Secrets of a Summer Night (17 page)

“It wasn’t that bad earlier,” Annabelle said defensively. “It’s gotten much worse in the past half hour, and—” She yelped in a mixture of pain and alarm as she felt Hunt reach farther beneath her skirts. “What are you doing? Daisy, don’t let him—”

“I’m removing your stocking,” Hunt said. “And I would advise Miss Bowman not to interfere.”

Frowning at him, Daisy came to Annabelle’s side. “I would advise
you
to proceed with caution, Mr. Hunt,” she said smartly. “I am not going to stand by passively while you molest my friend.”

Hunt sent her a glance of scalding mockery, while he found the ridge of Annabelle’s garter and unfastened it deftly. “Miss Bowman, in a few minutes we’re going to be overrun with visitors, including Mrs. Peyton, Lord Westcliff, and your
hard-headed sister, followed soon thereafter by the doctor. Even I, seasoned ravisher that I am, require more time than that to molest someone.” His expression changed as Annabelle gasped in pain at his gentle touch. Deftly he unrolled her stocking, his fingertips feather-light, but her skin was so sensitive that even the softest stroke caused an unbearable sting. “Hold still, sweetheart,” he murmured, drawing the length of silk from her flinching leg.

Biting her lip, Annabelle watched as his dark head bent over her ankle. He turned it carefully, taking care not to touch her more than necessary. Then he went still, his dark head bent over her leg. “Just as I thought.”

Leaning forward, Daisy looked at the place on her ankle that Hunt indicated. “What are those little marks?”

“Adder bite,” Hunt said tersely. He rolled up his shirtsleeves, exposing muscular forearms covered with dark hair.

The two girls glanced at him in shock. “I’ve been bitten by a
snake
?” Annabelle asked dazedly. “But how? When? That can’t be true. I would have felt something… wouldn’t I?”

Hunt reached inside the pocket of the coat that was still wrapped around her, searching for something. “Sometimes people don’t notice the moment they’re bitten. The Hampshire woods are full of adders at this time of year. It probably happened during your outing this afternoon.” Finding what he sought, he extracted a small folding knife and flipped it open.

Annabelle’s eyes widened with alarm. “What are you doing?”

Picking up her stocking, Hunt severed it neatly in two. “Making a tourniquet.”

“D-do you always carry one of those with you?” She had always thought of him as somewhat piratical, and now seeing him in his shirtsleeves with a knife in hand, the image was strongly reinforced.

Sitting beside her outstretched leg, Hunt smoothed her skirts up to her knee and fastened a length of silk above her ankle. “Nearly always,” he said wryly, concentrating on his handiwork. “Being a butcher’s son consigns me to a lifelong fascination with knives.”

“I never thought—” Annabelle stopped and gasped in pain at the soft cinch of silk.

Hunt’s gaze shot to hers, and there was a new tautness in his face. “I’m sorry,” he said, carefully looping the other half of the stocking beneath her injury. He talked to distract her while he tightened the second tourniquet. “This is what comes of wearing those damned flimsy slippers outside. You must have walked right over an adder who was sunning himself… and when he saw one of those pretty little ankles, he decided to take a nibble.” He paused, and said something beneath his breath that sounded like, “I can’t say that I blame him.”

Her leg pulsed and burned, causing a watery sting of response in her eyes. Fighting the mortifying threat of tears, Annabelle dug her fingers into the thick, brocaded counterpane beneath her. “Why has my ankle only started to hurt this badly now if I was bitten earlier in the day?”

“It can take several hours for the effects to set in.” Hunt glanced at Daisy. “Miss Bowman, ring the servants’ bell — tell them that we need some clivers steeped in boiling water. Immediately.”

“What are clivers?” Daisy asked suspiciously.

“A hedgerow weed. The housekeeper has kept a dried bundle of them in her closet ever since the master gardener was bitten last year.”

Daisy rushed to comply, leaving the two of them temporarily alone.

“What happened to the gardener?” Annabelle asked through chattering teeth. She was overcome with continuous shivers, as if she had been immersed in ice water. “Did he die?”

Hunt’s expression did not change, but she sensed that her question had startled him. “No,” he said gently, drawing closer. “No, sweetheart…” Taking her trembling hand in his, he warmed her fingers in a gentle grip. “Hampshire adders don’t produce enough venom to kill anything larger than a cat, or a very small dog.” His gaze was caressing as he continued. “You’ll be fine. Uncomfortable as hell for the next few days, but after that you’ll be back to normal.”

“You’re not trying to be kind, are you?” she asked anxiously.

Bending over her, Hunt stroked back a few tendrils of hair that had stuck to her sweat-shimmered forehead. Despite the size of his hand, his touch was light and tender. “I never lie for the sake of kindness,” he murmured, smiling. “One of my many flaws.”

Having given instructions to a footman, Daisy hastened back to the bedside. Although she raised her slender dark brows at the sight of Hunt leaning over Annabelle, she forbore to comment. Instead, she asked, “Shouldn’t we cut across the puncture wounds to let the poison out?”

Annabelle sent her a warning glance and croaked, “Don’t give him ideas, Daisy!”

Hunt looked up briefly as he replied. “Not for an adder bite.” His eyes narrowed as he returned his attention to Annabelle, noting that her breathing was rapid and shallow. “Is it difficult to breathe?”

Annabelle nodded, struggling to pull air into lungs that seemed to have shrunk to a third of their usual size. It felt as if bands were drawing more tightly around her chest with every breath she took, until her ribs threatened to crack from the pressure.

Hunt touched her face softly, his thumb passing over the dry surface of her lips. “Open your mouth.” Looking beyond her parted lips, he observed, “Your tongue isn’t swelling — you’ll be fine. Your corset has to come off, however. Turn over.”

Before Annabelle could form a reply, Daisy protested indignantly. “
I’ll
help Annabelle with her corset. Leave the room, please.”

“I’ve seen a woman’s corset before,” he informed her sarcastically.

Daisy rolled her eyes. “Don’t be deliberately obtuse, Mr. Hunt. Obviously
you’re
not the one I’m worried about. Men don’t remove young ladies’ corsets for any reason, unless the circumstances are life-threatening — which you have just assured us that they are not.”

Hunt regarded her with a long-suffering expression. “Dammit, woman—”

“Swear all you like,” Daisy said implacably. “My older sister could outcurse you ten times over.” She drew herself up to her full height, though at five feet and one debatable inch, the effect was hardly impressive. “Miss Peyton’s corset stays on until you leave the room.”

Hunt glanced down at Annabelle, who suddenly craved air too badly to care who removed her corset, so long as it was done. “For God’s sake,” he said impatiently, and strode to the window, turning his back to them. “I’m not looking.
Do it.
”

Seeming to realize that it was the only concession he was prepared to make, Daisy obeyed hurriedly. She eased the coat away from Annabelle’s stiff body. “I’ll untie the laces in the back and slip it off beneath your gown,” she murmured to Annabelle. “That way you’ll remain decently covered.”

Annabelle couldn’t summon sufficient breath to tell her that any concerns she might have had about modesty had paled in comparison to the far more immediate problem of not being able to breathe. Wheezing harshly, she turned to her side and felt Daisy’s fingers plucking at the slippery back of her ball gown. Her lungs spasmed in their frustrated attempts to pull in precious air. Letting out an anxious moan, she began to pant desperately.

Daisy let out a few choice curses. “Mr. Hunt, I’m afraid I must borrow your knife — the corset strings are knotted, and I can’t —
oof!
” The last exclamation came as Hunt strode to the bed, shoved her unceremoniously aside, and set to work on the corset himself. A few judicious applications of his knife, and suddenly the obstinate garment released its punishing clasp around Annabelle’s ribs.

She felt him tug the boned garment away from her body, leaving only the thin veil of her chemise between his gaze and her bare skin. In Annabelle’s current condition, the exposure was of little concern. However, she knew in the back of her mind that she would later die of embarrassment.

Turning Annabelle to her back as easily if she were a rag doll, Hunt bent over her. “Don’t try so hard, sweetheart.” His hand flattened over the upper reach of her chest. Holding her frightened gaze intently, he rubbed in a soothing circle. “Slowly. Just relax.”

Staring into the compelling dark glitter of his eyes, Annabelle tried to obey, but her throat clenched around every wheezing breath. She was going to die of suffocation, right there and then.

He wouldn’t let her look away from him. “You’ll be all right. Let your breath ease in and out. Slowly. That’s it. Yes.” Somehow the gentle weight of his hand on her chest seemed to help her, as if he had the power to will her lungs back to their normal rhythm. “You’re going through the worst of it right now,” he said.

“Oh, lovely,” she tried to say in acerbic response, but the effort made her choke and hiccup.

“Don’t try to talk — just breathe. Another long, slow one… another. Good girl.”

As Annabelle gradually recovered her breath, the panic began to fade. He was right… it was easier if she didn’t struggle. The sound of her fitful gasping was underlaid by the mesmerizing softness of his voice. “That’s right,” he murmured. “That’s the way of it.” His hand continued to move in a slow, easy rotation over her chest. There was nothing sexual in his touch — in fact, she might have been a child he was trying to soothe. Annabelle was amazed. Who would have ever dreamed that Simon Hunt could be so kind?

Filled with equal parts of confusion and gratitude, Annabelle fumbled for the large hand that moved so gently on her chest. She was so feeble that the gesture required all her strength. Assuming that she was trying to push him away, Hunt began to withdraw, but as he felt her fingers curl around two of his, he went very still.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

The touch made Hunt tense visibly, as if the contact had sent a shock through his body. He stared not at her face but at the delicate fingers entwined with his, in the manner of a man who was trying to solve a complex puzzle. Remaining motionless, he prolonged the moment, his lashes lowering to conceal his expression.

Annabelle used her tongue to moisten her dry lips, discovering that she still couldn’t feel them. “My face is numb,” she said scratchily, letting go of his hand.

Hunt looked up with the wry smile of a man who had just discovered something unexpected about himself. “The clivers will help.” He touched the side of her throat, his thumb gliding along the edge of her jaw in a gesture that could only be characterized as a caress. “Which reminds me—” He glanced over his shoulder as if just remembering that Daisy was in the room. “Miss Bowman, has that damned footman brought—”

“It’s here,” the dark-haired girl said, coming from the doorway with a tray that had just been brought up. Apparently they had both been too absorbed in each other to notice the servant’s knock. “The housekeeper sent up the clivers tea, which smells ghastly, and there’s also a little bottle that the footman said was ‘tincture of nettle.’ And it seems the doctor has just arrived and will be coming upstairs any minute — which means that you must leave, Mr. Hunt.”

His jaw hardened. “Not yet.”

“
Now
,” Daisy said urgently. “At least wait outside the door. For Annabelle’s sake. She’ll be ruined if you’re seen in here.”

Scowling, Hunt looked down at Annabelle. “Do you want me to go?”

She didn’t, actually. In fact, she had an irrational desire to beg him to stay. Oh, what a bewildering turn of events, that she should so desire the company of a man she detested! But the past few minutes had somehow wrought a fragile connection between them, and she found herself in the odd predicament of being unable to say “yes” or “no.” “I’ll keep breathing,” she finally whispered. “You probably should leave.”

Hunt nodded. “I’ll wait in the hallway,” he said gruffly, standing from the bed. Motioning Daisy forward with the tray, he continued to stare at Annabelle. “Drink the clivers, no matter how it tastes. Or I’ll come back in here and pour it down your throat.” Retrieving his coat, he left the room.

Sighing with relief, Daisy set the tray at the bedside table. “Thank God,” she said. “I wasn’t certain how I was going to make him go, if he refused. Here… let me lift you a bit higher, and I’ll push another pillow behind you.” The girl elevated her deftly, demonstrating surprising competence. Taking up a huge earthenware mug filled with steaming contents, Daisy pressed the edge against her lips. “Have some of this, dear.”

Annabelle swallowed the bitter brown liquid and recoiled. “
Ugh
—”

“More,” Daisy said inexorably, lifting it to her mouth.

Annabelle drank again. Her face was so numb that she wasn’t aware that some of the medicine had drib-bled from her lips until Daisy picked up a napkin from the tray and blotted her chin. Cautiously Annabelle lifted exploratory fingertips to the frozen skin of her face. “Feels so odd,” she said, her voice slurred. “No sensation in my mouth. Daisy… don’t say that I was drooling while Mr. Hunt was here?”

“Of course not,” Daisy said immediately. “I would have done something about it if you had been. A true friend doesn’t let another friend drool when a man is present. Even if it’s a man that one doesn’t wish to attract.”

Relieved, Annabelle applied herself to downing more of the clivers, which tasted rather like burned coffee. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but she was beginning to feel the tiniest bit better.

“Lillian must have had a devil of a time finding your mother,” Daisy commented. “I can’t imagine what has taken them so long.” She drew back a little to look at Annabelle, her brown eyes sparkling richly. “I’m actually glad, though. If they had come quickly, I would have missed seeing Mr. Hunt’s transformation from a big bad wolf into… well… a somewhat nicer wolf.”