The Duke I'm Going to Marry(68)

Ian gave her shoulder a light squeeze. “Dillie, listen.” But she was too distracted, leaning her head against his chest and sniffling. “Hush, sweetheart. Do you hear him? He’s calling to you.” He ordered the men to put Abner back down on the tabletop. “Give us a moment,” he said, knowing Dillie needed to see that the old man had regained his senses.

He settled her on the bench beside Abner once again, her expression so hopeful it made Ian ache. “Abner? Can you hear me?”

“Where am I?” He tried to rise, but Ian held him down.

“Careful, you have a broken leg.”

Abner let out a snort. “So that’s what hurts like the devil.”

“You’re a fortunate man. Your leg appears to be the worst of your injuries. You have a few bruises and scratches, and a thick lump on your head. How does your neck feel? Don’t move it just yet. Let me see you wiggle your fingers first.”

He managed it quite easily. “How did I do, Miss Dillie?”

“Excellent. Perfect, as always, Abner.” She cast him a smile so bright it lit up the entire room. “I have a little bump on my forehead, too.” Of course, she’d neglected to tell him about her badly sprained ankle, but it didn’t seem important to mention it now.

“Wiggle your toes,” Ian said. “Just the right foot. Your left one is in bad shape. We’ve bound it, but the break is a bad one. You’ll be in pain for quite some time.”

“I’ll endure it,” he assured. “So long as Miss Dillie is all right.”

“She is.” Now that Abner was conscious, Ian took the opportunity to conduct a more thorough examination, or as thorough a one as somebody with his limited medical experience could manage. He had to be careful. Abner was an old man, and there was no telling what damage might yet be hidden.

When he glanced at Dillie, he saw that her eyes held hope but her lips were tightly pursed and chin quivering. “I’m so sorry, Abner,” she said with a noticeable ache to her voice. “It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t forced you to—”

“What? I’ll hear none of that, young miss.” Abner furrowed his bruised brow. “I ought to have known better. I would never ’ave forgiven myself if ye’d come to harm. Can ye ever forgive me?”

Ian allowed the old man and Dillie to trade recriminations a while longer. In truth, it was music to his ears, knowing they both felt horrid about what had happened to each other and were obviously relieved that they’d both survived. They were fortunate to be alive, only a little worse for wear. They’d taken a horrific spill.

He watched Abner, looked carefully at his eyes. Ian had been in the thick of Napoleon’s war and had learned more than he’d wished through experience. He’d seen all sorts of injuries, had come to know which ones would lead to death. He’d learned to tell by the look in a man’s eyes whether or not that man would survive.

Abner would survive.

Thank the Graces!

Dillie was now smiling through her tears. Smiling. Ian glanced upward, knowing Dillie’s prayers had been answered. Not his. Never his. Nonetheless, Ian was grateful. Thank you.

“I’ll engage one of the servants to tend to you through the night,” Ian said, interrupting their joyful reunion   and motioning for the servants to resume carrying Abner upstairs. “I’ll have broth sent up to you.” He had no spare clothes to give Abner, but hot soup and a warm fire would keep him safe enough. The old man could sleep naked.

He tried not to think of Dillie naked.

Of course, that’s all he could think about now that the immediate danger had passed. Abner would survive. So would Dillie.

His own survival was in serious doubt. Dillie was out of her blanket and back in his arms, nestled against his wet shirt and wearing nothing underneath her nightshirt. He could feel the light heave of her breasts against his chest. He could feel everything.

The servants carried Abner to the second room that had been prepared for Ian, while Ian carried Dillie into the room he had turned over to her. She looked up at him with her big, blue smiling eyes. “Will you stay with me a little while?”

“As long as you wish.” He was soaked to the skin and hadn’t eaten a bite. He was cold, dirty, and fatigued. At the same time, he was fires-of-hell hot, lusting so badly for Dillie that every inch of him was in hard, throbbing agony.

“I suppose you ought to change out of your wet clothes. Where’s your room? Close to mine?”

“I don’t know. I’ll worry about it later. Time to get you to bed.”

He kicked the door shut with his booted foot.