Free If You Give a Rake a Ruby by Shana Galen

making? I must say you make a very poor hostess, Fallon.”
    She jumped up, winced at the pain in her side, and eased back onto her pillows. “I don’t recall inviting you.”
    â€œExactly!” he said, opening his eyes. “A good hostess would not have commented—what’s wrong?” He was up and beside her in a matter of seconds. He put his hand on her shoulder, and she shrugged it off then winced in pain again.
    â€œNothing.”
    He knelt beside her. “Where does it hurt?”
    â€œNowhere. Everywhere. It’s not your concern.”
    â€œYou’ve got quite a few bruises,” he said, inspecting her. He took her arms in his hands and turned them this way and that. “But I don’t see anything…”
    â€œStop touching me.”
    His fingers were light on her arms, tender, and she didn’t want tenderness from him. He rose and began to feel her head. “A few bumps and bruises. Does this one hurt?”
    â€œYes! Ow! Stop touching me.”
    â€œWhat about your legs?” He bent, lifted the hem of her nightshift, and began to poke at her calves. Fallon kicked him away and lowered the gown.
    â€œWhat are you doing?”
    â€œFor a courtesan, you’re rather modest. Don’t you dance naked at the Cyprians’ balls or some such thing?”
    Courtesans did dance naked at some of the debauched balls held by the Fashionable Impures like the Wilson sisters and Julia Johnstone, but Fallon had never participated. She wasn’t all that modest, either, but she didn’t like the effect his touch had on her.
    Or perhaps she liked it too much.
    â€œI said I was fine. I don’t want to be poked and prodded.”
    â€œIf you tell me where you hurt, I won’t have to poke and prod. And stop denying it. I can see in your face, you’re in pain.”
    â€œFine.” He was not going to let it go until she told him. She glanced up at him. He was barefoot, and his shirt hung loose over the waist of his trousers. He wore no cravat or coat, and his shirt was open at the throat. His hair was mussed but his eyes were clear. “If I tell you, will you leave?” she asked.
    â€œNo.”
    She let out an exasperated sigh. “If I tell you, will you—”
    He bent and lifted her hem again.
    â€œFine. It hurts when I breathe!” she conceded. “My side hurts. Here.” She pointed to the spot on her side, below her breast, where the pain seemed to coalesce.
    He nodded. “Broken rib. How much pain are you having?”
    â€œEnough.” She didn’t like his questions, but he’d put his hands on his hips and wasn’t touching her any longer. Broken rib. No, she couldn’t have a broken rib. Surely, if she’d broken anything she’d be in more pain.
    â€œWhat about your breathing? Can you breathe deeply?”
    â€œMy rib isn’t broken.”
    â€œBreathe deeply.”
    â€œStop ordering me about!”
    â€œI will if you just goddamn do what I say!” he roared. “Bloody hell, woman, do you have to be obstinate about everything?”
    She narrowed her eyes at him. She would have stood and roared back at him if she wasn’t certain it would cause her more pain. “I don’t want your help.”
    â€œI don’t care. Now breathe or I’ll do it for you.”
    She frowned, and he waved his hand in dismissal. “You know what I mean.”
    â€œNot really,” she muttered, but she did as he asked. The pain was there, but it wasn’t overwhelming.
    After he made her breathe several more times, he said, “I don’t think it’s punctured your lung. That’s a good sign, but I’d like to examine you.”
    â€œAbsolutely not! You are not a doctor, and you are not touching me.”
    His look was granite, and she knew he’d be just as immovable. “I can fetch a physician, if that’s what you wish, but I don’t