The duke shook his head, seemingly perplexed, and slid his hand in his pocket. If Ivy’s wrist weren’t stinging like mad, she might have started to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. But she could see blotches of her blood on his pristine white shirt and bedcovers, and she felt responsible for losing control of the children’s lesson.
“So,” Elora continued, “I became a fallen woman because of that one wretched night at the masquerade ball, and you, who should have been the toast of London, are now a governess.”
James exhaled. “Would you like me to leave? There is an adjoining chamber through that door where I can wait. I could have tea sent up for you so that you can reminisce until the physician arrives.”
“I don’t need a doctor, Your Grace,” Ivy said, slipping from the bed onto a chair. It was true that she felt a little faint, but who wouldn’t after a beheading and then being carried off in those strong arms? Ivy doubted there existed a medical remedy for her attraction to the duke. Undoubtedly her hand would heal. Her heart would only break little by little until she accepted the fact that he wasn’t meant for her.
“You need stitches,” he said unequivocally. He leaned down to move aside the chair he had kicked over during his heroic effort to bear Ivy to the four-poster. “Don’t argue, Elora.”
Elora shook her head. “I agree. I told you I followed a path of blood to the door. Ivy, please get back into bed.”
“But I’m ruining the bedding.”
“The damage is already done,” Elora said. “All the way around, by the look of things. James, may I speak with you alone in the other room while we wait for your physician?”
He seemed to hesitate before he acquiesced to Elora’s request and followed her from the room.
It wasn’t only the loss of blood that depleted Ivy. It was the indignity, her inability to manage the children, and the reminder that once upon a time, she and Elora had sparkled in the same elegant society. Ivy had an indistinct memory about the act that had precipitated Elora’s exclusion from the ton, from grace, but she hadn’t heard the entire story.
She would like to think that the duke had been at war most of the time in the intervening years and that Elora had traveled after trouble alone. But, really, how could it be so?
* * *
Elora joined James in the other room only a minute or so later. “She ought to rest,” she whispered so that Ivy couldn’t overhear. “I think losing all that blood gave her quite a shock.”
“Not to mention your sudden appearance.” James craned his neck to see past her lithe figure. “Leave the door open. I want to keep an eye on her.”
He had known Elora practically all his adult life and wondered now how he could have considered her a potential bedmate. She felt like a cousin or sister to him. She acted like a sister, pushing his coat and newspapers off his chaise to make herself comfortable.
“Elora,” he began, taking a tactical position by the door to his bedchamber, “I think an explanation is necessary.”
“It’s all right.” She untied her bonnet and reclined on the cushions. “I thought at first that you’d found another woman, and I was insulted, but then I heard about Curtis. I realized that you had to think of the children. I never liked his worthless excuse of a wife. I’ll tell Cassandra so if I see her again.”
James glanced toward his bedchamber. Was Ivy trying to tidy the bed? Why couldn’t she stay where he’d left her? And why had Elora arrived here, now, of all times? He had enjoyed playing Ivy’s hero. It was the first gentlemanly excuse he’d had to settle her in his bed. He doubted another situation like this would arise in the near future. Not that he wished any harm to befall Ivy. His heart still felt like it was somewhere in the vicinity of his knees.
“Why did you come to Ellsworth, Elora?” he asked, scowling at her. “Didn’t you get the letter I sent you?”
She waved the glove she had removed in his direction. “Yes, I did. I’m not here as a potential mistress, James. I came to stand for your family.”
He stared blankly at her. “What do you mean?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Curtis has been dealt a severe injustice.”
“Excuse me a moment.” He walked across the room to his bedchamber door. “What are you doing, Ivy? Leave the pillows alone. Can’t you hold still for a moment?”
“I don’t wish the physician to see these stains, Your Grace,” came the faint reply.
He tsked. “Do you think he has never seen blood before?”
“Not mine, Your Grace.”