Free The Greatest Lover in All England by Christina Dodd

gestures, and belched after every drink of beer. Yet her impersonation of a youth close to his majority fell short. She was, as Tony had observed in the play, a dreadful actress. No one should believe her to be a man, but no one paid her enough attention to doubt her. Even Jean, after casting him one amused and knowing glance, dismissed Rosie from her mind.
    In fact, if Rosie wasn’t careful, she would catch one of the serving maids she’d been eyeing. That might prove amusing.
    He glanced down at his cupped hand, the hand that had cupped her breast, and thanked God for his owninquisitive impatience. If he hadn’t been so bold with her, he’d still be in hell, believing he’d kissed a boy.
    Why was Rosencrantz sneaking up on the stairs that led to the gallery?
    He watched as she tiptoed up the stairs, taking such care no one could possibly hear a footfall, then stopped four risers short of the top. She hesitated, swaying back and forth. She wanted to go in, but she didn’t.
    And why not? Why was this woman, this Rosencrantz, so afraid?
    Tony mounted the steps. He moved as he always did, with a firm tread, but Rosencrantz still stared up at the door. As he stepped close behind her, she shook her head and he heard her mutter, “A fool you are, and a mad fool, too. Begone before the gods strike you down.”
    She wheeled so abruptly that he started. Taking one look at him, she missed the step. He reached out to catch her, but she swung her arms wildly, falling back.
    She hit the step, and he heard a bone crack. She loosed one sharp scream, and the color slid from her face.
    â€œDon’t move,” he ordered.
    But she grabbed her arm and curled up in agony.
    â€œLet me.” He tried to take the affected limb, but she hugged it close to her body. He’d seen that reaction before on the Continent with the army. Soldiers in pain, yet fearing more pain.
    And she feared for a reason, he knew. The arm would have to be set. He’d done it before, but it was a miserable procedure. Binding it after would ease her, but first he had to get her in the house. Taking her chin in a firm grip, he held her gaze with his. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
    She whimpered.
    â€œTell me,” he insisted. “Does your back hurt? Your neck?” Carefully he rolled her head. “Your ribs?”
    He tried to probe them, but she flinched, then moaned.
    â€œDo—your—ribs—hurt?” He spaced each word so she could understand, and she shook her head.
    â€œHold your arm.” Positioning himself beside her unharmed side, he slowly worked her into his grasp. She shook in a palsy of pain, and when he picked her up, she yelled again.
    â€œSorry. Didn’t mean to—”
    She choked back another scream, and he ached for her. Maneuvering through the door, he strode into the manor and down the gallery, bellowing, “Hal!”
    A serving maid raced to get the steward, and Tony shouted after her, “Have Hal bring bandages and splints.”
    Another servant ran in front of Tony, opening doors. Out of the gallery, up the grand staircase to the bedrooms. There Tony hesitated. All twenty-seven bedrooms were occupied, both the large standing beds and the low truckle beds that slid beneath them. None of his guests would thank him for lodging an actor in their midst. More than that, Rosencrantz would need privacy for her personal functions—more privacy than other young men would require.
    Little cheat.
    The only place he could put her would be in his antechamber, and he had no desire to have the harlot underfoot. He’d take her to the kitchen and set the bone. From there Sir Danny could fetch her.
    Then he noticed a wetness soaking his velvet collar. Rosencrantz had turned her face into his doublet, hiding her pain-racked countenance and shedding her tears like an embarrassed child.
    Tony found himself laying her on the mattress of his own bed. “Hal!” he