He slipped two fingers over her wrist, taking her pulse. He knew all too well the difference between a resting heart rate and an aroused one, and that knowledge of her body’s response only fed his own desire.
He bent over her a little more, his lips breathing warmth against her ear. Just a little kiss. He could give her a little kiss, now.
But he didn’t. He knew all too well that physical arousal needn’t mean that she liked him. She’d only just decided not to hate him. She’d needed a shoulder to weep on, a form to hit, a generic repository for all the emotions that she couldn’t fit in her life. She didn’t need a kiss from a specific man, no matter how much he specifically wanted to give her one.
“Miss Charingford,” he said, “Henry awaits, and I shouldn’t delay any longer. We must go on.” He pulled away from her. She looked up at him, her eyebrows screwed up in quizzical confusion.
But when he offered her his arm, she took it. He set his fingers over her wrist and took comfort in the beat of her pulse—a little faster than could be explained by the mild exercise of walking.
Chapter Eight
JONAS HAD SET AND SPLINTED HENRY’S LEG LAST NIGHT. He’d given the boy a dose of ether when he’d set the leg, enough that he’d not been in his right mind by the time he left. Henry had waved him off, grinning goofily. It was his father who looked on grimly.
This morning, the drug had worn off. Henry was propped up in a chair with nothing to do but look out the window. His pupils had returned to normal size; his eyes were sunken and dark.
Lydia came forward and sat in a chair next to the boy. While Jonas checked his vital signs, she introduced herself.
“I am Miss Lydia Charingford,” she said warmly. “Doctor Grantham asked me to come because he thought I needed to see an example of someone who conducts himself with decorum under difficult circumstances.”
Henry—who had slouched every minute that Jonas had known him—straightened subtly. “He did?”
“He did,” Lydia said, with absolutely no regard for the truth. “And I can see that he chose a good subject.”
“Right.” Henry nodded. “Speaking of difficult circumstances. Doctor, I don’t suppose you could give me more of that…whatever it was you gave me last night, could you? My leg aches something awful.”
“No,” Jonas said. “I can’t. I don’t carry around ether as a general matter. And I prefer not to administer laudanum unless it’s absolutely necessary. It contains morphia, which causes constipation and impotence.”
“Uh.” Henry glanced at Lydia, and his cheeks flushed. “Did you just say—uh—”
Jonas gave him a repressive look, and Henry bit his lip.
Lydia simply smiled angelically. “Someday, you’ll thank him for it.”
If anything, Henry turned pinker. “Don’t need laudanum,” he muttered. “Doesn’t hurt that much, anyway. I’m practically healed already. I’ll be walking in no time at all.”
He probably thought that was true. And in a few days, the worst of the pain would fade. Last night, there’d not been much chance to explain matters.
Jonas sat down on a chair next to Lydia. “Henry,” he said, “you fractured the lower end of your tibia right by your foot. If you walk on it before it is healed, you will displace the fracture, and any subsequent weight you place on it thereafter could very well make the fracture a compound one.”
Henry frowned. “What does that mean?”
“If you walk on your leg, you might break it again in multiple spots. A compound fracture so close to your joint would likely mean amputation. You must not walk on it until it is healed.”
Henry gave him a stoic nod. “How long’s that going to be? Once it’s stopped hurting?”
“You won’t be able to move your leg for three weeks.”
“Three weeks!” Henry’s eyes widened. “Doctor Grantham, I can’t go three weeks without pay.”
“Henry,” Jonas said, “not only are you not going to move for three weeks, after that you will wear a splint, and you will not put excessive weight on your limb.”
Henry’s jaw squared and he looked off into the distance. “Let’s say one week without moving,” he said sullenly. “And then—”
“This is not a negotiation, Henry. If you want to keep your leg, you must stay off it.”
Henry didn’t say anything, but his jaw set mulishly.
Beside him, Lydia leaned forward. “Surely something can be managed. Perhaps, as you were injured at work, your employer might be willing to pay something…”
“Ha.” Henry stared down at the floor. “You haven’t met the old—” He looked up at Jonas, and then looked away, remembering that his employer held a special position in Jonas’s life. “You don’t see it. I’m not clever, but Peter and Billy are. If I have no wages, my brothers will have to get work. And if they give up their places in the boys’ school…” Henry poked morosely at the cast on his leg. “How long, do you think, before I can risk it? A week and a half, maybe?”
“I said you weren’t allowed to move,” Jonas told him. “I never said you couldn’t work. As it happens, it’s lucky for you that your injury is tricky. I’m writing a paper on recovery of the use of a limb after a difficult fracture, and I find myself in need of a subject. Someone who will do exactly as I say and nothing more. If you agree to allow me to write you up, I’ll pay you for your time.”
“I don’t need your charity.”
Jonas had found him the job with his father. He’d been the one who let matters slide, dithering about what needed to be done simply because it was his father. It wasn’t charity, not in the slightest. It was blood money.
“You think I’m doing this for your benefit?” he snapped back. “You’d have to remain still all day—no running, no playing with the other boys until I tell you you’re able. Any man can stand about on his feet all day. But it takes real talent to remain sitting.”
Henry frowned. “It does?”
“Yes. In fact, I’m not sure you can manage it. Sitting all day with nothing to do but twiddle your thumbs. And don’t think I’ll pay you if you can’t comply with the stringent requirements I have.”
Beside him Lydia twitched, leaning down to open her basket.
“Almost nothing to do,” she said. “I’ve brought a bandalore. Shall I show you how to use it?”