Page 33 of How Not to Marry a Duke

“If you weren’t looking at the potter’s daughter, you wouldn’t have been distracted,” Mr. Turner said.

“No sense arguing over what’s done,” Adeline said. “You’ll need to get onto the table.” She tugged the tablecloth off and tossed it aside.

The man rose from the chair and shuffled to the table. He’d have to pull himself up—

“I’ll help.” Warwick was by the man’s side and hoisted him up from under his arms until he sat on the table with his leg extended. Then the duke returned to his place against the wall.

Adeline proceeded to cut away the rest of the shredded trouser. “Hasmik, please fetch my suture kit.”

Hasmik had it before Adeline could finish the sentence. The woman also carried a bottle of whisky and poured two glasses, one for the patient and the other for Adeline’s needles. She then offered the bottle to Adeline.

Adeline held the bottle above the wound and eyed her patient. “Take a deep breath. This whisky is going to sting.”

He grit his teeth then cried out at the first dribble of whisky on the wound.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the duke shift his feet. If the wound hadn’t been worrisome, Adeline might have been amused by Warwick’s squeamishness. Most men didn’t have the stomach for this type of work. She surmised Warwick was one of them. The last thing she desired was for the man to keel over. “Do you need to step outside, Your Grace?”

Warwick shook his head. “You may need me.”

Adeline returned her attention to her patient. The first stitches were always the trickiest. The jagged skin had to be gathered and oftentimes slightly overlapped. It was also the most jarring to the patient. She had nothing to numb the pain except a strong bottle of whisky that Hasmik had already offered to the man. The wound would take dozens of stitches.

Focused on her task, Adeline carefully pulled the thread through the skin.

…

Warwick stood in the corner of the small kitchen and watched as Adeline spent the next two hours stitching the carpenter’s nasty wound. She bent over her patient, her fingers sure and deft, a look of sheer concentration on her face. Surely her back would be sore afterward.

Her patient moaned. “Bloody hell! It feels like a hundred pinpricks.”

“Please try to be still.” Adeline didn’t look up from her task. “Hasmik, give him more whisky.”

Warwick reached the bottle before Hasmik. He splashed a good amount into a glass. To Warwick’s surprise, his hand shook slightly. In contrast, Lady Adeline Cameron was solid as a rock as she staunched the flow of blood with a clean cloth, then returned to her work. A basin of bloody rags rested on the table.

He had been wrong about her. She wasn’t just a healer, but a surgeon. A talented one, too.

Good God, she was fabulous.

At first, he’d wondered if he’d made a mistake to “court” her. He’d found her stubborn and argumentative. She still was. He knew she had talent as a healer, as she’d helped him with his own wound, but this was different. He leaned as far forward as he could without blocking the light. He was fascinated by her ability.

He’d known women to faint at the sight of a paper cut. He’d witnessed others flutter their fans at balls and claim exhaustion from a crowded room. In contrast, the temperature of the small cottage had climbed higher, and it was uncomfortably warm. Beads of perspiration formed on Adeline’s brow. She had to be exhausted, mentally and physically, but she continued, making sure the carpenter had the best chance to heal.

A man she didn’t know. A man who most likely couldn’t even afford to pay her for her services.

Warwick continued to watch her as she worked. Her curly dark hair was pulled back in a braid that brushed her low back. Her lips were full and rose-hued. The dark arches of her eyebrows accentuated her long lashes. It was no longer just the brilliant blue color of her eyes that captivated him, but that they shone with determination and intelligence.

She was dressed in a plain blue dress without a hint of adornment and a blood-stained apron. As she bent over her patient, her gaze narrowed with intent focus. He was fascinated and couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. She was unlike any lady he’d ever known.

If all went according to plan, and there was no reason to think otherwise, then they’d soon travel to London, and he’d introduce her to his godmother. He’d escort Adeline to a ball under the watchful eye of her half brother, Lord Foster. Adeline would dress in fine gowns with pearls at her throat and in her hair and, once others learned he was courting her, they would look upon him with envy.

But none of that would matter because here—now—she was remarkable.

Get a hold of yourself. He could not afford to look at her as he was. Hers was not a quiet grace, but fearless and fierce. Her half brother could have ruined her, financially and emotionally. Adeline hadn’t allowed it. She’d moved all the way to a remote village to pursue her purpose—her driving need to help others. He saw it clearly now.

If his interference had helped her in any way with Edwin, then he was even happier for it. For the first time, he thought about how it would feel to have Adeline on his arm as his true fiancé. How would she taste when he kissed any argument from her lips when they inevitably found themselves at odds? Christ. Kissing a woman with this much latent passion would steal his breath and all rational thought. He was fast realizing Adeline was no ordinary lady, no ordinary earl’s daughter.

He tamped down his desire. His challenge was to resist this unwanted stirring in his chest and to stay the course for the duration of the Season. Then they could part ways with mutually beneficial outcomes.

It was that simple. He owed her that much. She wanted to marry for love, not convenience. And that was not his goal. He wanted to focus on his work.