Page 30 of The Lyon’s Paw

“Forgive, yes. Forget…not a chance.”

She squealed and swatted at his hand. “Wretch.”

“Ribbit.” Geoffrey laughed as he got to his feet.

“Toads croak. Frogs say ribbit.” Diana sat primly, looking up at him with a saucy tilt to her head.

“I’m not certain I can croak, although I will do my best to practice.” He was finding his wife quite charming indeed. “Here, let me help you up.” Bending over he scooped her up in one smooth motion, holding her tightly against his chest.

Immediately his heart began to race, his groin, which had calmed during their rest, tightening once more. At least they were much closer to the house than before. He strode over to Lucifer and put Diana up on the horse’s back. “Ready for the last stretch?”

“I think so.” She winced as she slid her leg over the horse’s neck.

Geoffrey frowned. “Does your ankle hurt worse?”

“Not worse, but it does still hurt.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “I will be fine. Just get me back to the house.”

“Your wish is my command, my lady.” Geoffry gathered the reins and mounted behind her, settling in so they were once more touching intimately. “Hold on.”

Diana grasped Lucifer’s mane in one hand, while her other hand clutched his knee.

She’d not done that before. On the first part of the journey, she’d grasped Lucifer’s mane with both hands. Her touch now made Geoffrey wonder just how strong their truce might become. And whether a white flag of surrender might be somewhere in their near future.

Chapter Thirteen

Sitting up in bed, wearing frilly pink satin bed jacket hastily borrowed from Joanna, Diana gritted her teeth, trying to stifle her moans and groans as Mr. Farley flexed and turned her injured ankle this way and that. The pain was excruciating, but she was determined not to cry out loud if she could help it. She didn’t wish Geoffrey to think she was a weakling. As he’d been hovering just beyond the door, she feared he’d heard a good bit of the ordeal.

Once her husband had deposited her in the bed and gone to send for the doctor, Pettigrew, her maid, had bustled around her, taking off her riding habit and pulling her night rail over her head as efficiently as possible. The physician had arrived in half an hour and was now finishing up his examination, for which she was truly grateful. Mr. Farley had concurred with Geoffrey’s opinion that the ankle was merely sprained not broken.

“We will soak the injured limb in cold water, my lady. Then I’ll rub it with liniment and bandage it.” Mr. Farley stepped to the door. “Can you arrange for a bucket of cold water to be brought up, my lord?”

Diana heard no reply save the thumping of boots racing down the corridor.

The doctor returned quickly. “The cold water will help with the swelling. Then I’ll bandage it tightly and we’ll leave it overnight.” He opened his satchel and removed some strips of white cloth and set them on the end of the bed. “I’ll leave instructions with Cook to make up a poultice to be applied twice a day beginning tomorrow.” As he talked, Mr. Farley withdrew a bottle containing an oily substance. “But the most important thing, my lady, is for you to remain in bed. Do not put weight on it for at least five days. My, that was fast.”

He’d looked up to find a maid running in with a half full bucket of water, pieces of ice floating in it. “Set it down there by that chair, please.”

The servant lugged the pail over to the plush Queen Anne chair in front of the fireplace and set it on the carpet. She then dropped a curtsey, turned, and ran from the room.

Remembering Geoffrey’s effect on the bank clerk, Diana smothered a smile, wondering if her husband had put the fear of God—or himself—into the maid.

“Now, my lady, if you can slide off the bed, I’ll help you over to—”

The door burst open and Geoffrey strode in, his mouth pursed in displeasure. Crossing swiftly to the bed, he grasped Diana and lifted her out of the bed as easily as he might have hoisted a small kitten. “I think this will serve better than having her hobble over to the chair, Farley.”

Diana squeaked in surprise as he plucked her up and deposited her in the chair before she could say a word. He’d become very forceful around her, a turn of events she was beginning to revel in. She’d never had anyone fuss so much over her, and his devoted behavior today was flattering to say the least. Surely such consideration for her welfare indicated a measure of affection for her.

“How long should she soak the ankle, Mr. Farley?” Geoffrey grasped her leg and helped her lower it into the chilly water.

“If she can stand it, have the ankle submerged for a good quarter of an hour at a time.” The tall, thin physician went back to the bed to gather his things and bring them over to the chair.

“That water is very cold.” Diana sucked air through her gritted teeth. The icy liquid seemed to be freezing her flesh. “I don’t know that I can stand it that long.” She made to withdraw her foot, only to have Geoffrey’s hand push it back down into the glacial pail.

“You can and will do it, my lady. We must have you recovered and able to walk by next week.” He met her quizzical stare. “We must return to London then for your fittings with the modiste. You haven’t forgotten about that so quickly, have you, my dear?”

“N…n…no.” Diana’s teeth chattered as the cold seeped into her bones.

“We will be visiting family and friends at Christmas and I very much like the idea of showing off my new wife. And what better way than in the best finery London can provide you with?” The hungry look he sent her then made Diana blush and forget that her foot was a block of ice. “How often should she soak the ankle, Mr. Farley?”