Prince of Ravenscar (Sherbrooke Brides 11)

She took Devlin’s hand. “Do look at his lordship and me, sir. We complete each other. He is an excellent man,

and I am the luckiest of women.”

In an instant of time, Harlan pulled a stiletto out of his sleeve and hurled it at Julian.

Devlin fired.

68

Ravenscar

Roxanne, Corinne, and Devlin stood at the end of Julian’s gigantic bed, one of his ancestors’ beds, mayhap even the very first Duke of Brabante’s bed, as Corinne had endlessly repeated while Dr. Crutchfield, so very ancient and rheumy, worked to save her son’s life.

Sophie sat on the bed beside Julian, watching every move Dr. Crutchfield made. She hated that his old hands shook, but hadn’t he been a doctor for decades? What was a little unsteadiness, since surely he knew what he was doing by now.

Dr. Crutchfield looked at her. “The knife missed his organs, blessed be his famed luck. Ah, he’s stirring, more’s the pity. Hold him down, missy, don’t let him jerk around.”

Devlin stepped forward, but Sophie frowned him away. “I can do it.” She leaned over Julian, her palms flat on his shoulders. She whispered down to him, “You mustn’t move, Prince. Dr. Crutchfield is going to set stitches now in your side. Hold still, all right? Can you understand me?”

Julian was swimming in laudanum and pain from the knife that had sunk deep into his flesh. He didn’t really understand what Sophie said, but he smelled her, a wonderful smell that was surely lessening the pain. He breathed in deeply, felt her smell reach deep inside him. He felt the needle jab into his flesh, but he didn’t move.

He looked up at her face. “I love the way you smell, Sophie.”

She wanted to weep. She leaned close. “You will be able to smell me until the next century, Prince. I’m sorry the pain is so bad.” She leaned down and kissed him. He lurched up, nearly knocking her backward. But she came down over him hard. “No, you can’t move.” Her gentle voice changed abruptly. “Dr. Crutchfield, you will kindly go more easily! Surely you are nearly done?”

He gave her an evil smile. “Don’t let him move again, or I just might jab the needle into his manhood, and surely that would not be a good thing for you.” Left unsaid was You’d best mind your manners, missy.

Julian had the insane desire to laugh, but he didn’t move. “Listen to me, Sophie, this is important. And Devlin, Roxanne, Mother, are you there?”

“We’re all here, dearest,” Corinne said.

“Devlin, if I die, you will see to it Sophie is taken care of. Do you swear it?”

“If you have the nerve to die on me,” Sophie said, her nose nearly touching his, “I will have Devlin bite your neck.”

Julian laughed, and the rip of pain made his jaw lock. He closed his eyes and concentrated on Sophie’s smell. What was it exactly? He didn’t know, he only knew he wanted to breathe her in the rest of his life, he hoped a life that extended beyond this torture.

“Promise me,” he said, teeth gritted.

“Oh, aye, I’ll promise you anything to make you calm,” Devlin said. “I’ll also look after your mother, and don’t forget Pouffer. Now be quiet and let Dr. Crutchfield set his last stitches.”

“Aye, all done now,” Dr. Crutchfield said. “I’m old, Prince, too old for this nonsense. You getting yourself stuck with a knife—it could have struck an organ and done you in. I don’t like it. Avoid villains in the future. Now, this young missy crouching over you like a tigress, I can tell you from experience she needs a firm hand. However, I doubt there is a single part of you that is firm enough to do the job anytime soon, and even then, I’d say it’s questionable.

“Now, let me wash away all your blood, sprinkle basilicum powder on my very fine stitches, and get you bandaged up. Missy, you will see the prince keeps to his bed.”

“I will tie him down, if necessary,” Sophie said.

Julian groaned, wondered if Dr. Crutchfield was right, nothing firm about him, at all. “You are too young to be a shrew.”

She leaned down and kissed him again, stroking her hand over his beloved face.

“I am the queen of shrews, dearest,” Corinne said, from the bottom of the bed. “Even with lessons, Sophie will never gain my stature. But we can try.”

“Thank you, your grace.” Sophie smiled down at Julian, kissed him again, kneeled back on her heels, and laughed.

“Heal yourself, Prince, do you hear me? Then you may be as firm as you like with me.”

“If you only knew,” he said.