Before she knew what to do, she heard a tap on the glass.
She quickly stashed away all the letters and closed the casket, stuffing it under her desk for good measure. Then she rushed to the door.
But it wasn’t Raven standing in the cold December drizzle.
“Duncan!” she said, stunned and out of breath. “What are you doing here so late? And why have you come to the conservatory door?”
Her cousin shifted from one foot to the other and dragged off his hat, worrying the brim in clumsy folds. “Because he told me not to come . . . but, if I was going to ignore him and come anyway, that I should come to the conservatory. So here I am.”
“Whyever would Raven tell you not to come?”
“Doesn’t want you to worry. Said he’d be just fine. It’s only a little blood, that’s all.”
Jane went cold all over. “Duncan, you have to take me to him.”
Her cousin nodded and sighed with relief. “That’s just what I told him you’d say.”
Grabbing her reticule and the shawl from the chaise longue, she blew out the lamp and followed her cousin into the bitter night.
* * *
When she arrived at Raven’s house, Duncan took her in through the back. In the kitchen, she encountered a rheumy-eyed old woman with hunched shoulders and a cackling laugh, who chided Duncan for not listening to the randy gent.
Knowing that Raven was opposed to people in his house, Jane was obligated to ask, “And who are you?”
“Me name’s Bess,” she said with a proud sniff. “And I’m ’is cook, I am. Got a kettle on the boil and everythin’.”
Not wanting to waste time arguing the fact that Raven would have told her if he’d hired a cook, Jane walked out of the kitchen toward the upstairs. She paused only long enough to call over her shoulder, “Bring the kettle when it’s ready.”
When she found Raven in his bedchamber, her heart dropped to the floor.
He was sitting in his chair with his feet propped up on the hearth and a wide, bloody strip of silk tied around his shoulder—a cravat. Dangling from his uninjured arm, he loosely held a bottle of whisky by two fingers.
“Bollocks,” he cursed after a look over his bare shoulder. “I told Pickerington not to tell you.”
“And you knew he would, regardless, which essentially says you wanted me here.” She bustled over and leaned down to press a kiss to his lips. Lingering, she felt the sting of tears at the corners of her eyes. “Tell me what happened, so I know who to murder.”
“You wouldn’t do that. I know you too well, Jane. You’d likely teach them a more effective way to wield a knife and inform them of its metallurgical properties.” He chuckled, but hissed as she peeled back the makeshift bandage.
The ghastly sight stole her breath. A trio of slices were gouged deep into the flesh, the wounds glistening bright red.
She swallowed down her gasp. “They did well enough on their own, I’d say.”
“Fear not, professor. They left all the anatomical parts you like best.”
“This isn’t a time for jesting,” she scolded, her throat dry. Tears were stinging her eyes now and she turned away quickly.
At the bedside table, she lit the rat de cave and every taper she could find in the drawer, then set them along the edge of the mantel. “Someone has severely cut into your arm. I’m going to have to stitch you up. It’s fortunate that I always carry a needle and thread. And I met your new cook, apparently. She’ll be bringing up the kettle with boiling water shortly.”
“That’d be Bess,” he said, tipping back the bottle for another swig. “She saved my life tonight.”
“Then I love her already.”
He eyed her warmly. “You throw that word around quite a lot these days.”
“Only when I mean it.”
No sooner had the words left her lips than she found herself ensnared by the waist, toppled onto his lap, and pulled to his lips for a demanding kiss that stole every sip of air from her lungs.
“None o’ that now,” came that gravelly cackle from the doorway as Bess strolled in. “He fought a good fight and gave them back plenty of their own, he did. But he’s weak as a wee lamb now. I had to finish off those two buggers with me basket o’ posies. Only most people don’t know that I keep rocks in there. Big ’uns, too. That makes it too heavy so no one will filch it, see?”
“Bess, I don’t know how to thank you,” Jane said.
“Aw. T’weren’t nothin’. He saved my life more times than not by giving me enough coin for a place to sleep and a hot meal. And now, he’s given me a post. I’m a respectable cook again, I am, with a cozy room belowstairs. It’s all I ever wanted.” Then she glanced at his cut shoulder and cringed, gulping audibly. “But I’m a bit squeamish when it comes to bloody hunks of meat, so I’d best be headin’ on back down the stairs. Need to check on that big lad, make sure he’s cleanin’ out the cupboards instead of the larder. Though, he deserves to eat his fill from tottering out of the mews like he did, just at the right time. Why, he even sent his light-o-love away, so that he could help the randy gent into a carriage.”
As Bess left the room, Jane fished out the supplies she needed from her reticule. Unfortunately, some of her vinaigrette concoction had spilled and the spirit of hartshorn left a powdery substance on her needle and thread. Therefore, she decided to drop those in the basin and pour boiling water over them. Not knowing how long it had been since he laundered his linens, she tore strips from her clean petticoat to serve as bandages.
“It’d be easier to do that if you removed your dress first,” he added helpfully, taking another swig.
She took the bottle out of his hand. “I need to use some of this for before and after. Now brace yourself.”
And while she had the courage, she bent down and quickly doused his wound.
He howled a curse up to the ceiling, nearly shooting out of the chair. “Damn it all, Jane. Give a man some warning.”
“I did,” she rasped, her nerves getting the better of her.
“Perhaps a little more than a second, next time.”
She nodded and took a swig herself, choking on the burn. Then she handed it back to him, while she readied the needle and thread. “It’s a shame Ellie isn’t here. She would stitch a lovely design on your flesh. And it’s a shame, too, that I didn’t get a thimble in your cake.”
“Jane,” he said quietly, holding out his hand. “Come here.”
She did and he pulled her onto his lap again, nuzzling her nose, breathing in deeply.
“Just so you know, I only want your needlework on my body,” he teased, soothing her trembles with gentle sweeps along her nape and spine. “And I want you to stay right here, close to me, hmm?”
She nodded. Even though she wasn’t entirely steady, being near him made her feel better than before.
Expelling a deep breath, she surveyed his wounds. She chose the largest cut first. Knowing that he needed her strength and not her tears, she summoned the objectivity of her inner scientist to help her through the task.
Then she applied the needle to his flesh.
Raven took another swig. Leaning back against the chair, he closed his eyes. The muscle ticking along his jaw was the only indication that he felt pain.