Free The Greatest Lover in All England by Christina Dodd Page B

considered him for a long moment, and consented. “You may help me, and then never come near me again.”
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    â€œPsst. Rosie! Are you awake?”
    She tried to ignore Sir Danny, tried to cling to slumber, but Sir Danny was known for his persistence.
    â€œRosie, how do you feel?”
    Without opening her eyes, she asked, “How should I feel?”
    â€œWell, with the broken arm and all, you might be too sick to tread the boards.” He peered at her. “But not sick enough to mourn it, eh?”
    A broken arm? Rosie opened her eyes, looked around at the luxurious bedchamber, and groaned.
    Well, she’d done it. She’d tried to sneak into the manor house, and got just what she deserved. A broken arm and a shredded pride. The last thing she remembered was vomiting into a basin, her head held by the honorable Sir Anthony Rycliffe. Now she lay on a bed, the most comfortable bed she’d ever inhabited. There were so many pillows piled at the head of the bed, she’d slid down and now lay crooked on the mattress. The fireplace glowed, gorged with flames that heated the room. Everywhere stood branches of candles. Not cheap, smelly tallow candles, either, but wax candles that gave off such a pure light it distressed her to think of the expense.
    Beside the bed stood Sir Danny, looking as anxious as when she’d had the sweat as a child. “Does it hurt?”
    Hurt? Everything hurt. Her shoulder hurt whereLudovic had smashed it, her back hurt from the impact on the stairs. Her legs ached, and her throat hurt from crying. There’d been some screaming, too, although surely it hadn’t been her. And her arm—Od’s bodkin, her arm throbbed.
    Hurt? Aye, she hurt, but that only made a falsehood more necessary. “Not much.”
    â€œCan I get you anything? Wine, ale, water?”
    â€œNay, I just want to go home. With you,” she added hastily, when he seemed about to object.
    Rocking back on his heels, he tucked his fingers into the braids on his doublet. “What home?”
    â€œThe wagon,” she answered eagerly. When he didn’t reply, she continued, “We could pack up and go to London. I’d hide out and you could perform Hamlet for Uncle Will. You’d make almost as much money as if we blackmailed—”
    â€œThey’ll take better care of you here.”
    â€œNo! I can’t stay here.”
    â€œIf Sir Tony says you can, you can.” Sir Danny smiled and patted her gently, treating her like an invalid for the first time in her life and frightening her into the next fortnight. “It’s not every day you get to sleep in the master’s chamber.”
    â€œThis isn’t the master’s chamber.” Ignoring the muscles that almost creaked when she moved, she pointed with her good hand. “It’s next door.”
    â€œNay, that’s the antechamber.”
    â€œNay, that’s where the master sleeps,” she insisted. “Don’t you remember? When…”
    When what? What made her think that was the master’s chamber? She’d never even been up here before. Her conviction must be part of the madness—or was it premonition—that seized her? “Nothing,” she said. “Worry not. I’ve been dreaming.” Dreaming that I haveexplored every inch of the manor . “So can we go now? He set my arm and tied it all up, and it scarcely aches.”
    â€œI can make any pain go away,” Sir Danny said in his soothing voice. “Would you like me to do that?”
    She would. Aye, she would, but she was suspicious. “Would you take me back to the wagon afterward?”
    â€œIf you feel better.”
    She always felt better after one of Sir Danny’s treatments. “Please.”
    He picked up her hand and stroked it. “Look at me. Think of how, with sleep, the pain will slip away. Imagine your bone, whole and strong, and how rest will knit it