Free A Perfect Hero by Samantha James Page A

his eyes squeezed shut. She wondered wildly if he’d passed out—indeed, she hoped he had. But then he swallowed, the cords in his neck standing taut.
    Tears stood high and bright in her eyes. Tears she refused to allow to fall.
    Perspiration gathered on her brow. How he could stand the probe of the instruments in his chest, she had no idea. She encountered flesh, muscle—cringed at the hardness of bone. But he was being incredibly brave, and the knowledge made her ache inside.
    Minutes later, the ball dropped into the basin. But he’d begun to bleed again, and her probing had widened the opening where the ball had first torn into his shoulder. She had no choice but to stitch it closed as best she was able. She was breathing hard by the time she sat back.
    A tremor went through him. His eyes opened. “There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” His tone was hoarse, but a whisper of sound. And he was trying valiantly to smile.
    Julianna couldn’t. Her throat was clogged tight. She could barely breathe. His blood was warm. Sticky on her fingertips.
    The walls of the cottage tilted crazily. Her stomach began to heave. Lunging outside, she lost the contents of her stomach.
    Her arms clamped tight to her breast, she rocked back and forth, over and over. She felt like the world was going crazy, and she along with it.
    All she’d wanted was a few days away from London. Perhaps a trifling bit of excitement to
    liven her humdrum life!
    But not this. Never this.
    Hot, blinding tears streamed from her eyes. Fi nally, she wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands, dabbed at her mouth with the end of her gown, and walked back inside.
    Dane’s eyes never left her pale face. “Better?” he murmured.
    Standing above him, she nodded, still unable to speak, trying desperately to calm her wayward emotions. And he seemed to know it, for his gaze sharpened intently.
    “You’ll be all right, won’t you?”
    She raised her head. “Why wouldn’t I?” she said with all the dignity she could muster.
    He gave a faint smile. “Why indeed?” The smile faded. “You’re a puzzling little creature, aren’t you? First you shoot me, then you cry.”
    Julianna didn’t know what to say, and so she said nothing.
    His mouth opened. He was about to say some thing more, but all at once he stopped. His eyes were glazed and unfocused. He gave a tiny shake of his head. She sensed him struggling to remain aware. But it was no use. His eyes closed. He suc cumbed to exhaustion and pain.
    Or so she thought.
    All at once his eyelids snapped open.
    “Percival. I forgot about Percival.” He was quite agitated. “He must be looked after.” Julianna frowned. “Percival? Is he your friend?”
    He looked at her as if she’d gone daft. “Perci val is the finest mount a man could ever have,” he declared. “But ...he must be fed.”
    Groaning, he sought to rise. Julianna pressed him back to the bed. “You needn’t worry! I’ll do it.”
    “You will?” “I will,” she said firmly. “I promise.” Her assurance appeared to satisfy him. Within
    seconds he was asleep.
    Pulling the covers up, Julianna shook her head. The unexpected makings of a smile tugged at her lips. Here he was, hurt and wounded, and he was concerned about his horse .
    How very like a man.
    Six
    ane lay still and quiet throughout the day. Julianna could have sworn he moved not a single whit. Anxious, she surveyed him. Count less times she bent her head to his lips, as if to re assure herself that he still lived.
    While he slept, she tidied the cottage. Her gown was quite ruined, the bodice filthy and stained with crimson splotches from tending Dane. She tossed it into the fire, along with the bloody rags, and quickly donned another.
    Toward evening, she let herself out of the cot tage. Dane had not been lying when he’d told her they were in the midst of the forest. Overhead the sky was a serene, dusky blue. There was a stream nearby; the muted gurgle of water reached her