onto her delicate strength. Which also let him sample the soft slide of skin along the back of her neck. If she made a fuss at such a liberty, he could cry delirium. Because he was feeling delightfully lightheaded.
    But she didn’t protest. Not too much, anyway—she took the wrist he slung across her shoulder in a gingerly sort of way, until he could take a hand rail to steady himself on the kitchen stair.
    “Sit there.” When they reached the kitchen, she pointed to a chair at the head of a short deal table. “And take that beautiful coat off before it is ruined utterly. I hope you have a good laundress who knows how to deal with such bloodstains. Cold water, you must tell her. And a solution of hydrogen water.”
    Rory’s guard finally came slamming down like a rusty portcullis—it was a rare lass who had a working knowledge of chemistry. Perhaps Miss Mignon Blois was not as fey and innocent as she looked. “I’ll tell her.”
    Miss Blois very quickly proceeded to the business at hand, laying out bandages from some sort of medical cabinet, and proceeding to open bottles of noxious smelling medicines.
    “What is that?” He didn’t want to seem fussy, but a fellow ought to be cautious about what he allowed in, or on, his body. It was a general rule he’d adopted during his school years—when all sorts of culinary indignities had been forced upon him—and strived to follow ever since.
    “A styptic,” she said, as if that would answer everything. “Certain things mixed with brandy. It will stop the bleeding.”
    A sound plan. Roy shucked himself out of his dark evening coat, and found the collar soaked with blood. “A field apothecary, are ye?”
    Miss Blois stuck one hand on her very trim hip, and pointed with the other to the kitchen door, as if to tell him he was welcome to leave at any time—the choice was his. “Stop your complaint and lean your head over, nearer the light.” She moved a lamp closer to take a better look at the laceration on his head. “It is not so very bad.”
    “No? Ye made a rather thorough job of it for an amateur.” He eyed her dark bottles. “Will it hurt?”
    “Probably.” She pursed her rather wonderfully full lips, and considered him with one raised eyebrow. “For a burglar, you are not so very brave.”
    “I’m a society burglar. I didn’t expect someone of yer elevated class to be so bloodthirsty as to actually wound me.”  
    “I am not in the least elevated. Nor bloodthirsty.” Yet, she took her revenge for this perceived insult by slapping the stinging