Free With This Ring by Amanda Quick Page A

father, I expect she would have busied herself giving advice to Wellington during the war.’
    “You have obviously inherited her talent for assuming command.” He drew a sharp breath as she peeled away the last of the linen. “Have a care, madam. That shoulder has already suffered enough tonight.”
    She surveyed the raw, red crease, relieved to note that it was superficial. “I have seen one or two bullet wounds.” “You appear to have led an adventurous life, Mrs. Poole.”
    “They were the result of hunting accidents. Such injuries can be quite nasty. But in this case the ball appears to have merely grazed you on its way past. Had it struck you a couple of inches lower-”
    “I had some warning.” He turned his head to examine his shoulder. “I told you it was not serious.”
    “Any injury such as this can become serious if it is not properly attended.”
    Finch loomed in the doorway. “The fresh linen and water you requested, madam.”
    “Bring them here, please. Then you may fetch his lordship a clean shirt.”
     
    “Yes, madam.” Finch set the tray down on a table and hurried away once more.
    “Poor Finch,” Leo muttered. “I fear he’ll never be the man he once was. You have quite vanquished him, Mrs. Poole.”
    “Nonsense. He is simply displaying common sense, which is more than I can say for you, sir.”
    Beatrice put aside the scissors and reached for the brandy decanter.
    Leo looked grimly amused. “Do you need to fortify yourself for the task, Mrs. Poole?”
    “I do not intend to drink the stuff, sir. Brace yourself.” She poured the spirits into the open wound before he guessed her intention.
    Leo sucked in his breath. “Damnation. Waste of good brandy.”
    “My mother believes very strongly in the value of cleansing wounds with stout spirits.” Beatrice set the bottle aside. “She got the idea from one of the books in my father’s library.’
    “Where do your parents live?”
    “They have retired to a pleasant little cottage in Hampshire. Papa has his books and his rose garden. Mama has organized a school for the local village children. She is a great believer in the value of an education.”
    “Tell me, Mrs. Poole, are your parents aware that you interest yourself in such pastimes as investigating murders and searching for dangerous antiquities?”
    “I have not as yet had an opportunity to write to them about my current project.” Beatrice trimmed the linen bandage. “But I shall get around to it after I have resolved the matter.”
    “I see.” He watched morosely as she tied the ends of the linen. “Will they be surprised to learn of your activities?” “I’m sure they will understand that under the circum-
    stances I had no choice but to search out Uncle Reggie’s murderer and recover Arabella’s inheritance.”
    “Naturally. All in a day’s work for a reader of horrid novels, eh, Mrs. Poole?”
    “One does what one must.”
    Leo grunted and took a mouthful of brandy. “How long have you been a widow, Mrs. Poole?”
    She was startled by the question. Then she realized that Leo was no doubt attempting to focus his attention on something other than the pain of his wound.
    “I was married for three years, sir. I have been widowed for five.”
    “At what age were you wed?” “One-and-twenty.” “So you are now twenty-nine?”
    “Yes.” She wondered where this was all going. “Damn near thirty.”
    “Indeed, sir.” She tugged very firmly on the bandage. He gritted his teeth and took another swallow of brandy. “Any desire to remarry?”
    “None.” Beatrice smiled coolly. “Once a woman has known the metaphysical perfection of the most harmonious kunion possible between a man and a woman, once she has tasted the ambrosia of physical, spiritual, and intellectual communication with her true soul mate, she can never be content with anything less.”
    “That good, was it?’
    “It was perfection, my lord.”
    “Until your husband died,” he pointed