A Season for Scandal by Golden Angel
Chapter 22
Josie
Pacing back and forth across her room, Josie muttered deprecations under her breath. The hour grew later and later, and simultaneously, she grew more worried and angrier. Where the devil was her husband?
Uncle Oliver had been unconcerned at Elijah’s absence before he turned in for the night, Adam was out gallivanting, and Joseph was who knows where, and she truly did not care. If Uncle Oliver were still awake, he might have been more concerned now that it was half-past three, and Elijah was still nowhere in sight. Or perhaps he would assume Elijah was off with another woman.
Josie was sure he would not do that. He had agreed it was to be the two of them working together.
Hadn’t he?
Or was she the only one who had taken their discussion at Lady Greywood’s to mean that? Josie’s frown deepened. They would definitely be having another discussion when he finally deigned to appear.
Her head tilted to the side. Was that a noise next door? In Elijah’s room?
She rushed to the adjoining door, not bothering to press her ear against it, and jerked it open. If no one was there, then no one to see her making a fool of herself.
She had not been wrong—he had returned. The carefully prepared lecture she’d formulated in her mind during her long wait flew out of her head when she got a good look at his bloodied torso and arms. His white shirt, hanging from his waist, was stained with blood, and the red was streaked across his skin as well. She shrieked and launched herself toward him, hands out in front of her. She drew back at the last moment, not quite touching him as her eyes darted over his body, looking for injuries.
“What happened?!” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded impossibly shrill, making Elijah wince.
“Hush.” For once, Josie did not take offense at his admonition because it was not said with authority but rather like a little boy trying not to draw attention to himself. They had their own wing of the house, but he had not called any of the servants to him or gone to his father or brothers for help. He had snuck into his room and was trying to tend to his wounds himself.
The twit.
Pressing her lips together, Josie shook her head at him as he ineffectually dabbed the injury on his side with a damp cloth. The water in the wash bin next to him was already tinged pink with his blood.
“You need a doctor.” She took the cloth from him and rubbed it over the wound, making him hiss. Looking at the laceration, she made a face. “Though it is not too deep, a stitch or two would not go amiss.” Silence met her words, and she glanced up to look at him. He was staring down at her with an expression she had never seen on his face.
“A stitch or two?” He echoed her words as if he could not believe he had heard them.
“Yes.” She looked down again and lifted the cloth, bending her head to look even closer. The bleeding had slowed substantially. She glanced at the other wounds she could see, but they had already stopped bleeding and looked far more shallow. “If you insist on not calling the doctor, I can do it myself, but I should warn you, it has been a while. The others appear to only need a bandage.”
“It has been a while?” He sounded half-strangled, and Josie looked up at him in concern as he repeated her words for a second time.
“Yes. Did you take a blow to the head as well?” Straightening up, she went onto her tiptoes, trying to see.
Elijah
The moment was utterly surreal. Dressed in a lacy pink nightrail and wrapper, Josie was on her tiptoes, trying to see his head after she had just closely inspected his wound. Not only that, but she seemed completely confident in her ability to stitch his wounds when the entirety of Derbyshire knew of her disdain for needlework. Josie was not the type to sit about embroidering if she could help it. Yet she thought to stitch his wound? Plus, her assessment of his injuries matched his, which was even more startling.
“Since when do you stitch anything?” he asked, almost affronted he had not known that about her.
“Stitching cloth is boring. Bend your head down, so I can see if you have any injury.” The brisk way she was bossing him around made him feel this was not the first time she had tended someone’s wounds. But when the devil had she done it?
“My head is fine.” He brushed off her hands, taking back the cloth from her at the same time. Josie put her hands on her hips, scowling up at him. “I am wondering who taught you to stitch flesh when you are so well known for your abysmal needlework.”
“Evie, of course.”
“Evie?!”
“If all you are going to do is repeat what I say, you might as well keep your mouth shut and let me work.” She snatched the cloth from him and hung it on the side of the washbasin, then picked up a dry one and pressed it to his wound. The amount of pressure she put on it was surprising with its force.
Elijah tried not to scowl. It was not her fault his cousin was a hellion who had had to learn lessons he would rather not think of. After the death of his aunt and uncle, Evie’s parents, she had disappeared into the streets of London. It had been mere chance of fate that had allowed his father to find her again, years later, and by then, she had changed so much from the sweet, well-loved little girl she had been. She’d had to in order to survive.
He did not like to think about that time or how they had all grieved, worried, and searched. What they had gone through could not compare to what Evie had, and he did not like to think of that, either. It was also annoying to discover his cousin had more skills she had neglected to share with her family.
She was like a magpie, except instead of hoarding shiny objects—though she did that too, come to think of it—she hoarded facts about herself, especially about the time she spent on the streets.
“I did not know Evie had such skills, either,” he grumbled. Josie laughed lightly, lifting the pad of cloth slightly to peek under it again.
“Well, we did do our best to keep you out of things,” she said teasingly. “After all, you would have stopped us if you had known half of what we got up to.”
Groaning, Elijah covered his eyes with one hand. “I do not want to know.”
“No, you probably do not. Now, am I stitching this or not?”
“Yes, please.” He was too curious to deny her, and she was correct. A stitch or two would help it heal better and faster. He did not want to call in the doctor, or else the servants would tell his father. Then his father would want to know what happened, and Elijah would have to admit he’d gone into the Warrens without his ‘guards.’
The fact he had a better chance of finding out more on his own than with two more lords at his side would not sway his father’s anger nor make up for the breach of trust. The only reason his father did not worry was he was sure Elijah would never do something so stupid. Now, he was paying the price, and he did not want his father to know.
Watching Josie work was almost hypnotic, especially since he was now wildly curious about this previously unknown skill of hers. By the time she was done, his wounds were cleaned, the two stitches were in place, the throbbing was painful but tolerable, and he was even more impressed with her skills.
“There.” She stepped back and crossed her arms, raising her eyebrows. Sitting shirtless on the side of his bed, Elijah felt caught out, like a naughty schoolboy whose misdeeds had been discovered. “Now you can tell me where on earth you have been and what happened. If you do not, I will tell Uncle Oliver all about your injuries.”
Bloody hell. Elijah scowled before he could halt the reaction, revealing how effective her threat was. Fortunately, he had had some time to think about how he would explain his injuries while she was patching him up. She had been so focused, she had not asked until now. Before he returned home, he had thought he would need to avoid her bed until he was healed, so at least that was no longer an issue, but he had known he would have to tell her something.
“Footpads. I was deep in thought and not paying attention to where I was going.”
“And where were you going?” She scowled at him, a hint of jealousy in her expression, and Elijah realized she thought he might have gone to see another woman.
“Nowhere,” he said hastily, not wanting to spark her ire.
Knowing how he felt when it came to her and Joseph, he would not wish that upon her. It would not help his cause if he ever had a hope of winning her over. Josie had already spent years trying to get Joseph’s attention, only to have him fall in love with another woman. Elijah meant to be a contrast to that, especially after her reaction to his attendance at the Society of Sin.
“After my dinner at White’s, I went for a walk. Sometimes, I need to walk and wander to gather my thoughts.” That actually was true, though he had not had the opportunity to do it much of late.
“Could you not have at least told me where you were going? Or that you would be out walking and not to worry?” Uncrossing her arms, she put her hands on her hips, scolding him as if he was a small boy.
Frowning, Elijah got to his feet, so she was no longer able to look down at him—rather the other way around—but she did not take even a small step back. Her ferocious scowl might have been intimidating to some. The pain from his wounds had subsided, but they were still throbbing, making him a bit testier than he might have been.
“I apologize, but you must remember I am used to being on my own, without a keeper.”
“And you must remember you have a wife now,” she snapped, narrowing her eyes, anger flashing in them. Her chin tilted up. “And clearly, I have reason to worry.”
“This has never happened before.” Hell, he was the careful one. Josie was the one always getting into scrapes. “I am fine, and I can prove it to you.”
Reaching out, he caught her around the waist and pulled her flush against him, eliciting a gasp from her lips. Her robe and nightrail were gossamer thin between them, and she squished very nicely against his harder body, which hardened even more at the contact. His blood was already racing, heated from the dangers of this evening and Josie’s presence. Her eyes widening as her head tipped back to stare up at him, she smacked his chest, aghast.
“I do not want to do… that! I am angry with you! And you are injured!”
“Trust me, I am not injured enough to stop me from wanting to do this.” Leaning down, he caught her lips. He thought she would pull away, but after a moment’s hesitation, she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him fiercely with all the pent-up frustration and anger she had accumulated.
