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Authors: Kelly Bowen
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felt a twinge of irritation. He had never taken kindly to individuals who presumed to give him orders in his surgery, whether it be on a ship or within the confines of a blood-spattered field tent. Even if his assistant was the most unlikely of assistants, she was still his. At least for the moment.
“You are not in a position to forbid anything, Miss Yates,” he said softly, leveling a look that he’d used countless times when dealing with officers who insisted their minor injuries be tended to before those of the mortally wounded men who had fallen under their leadership. “Not while this man lies bleeding on my table. I need Lady Viola, and that is the end of the discussion. Unless you’d like to collect the fingers that are on the floor and see to their disposal, I do not need your aid. I will return Lady Viola to your care as soon as her duties here are completed.”
The purple washed from the chaperone’s face, leaving behind a chalky gray hue. She opened her mouth and closed it again, and her eyes bulged.
Miss Yates released her grip on the door and tottered away.
Nate suppressed a spiteful smirk. He’d always enjoyed seeing the backsides of officers in much the same manner.
“Thank you,” Viola said into the silence.
He turned and regarded her. “Don’t thank me yet. You might regret this later tonight when she locks you in your cabin for the rest of the voyage to save you from any more naked chests.”
“I’ll never regret it.” Her jaw was set.
He found himself smiling at her. “Good.” He paused. “You told me once that you could do this. Is that still your claim?”
“Yes.” There was nothing but resolute determination stamped across her beautiful features.
He felt something in his chest squeeze. This was the woman that he would have with him. The woman he would want by his side as he ventured forth into the unknown, armed with her wits and her determination.
And if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.
“Come then. Let me show you what to do.”
Chapter 5
T he tirade started with a threat to lock her in her cabin for the remainder of the voyage.
When Viola had returned from the surgery, leaving Robbie resting peacefully, Bart and the Post had dragged her into their cabin, and she’d been subjected to a lecture regarding the impropriety of her being in Mr. Shaw’s company, in the presence of a half-naked man she did not know, the unacceptable tasks that she had undertaken at Mr. Shaw’s request—namely those involving suturing and blood—her unwillingness to answer to and obey Bart, and last but not least, the unforgivable sin of ruining her blue gown.
How, Bart demanded, was she going to explain to the Earl of Boden the bloodstains across the bodice and skirts of his sister’s gown? Idly, Viola wondered how her brother would ever know, or why he would ever care about a blue dress he would never see.
Because it really didn’t matter.
It was a dress. That could be washed. Or replaced, if necessary. Though with some amazement, she found that she really didn’t care.
What she cared about was what she had done that afternoon. Nate had done the bulk of the work, but he had explained everything that he was doing as he treated Robbie’s hand, trying his best to make sure that man would have use of it once it was healed. He hadn’t treated her like a child or like a delicate creature who could not comprehend what he was speaking of. He encouraged her to ask questions, and gave her detailed answers when she did.
And then, under his careful and steady guidance, he had allowed her to perform the last sutures.
It wasn’t much, but to Viola, that opportunity had been like nothing she had ever experienced. Someone had needed her. Someone had trusted her. Someone had believed in her, given her a purpose, and it was for a far greater cause than anything she had ever imagined. She had helped do something truly important. Something that would make a difference—a real
“You are not in a position to forbid anything, Miss Yates,” he said softly, leveling a look that he’d used countless times when dealing with officers who insisted their minor injuries be tended to before those of the mortally wounded men who had fallen under their leadership. “Not while this man lies bleeding on my table. I need Lady Viola, and that is the end of the discussion. Unless you’d like to collect the fingers that are on the floor and see to their disposal, I do not need your aid. I will return Lady Viola to your care as soon as her duties here are completed.”
The purple washed from the chaperone’s face, leaving behind a chalky gray hue. She opened her mouth and closed it again, and her eyes bulged.
Miss Yates released her grip on the door and tottered away.
Nate suppressed a spiteful smirk. He’d always enjoyed seeing the backsides of officers in much the same manner.
“Thank you,” Viola said into the silence.
He turned and regarded her. “Don’t thank me yet. You might regret this later tonight when she locks you in your cabin for the rest of the voyage to save you from any more naked chests.”
“I’ll never regret it.” Her jaw was set.
He found himself smiling at her. “Good.” He paused. “You told me once that you could do this. Is that still your claim?”
“Yes.” There was nothing but resolute determination stamped across her beautiful features.
He felt something in his chest squeeze. This was the woman that he would have with him. The woman he would want by his side as he ventured forth into the unknown, armed with her wits and her determination.
And if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.
“Come then. Let me show you what to do.”
Chapter 5
T he tirade started with a threat to lock her in her cabin for the remainder of the voyage.
When Viola had returned from the surgery, leaving Robbie resting peacefully, Bart and the Post had dragged her into their cabin, and she’d been subjected to a lecture regarding the impropriety of her being in Mr. Shaw’s company, in the presence of a half-naked man she did not know, the unacceptable tasks that she had undertaken at Mr. Shaw’s request—namely those involving suturing and blood—her unwillingness to answer to and obey Bart, and last but not least, the unforgivable sin of ruining her blue gown.
How, Bart demanded, was she going to explain to the Earl of Boden the bloodstains across the bodice and skirts of his sister’s gown? Idly, Viola wondered how her brother would ever know, or why he would ever care about a blue dress he would never see.
Because it really didn’t matter.
It was a dress. That could be washed. Or replaced, if necessary. Though with some amazement, she found that she really didn’t care.
What she cared about was what she had done that afternoon. Nate had done the bulk of the work, but he had explained everything that he was doing as he treated Robbie’s hand, trying his best to make sure that man would have use of it once it was healed. He hadn’t treated her like a child or like a delicate creature who could not comprehend what he was speaking of. He encouraged her to ask questions, and gave her detailed answers when she did.
And then, under his careful and steady guidance, he had allowed her to perform the last sutures.
It wasn’t much, but to Viola, that opportunity had been like nothing she had ever experienced. Someone had needed her. Someone had trusted her. Someone had believed in her, given her a purpose, and it was for a far greater cause than anything she had ever imagined. She had helped do something truly important. Something that would make a difference—a real
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