The Viscount Made Me Do It by Diana Quincy

When Griff returned the following week, the bonesetter was wearing his mother’s sapphire.

The necklace swayed on its gold chain as she worked on Griff’s elbow. Mesmerized, he followed the pale gem’s back and forth movements as intensely as a man under a hypnotist’s influence.

Mrs. Zaydan was more aloof today, after he’d almost kissed her at their last meeting. He would have done so if she hadn’t pulled back. It was just as well. He needed to keep his focus where it belonged. Out of his trousers and on the necklace.

His eyes on the sapphire, Griff barely noted the pain Mrs. Zaydan inflicted on him with determined, decisive strokes. She massaged his elbow with the same relentlessness she’d employed to attack his shoulder and wrist.

The sound of cracking bone jolted Griff back to what was being done to him. The bonesetter held his crippled arm just above the elbow with one hand and just below it with the other. Determined not to make a sound, Griff gulped down some of the ale she’d set before him. But the sound of his bones being jangled about proved to be too much.

“This feels”—and sounds—“very different from what you did to my wrist and shoulder.”

“Yes.” Her face was red with exertion due to the fierce battle with his elbow. “I need to break the callus that has formed in the dislocated joint.”

“The callus?”

“The bone that has rebuilt there.”

The idea of her breaking bones in his elbow drove Griff straight back to his ale. He bottomed out the tankard. Then forced himself to breathe while she manipulated his elbow.

“There,” she said after a few minutes that felt like forever.

“There?” he asked.

She bent Griff’s arm toward his chest and then slightly away. “Done.”

“Really? Shall I attempt to move it?” After living with an immobile elbow for two years, Griff was reluctant to put it into motion.

“Not yet. You require a sling to keep your elbow still for a fortnight. After that, I shall give you some daily exercises that you must do without fail.”

A pounding at the front door reached them. The young maid by the door exchanged glances with Mrs. Zaydan, who dipped her chin. The servant slipped out to see who was calling.

“Now, as I was saying,” Mrs. Zaydan continued, “in about two weeks’ time, you may remove the sling. If you have any further problems with your arm, you should return to see me. But I doubt that will be necessary.”

“So that is it?” He blinked. “This is our last appointment.”

“We shall schedule one final meeting. Unless you have any other joints that are out or broken bones that need to be set, you may rest assured that the worst is over.”

Instead of relief, disappointment swamped Griff. He told himself it was because he’d already met with the bonesetter four times and still knew nothing about where she’d gotten his mother’s sapphire. “That’s a beautiful necklace. It’s rather unusual.”

“Is it?” She spoke in a distracted manner as she fitted his arm with a sling. “I’m rather partial to it.”

“Was it a gift from your husband?”

Those dark, serious eyes briefly met his gaze, but he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. “No.”

“Where did you get it?”

She paused to regard him with some surprise. Griff cursed himself. He’d done a poor job of hiding his interest in the necklace. They were distracted by a loud, unruly male voice in the corridor just as the bonesetter finished tying the sling around his neck.

Griff’s brows went up. “Your next appointment?”

“I am not scheduled to see anyone else today.”

The verbal disturbance grew nearer. “Where is she?” an inebriated man’s voice called out. “Where is that she-devil?”

Lucy’s voice pleaded with the man. “You cannot go in there, sir. Mrs. Zaydan is with someone.”

“I’ll just bet she is,” the interloper snarled. The door burst open. A well-dressed young man stood on the threshold holding one bent arm over his chest. He flushed when he spotted Mrs. Zaydan. “You did this to me, you bitch.”

Griff stiffened. It took him a moment to place the face. And then he realized who the boy was. Mansfield. The tadpole whose wrist the bonesetter had put out at the coffeehouse.

Griff stood. “Settle down,” he said coldly. “And then apologize to Mrs. Zaydan.”

“That’s not necessary,” she said.

“It damn well is. I saw what happened at the coffeehouse.” The words slipped out before Griff realized what he’d revealed.

Surprise flickered in her eyes. “You did?”

“I tried to keep him out, miss.” The servant girl came in behind Mansfield. “I really did.”

“That is all right, Lucy,” the bonesetter said soothingly before turning to the whelp. “Good afternoon, Mr. Mansfield. How may I help you?”

Outrage colored his face. “What did you do to my wrist?” He vibrated with menace. “You’re going to pay for what you’ve done, you witch. I visited four doctors, and no one’s been able to help me.”

Griff stepped between them. “Mind your manners.”

“And if I don’t?” Mansfield’s disdainful gaze dropped to the sling cradling Griff’s elbow. “What will you do about it?”

Griff’s good hand whipped out, grabbing Mansfield by the throat, forcing him to stumble backward until Griff had him up against the wall. “I will break your useless little neck, you insolent puppy.”

Mansfield gagged. “Now, see here—”

“Apologize.” Griff tightened his grip.

“Truly, Mr. Thomas, this is not necessary,” Mrs. Zaydan said from behind him.

Mansfield tried to peel Griff’s hand away from his throat. “Do you know who I am?” he gasped. “My father will have your head.”

“I know exactly who you are.” The idiot’s father was a viscount, just like Griff. “Apologize now.”

“I do not require an apology,” Mrs. Zaydan said. “He is in pain. I can help him.”

Griff didn’t relax his hold. “I find it very necessary that he apologize for his rudeness.”

“I apologize,” Mansfield finally said in a strangled voice.

“Good.” Griff released him. “Now, make certain you mind your manners in Mrs. Zaydan’s presence.” He caught sight of the servant girl watching the unfolding scene with wide eyes.

“Now,” the bonesetter said to Mansfield, “if you’d care to take a seat on my examining table, I’ll put your wrist back in.”

“As if I’d let you touch me,” Mansfield snapped. “Well,” he amended, “I wouldn’t let you touch my wrist, but if you’d care to put your hands elsewhere—”

Griff’s temper flared. “Do not tempt me to thrash you.”

Mansfield flinched. “I meant no disrespect.”

“You damn well did,” Griff growled. “Do it again and your other wrist will need fixing as well.”

“Thank you for your gallantry, Mr. Thomas,” the bonesetter interjected. “You must have other things to do with the remainder of your afternoon. I am certain Mr. Mansfield and I will manage to be civil.”

“I’m staying as long as Mansfield is here. I’m not leaving you alone.”

She looked skyward. “Very well.” She faced Mansfield. “I thought you would come to me right away to put your wrist to rights. Why did you wait so long?”

“Because everyone knows bonesetters are fraudsters,” Mansfield retorted. Griff made a warning hum with his throat. Mansfield hastily added, “Ma’am.”

“If you allow me to treat your wrist,” she said, “you will leave this office free from pain.”

Mansfield’s doubtful gaze bounced from the bonesetter to Griff. His eyes went to Griff’s sling. “You let her treat you?”

“I did. My wrist was put out, and Mrs. Zaydan put it back in.”

Mansfield’s eyes bulged. “She put out your wrist, too?”

Griff actually laughed. “No. My wrist was out for the better part of two years.”

Mansfield’s uncertain gaze traveled back to Mrs. Zaydan. “You won’t hurt me?”

“Putting any joint back in is painful. But it will be over before you know it.” Her tone was almost cajoling now, as if Mansfield were still a boy in apron-strings who needed to be coaxed into taking his medicine.

“Stop wasting her time,” Griff warned. “Either allow Mrs. Zaydan to treat you or leave.”

“Very well.” Mansfield edged toward the examining table. “If you promise not to make it worse.”

Mrs. Zaydan followed him. “Do not worry.”

Griff suppressed a snort. He knew what happened when the bonesetter told a patient not to worry. Mansfield settled on the table.

“Roll up your sleeve,” she instructed. “We’ll have you put to rights in no time.”

She took the pup’s affected wrist in one hand and wrapped her right hand around his thumb, her fingers pressing into his palm. “Does this hurt?”

“Ouch!” Mansfield gasped. “Yes, it damn well does.”

“Watch your manners,” Griff warned.

He watched, fascinated, as the bonesetter rotated Mansfield’s hand slightly downward. Now that he wasn’t the patient enduring the pain, he could fully appreciate Mrs. Zaydan’s skills.

“Try to relax,” she urged the patient. Griff’s eyes crinkled at the corners. He’d heard that before, too. Right before the worst of it. And, just as Griff expected, the bonesetter flexed and extended the joint in a flash, her thumb pressure remaining on the impacted joint during the procedure.

Mansfield yelped. “Goddammit to hades!”

Griff allowed the cursing to pass unchecked. After all, he knew the pain of having a joint put back.

“Very well, Mr. Mansfield,” she said. “Your wrist is back in. You should have no further trouble with it.”

Cradling his wrist, Mansfield regarded her with suspicion. “What are you saying?”

“You may now move your wrist.”

Mansfield’s gaze dropped to his arm. He flexed and extended his wrist in slow, uncertain movements. “By God, it works.”

He hopped up from the table, keeping his distance from both Griff and the bonesetter. “I’ll be on my way.”

Griff stepped in his path. “Not quite yet. You haven’t paid the lady.”

Mansfield curled his lip. “Why should I pay her for fixing the damage she caused?”

“Because I told you to.”

“No.” The bonesetter set her jaw. “Payment is not required.”

Griff paused. “You may thank Mrs. Zaydan before you leave.”

“My sincere thanks.” Mansfield ground out the words. He shot a glance at Griff. “Satisfied?”

“Just barely.” He motioned toward the exit with his chin. “You may go now.” Mansfield was through the door before either of them could draw another breath. Lucy followed Mansfield to see him out.

Mrs. Zaydan wiped down the examining table. “I could have handled him, you know. I’ve met with worse.”

“You should not have to.”

She turned to face him, her expression serious, questioning. “You are keeping secrets, Mr. Thomas.”

His heart skipped a beat. “What makes you say that?”

“You said that you saw what Mr. Mansfield did to me. How is that possible?”

A guarded expression entered Mr. Thomas’s eyes. Hanna immediately knew he was going to lie. Or, at the very least, be less than honest. Had one of her detractors sent him to prove she was a fraud?

He glanced down. “I was at the coffeehouse when Mr. Mansfield and his cohorts summoned you. I saw you put his wrist out.”

“It wasn’t my finest hour. I lost my temper.” Her cheeks warmed. “My grandmother says acting in anger will be my undoing.”

“Mansfield got what he deserved.”

“A healer should do no harm. I must exercise more self-control. But sometimes it feels as if there’s a violent storm within me that cannot be quelled.”

“With good reason on that particular afternoon. You had no reason at all to temper your reaction. They overstepped. As gentlemen, they were aware that their behavior was abominable.”

“Perhaps with ladies of their class. Men of that sort follow a different code with the laboring classes. Not to mention that they hold bonesetters in the lowest regard possible.”

“I do not. I hold you in very high esteem. I’ve seen what you can do. You are mesmerizing.”

Her heart thumped. “Few people would call a bonesetter mesmerizing.”

“I am not referring to the bonesetter. I’m taken by the woman.”

She lifted her eyes to meet his. “You shouldn’t say such things.”

“Probably not.” He paused. “Are you wed?” The words were low. Intimate. Urgent. “Is there a Mr. Zaydan?”

She should lie. But she didn’t. “No.”

“Are you otherwise promised to anyone?”

“I am not.” He shouldn’t ask such personal questions. Moreover, she should not answer. Mr. Thomas was a patient. “I am wedded to my work.”

His gaze dipped to her lips. He stepped closer, near enough for her to feel his body heat. Near enough so that she suddenly couldn’t catch her breath. “Why would you come to me”—her words came out in a whisper—“after seeing me deliberately injure Mr. Mansfield?”

“I saw what your hands could do. I witnessed your fiery nature. You impress me.”

Why was the room so hot? Perspiration gathered in her armpits. Hanna’s breasts felt sensitive. And exquisitely connected to the place between her legs. Mr. Thomas wasn’t touching her, yet he invaded her body. She felt him in the quickened beat of her heart and the hard rush of her blood.

“I got it from my father!” she blurted out.

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“You asked about my necklace.” She held up the pendant, dangling it between her two fingers, just as a bullfighter waves a red flag in front of a bull. The sky-blue stone sparkled. She’d said the first thing she could think of to break this strange spell between them.

It worked. Mr. Thomas was instantly distracted. “Your father?”

“Yes.”

“It’s an expensive piece.” His eyes fixed on the jewel. “I didn’t realize bonesetters were paid so handsomely. Do you know where he purchased it?”

“Why? Would you like to buy it as a gift for Mrs. Thomas?” It wasn’t her concern. And yet, she wanted to know. Badly.

“There is no Mrs. Thomas,” he answered instantly, reflexively.

Relief filtered through her. “Then why are you interested?”

After a long pause, he said, “Because there is a lady for whom I might wish to buy such a gem.”

Hanna blinked. He might as well have dropped a boulder on her. “I see.” Such an expensive gift suggested he had serious intentions toward the lady. Which made Hanna what exactly? A lowly nobody he wanted to dally with? She felt a rush of shame. Thank goodness she hadn’t allowed the kiss. “That certainly explains your interest.”

He couldn’t take his eyes off the jewel. He seemed transfixed by it. “Do you know where your father purchased the necklace?”

Her voice cooled. “I have no idea.”

“You must have some knowledge about it,” he pressed.

“I assure you that I do not.”

“Your father didn’t say anything about where he got it when he gave it to you?”

She stepped back. “He didn’t exactly give it to me.”

He edged closer. “What do you mean?”

“I found it among my father’s things after he died. I’d never seen it before.”

“When did your father die?”

“Almost three years ago.”

“Three years ago.” He looked beyond her, a contemplative expression on his face. “Did you find anything else of interest?”

“Such as?” She declined to mention the gold ring she’d anonymously returned to its owner a few weeks ago. She hadn’t given the parcel much thought since posting it to some toff in Richmond. But now she wondered. Where had Baba gotten the jewelry? Why had he kept the valuable pieces hidden away? And why was Mr. Thomas so interested?

“Anything at all?” He stood too close. Mr. Thomas didn’t frighten her, but his intensity made her uneasy. “What else did you discover along with the necklace?”

“Nothing.” She squared her shoulders. “You are making me uncomfortable.”

He blinked. “Am I?” That seemed to snap him out of whatever reverie gripped him. He immediately retreated. “I beg your pardon.”

She glanced from the sapphire pendant dangling at her waist up into Mr. Thomas’s soft blue gaze. “I just realized the color of this gemstone perfectly matches your eyes.”

“I noticed that as well.” He paused. “I have my mother’s eyes.”