Devil in Disguise (The Ravenels #7) by Lisa Kleypas

“Go,” Merritt said, stripping off Keir’s wool socks. “I can manage until the doctor arrives.”

“I’ll come back as soon as I can. In the meantime, why don’t you send for one of your friends in London to help you?”

“I’ll consider it,” Merritt said, but the only friend she would have liked to send for was Lady Phoebe Ravenel, who was in Essex.

Frowning, Luke came to look at the man on the bed.

Keir was abnormally pale, his lips and fingernails blue-tinged. He was panting as if he couldn’t take in enough air.

“God knows what injuries he might have,” Luke said softly. “You’d better brace yourself for the possibility that he may not—”

“He’s going to make a full recovery,” Merritt interrupted. She felt like a vase someone had bumped into. Wobbly, about to tip over and break.

“He’s a stranger, Merritt. Even if the worst happens, you don’t know him well enough to fall to pieces.”

Annoyed, Merritt was tempted to explain the folly of trying to dictate people’s feelings to them, but she managed to hold her silence.

After her brother had left, Merritt did what she could to make Keir clean and comfortable. She resorted to cutting away the garments that couldn’t be removed easily, and bathed him with a clean warm cloth. The strong, supple contours she’d become so familiar with, all those expanses of tough muscle, were now badly bruised. There was a lump on the back of his head. Every now and then his eyes flickered open, revealing a disoriented gaze, but he made no effort to speak.

To her relief, Garrett Gibson arrived quickly, striding into the guest room without even knocking. The footman, Jeffrey, followed close behind, carrying a leather case and a box of supplies. At the doctor’s direction, he set them near the bed before leaving.

“Thank God you’re here,” Merritt burst out as Garrett went straight to the bedside. “Mr. MacRae can hardly breathe.”

“The footman said he was injured during the warehouse fire?” Garrett rummaged through her medical bag. She pulled out a stethoscope and deftly fitted the earpieces into her ears. Her manner was so calm and assured, it seemed as if nothing bad could happen while she was there.

“Yes. There was an explosion. He—” Merritt couldn’t prevent her voice from cracking into a higher register as she fought tears. “He jumped from a window and fell at least two stories.”

Garrett held the drum of the stethoscope against various parts of Keir’s chest, listening intently. After that, she set the instrument aside, took his pulse, and then spoke to him. “Mr. MacRae, are you awake?” At his lack of response, she gently took his face in her hands. “Can you look at me? Are you able to open your—there’s a good fellow.” She inspected his pupils, and gave him a reassuring smile. “I know it’s hard to breathe,” she told him sympathetically. “We’ll do something about that in just a moment.”

Merritt stood nearby, knotting her fingers together. Her lungs worked in strong pulls, as if she could somehow do Keir’s breathing for him. She’d never felt so utterly helpless. She watched as Garrett went to the leather case, unlatched it, and began to fit a strange assortment of objects together … a steel cylinder approximately a foot and a half long, a bottle of clear liquid, a length of rubber tubing.

“What is that?” Merritt asked apprehensively.

“Oxygen apparatus,” Garrett replied as she worked. “I’ve used it before to treat an asthmatic patient. I decided to bring it after Jeffrey described Mr. MacRae’s symptoms.” She connected a rubber bag to the contraption, turned a knob on the cylinder to start the oxygen flow, and fitted a cup over Keir’s nose and mouth. He jerked and tried to turn his head, but she held the cup against his face persistently. “Breathe in,” she coaxed, “slow and steady.”

After only a minute had passed, the oxygen had wrought a near-miraculous change. Keir’s color had lost its blue cast and returned to a healthy pink, and his desperate gasping had eased.

“There we are,” Garrett said quietly, her slim shoulders relaxing. “Better?”

Keir nodded slightly, reaching up to grip her hand with the cup more firmly over his face as if fearing she might take it away too soon.

Merritt blotted her stinging eyes with a handkerchief and let out a shaking sigh.

The doctor glanced at her with a slight smile. “Go set yourself to rights, my friend,” she suggested gently, “while I continue the examination. A cup of tea might do you some good.”

Merritt realized the doctor wanted to protect her patient’s privacy while she examined him. “Of course,” she said, even though the last thing she wanted to do was leave Keir’s side. “Ring the bellpull if there’s anything you need.”

Reluctantly she left the guest room, and found Jenny waiting in the hallway. The young maid gazed at her in worry. “Will the gentleman be all right, ma’am?”

“Yes,” Merritt replied distractedly. “He has to.”

“I’ll help look after him, milady, if you need me to. I nursed my father through a fever once, and I know what to do in a sickroom.”

“Thank you, Jenny. For now, if you would bring some tea to my room …”

“Right away.”