Page 2 of Better Not Bet a Bluestocking (Ladies of Opportunity #3)

Still on the Fernleigh House grounds

An indeterminable number of agonizing seconds later

Robyn tried to keep from bouncing Georgine too much as he raced toward the house, shouting orders.

“ Someone , go for the doctor.

“ Also , the constable.

“ We need hot water and linens for bandages.

“ What are you waiting for?”

Servants scrambled to do his bidding.

He glanced over his shoulder, never breaking his rapid pace.

“ Matilda , which chamber?”

His sister flew to his side. “ The rose bedchamber, I think.”

Yes , a good choice.

It had the most natural light—better for the physician to remove the ball.

Robyn’s gut clenched merely thinking about the dangerous and painful procedure.

As he charged across the garden path, he fought clawing panic and another unnamed, but powerful emotion that crushed his ribs in a vice-like grip and tightened his throat to the point of choking.

He dropped his attention to the feminine bundle clenched in his arms as he raced into the house.

There’s so much blood .

Sweet Georgine’s blood.

Ashen , her mouth slightly parted, and her sable eyelashes fanning her white cheeks, for an instant, he thought she had died in his arms.

No , God , no.

Georgine cannot die.

She cannot .

Then her chest rose in a shallow breath, and such blessed relief thrummed through him that hot moisture stung his eyes.

Thank God .

Matilda flew up the stairs ahead of him and, boots pounding, Robyn bolted after his sister.

Once inside the pretty but dated bedchamber, Matilda yanked the coverlet back before flying to open the floral draperies.

The drapes and bedcovers, in mellowed shades of crimson and green upon an ivory background, retained their richness despite three decades of careful use, their pattern a little old-fashioned but still genteel.

His heart aching, Robyn tenderly laid Georgine upon the rosewood four-poster bed.

Moaning softly, she moved her head back and forth, as if trying to escape the torturous pain.

“ Here , Robyn .” Matilda unceremoniously thrust a towel she had snatched from the nightstand at him. “ To staunch the bleeding.”

Robyn swiftly folded the linen and pressed it to the oozing wound.

She must stop bleeding.

“ I’ll fetch a nightgown.” She dashed out of the chamber before he could respond.

Where was the bloody doctor?

The servants with the bandages and hot water?

Georgine moaned again.

Her pain nearly eviscerated him.

Stupid fool .

He had disregarded his growing feelings toward her for years, firmly believing she wouldn’t be receptive to his fond esteem. That was all he allowed himself to call his affection, for acknowledging the sentiment was something more, made him vulnerable.

Besides , he rather enjoyed their verbal sparring and matching wits with her. She possessed a keen intellect and an uncommon strategic logic. But now that she lay bleeding, possibly fighting for her life, he could only castigate himself for being a coward and an idiot.

Dolt .

Bufflehead .

Lackbrain .

“ You cannot die, Georgine . I shan’t let you.”

Bending nearer, Robyn dared to press his lips to her clammy forehead. Not a romantic first kiss, for certain.

His voice, a harsh rasp, he choked, “ I cannot imagine a world without you in it.”

Never had truer words been uttered.

A moment later, his sister, carrying a nightgown and chemise, a maid bearing a stack of linens—no doubt to use as bandages, a footman lugging two buckets of hot water, and Doctor Thaddeus Tinsdale clasping his black leather physician’s bag, piled into the bedchamber.

At once, the doctor expertly assessed the situation and took immediate control. Without preamble or an apology, he shoved Robyn aside to examine Georgine’s wound. “ Everyone out. Except Miss Fitzlloyd . You can help me undress the patient.”

“ Her name is Georgine Thackerly .” Robyn took a few reluctant steps backward.

Never had he felt so utterly helpless or inadequate.

The doctor sent him a hard sideways look. “ Make yourself useful. Go to the kitchen and have the cook prepare bone broth and yarrow root tea. And we’ll need more hot water.” He looked beneath the blood-soaked towel. “ A lot more.”

Robyn nodded.

“ Is she…?” Unable to tear his gaze from Georgine , he cleared his throat. “ Is she going to be all right, Doctor ?”

Matilda raised her head and, her clear blue eyes narrowed, gave him a speculative glance, as if she had suddenly guessed his secret.

“ This is a very grave injury, Mr . Fitzlloyd .” Without looking in Robyn’s direction again, the doctor muttered, “ I hope to save her arm, but in truth, only time will tell.”

Robyn scarcely remembered leaving the bedchamber and making his way to the kitchen to speak to Mrs . Fennick and convey the physician’s orders. Afterward , he wandered into his study. He plopped onto a leather wingback chair and stared morosely at the unlit fireplace.

Resting his head against the chair’s back, he peered at the ceiling.

Georgine lay up there, suffering only God knew what.

He firmed his mouth in resolution.

If Georgine recovered—no, when she was well—he meant to explore these conflicting feelings for the spirited bluestocking.

Even if the outcome wasn’t to his liking.