"Exactly! That's what that other d.a.m.n physician didn't understand. We're not dealing with ordinary bones here but the Huntley variety."

"Hewn out of rock." Joseph smiled and continued stroking his moustache. "Now then boy, best let the hound see the rabbit. Roll over so I can take a look, there's a good chap."

Joseph peeled back the blankets. In an unflattering pose on his right side, George lay still, biting his lip as Joseph removed the bandages. The doctor took his time before speaking. "The skin wounds are knitting well. You will have quite a collection of scars, but heal you will."

"And the leg?" Huntley felt anxious to the point of nausea. "What about the leg? Will I be able to walk again?"

"Before I can give my opinion, I need to perform some tests. The splint must be removed for a full examination. Is that alright?"

"Of course." George found himself unexpectedly eager. It seemed Doctor Joseph was not about to dismiss him out of hand.

A cage of wooden slats was strapped around the injured leg. With painstaking care so as minimise the discomfort, Doctor Joseph loosened the leather laces which held the contraption together. The splint eased away and Joseph proceeded to unwind the linen padding. He hummed as he worked.

"I'd quite forgotten the satisfaction of doctoring."

"Glad to be of service."

"Tell me what you feel."

George stared at the ceiling as Joseph proceeded to tickle his feet, stick pins in his toes and tap his knee with a small hammer. After what seemed an eternity, Joseph seemed satisfied and draped a sheet back over George's exposed flank.

"Well then?" George said, impatiently, as he awaited the verdict.

"That naval doctor did a first-rate job of removing the shot. The soft tissue wounds are clean and healing well."

"So the risk of infection is less?"

"I'd go so far as to say unlikely, at this stage."

George let out his breath. "Thank heavens. And the bones? How do they fare?"

"Therein lies the thing."

"Speak plainly, doctor. I trust you to tell me the truth." George braced himself.

Joseph eyed his patient then nodded. "Very well. If you continue to rest and keep the weight off the leg, it will be a long, slow process, but with luck on your side, you may yet walk again."

"Thank heavens." Huntley grinned. "So I can return to active duty!"

Doctor Joseph narrowed his hooded eyes. "That isn't what I said. If you are lucky, you will walk on solid ground, but on a ship in a high sea, that's a different matter."

Huntley felt as if he'd been shot all over again. "There is no doubt?"

"Well, there is always room for doubt, but given the balance of probabilities, I would say not. I am sorry."

The remainder of Doctor Joseph's consultation pa.s.sed in a blur. George had the vague recollection of exchanging pleasantries but his heart wasn't in it. All he was conscious of was the darkness of despondency closing over his head. He needed the fresh air and open seas, he needed the thrill of the chase and the knowledge of doing right-without the Navy his spirit would wither.

Huntley was so distracted he didn't remember Joseph leaving, because it coincided exactly with a feeling of utter futility, of his life being over. He wallowed for an hour, maybe more, until he stopped feeling sorry for himself and grew angry instead. d.a.m.n it, this was his body. The doctors had one opinion, and he had another. Who was to say which of them was right?

Thereafter, Doctor Joseph called once a week. But as the days pa.s.sed and Huntley's superficial injuries healed, it seemed his temper deteriorated. Now able to sit up in bed, he quickly lost patience with reading, playing backgammon with his mother, or cards with his valet. The slightest thing irritated him, from berating the maid for being noisy setting the fire, to meals being cold. It was generally agreed among the servants, that while it was good their master was out of danger, he made an intemperate invalid.

On Joseph's third visit, Huntley's valet took him quietly aside and expanded on the extent of his master's frustration. And so, after examining his patient, the doctor grudgingly agreed that George could be moved to a chair by the window, provided he used a crutch, didn't put weight on the broken leg and had someone with him at all times. Much to everyone's relief, the Captain accepted these conditions with good grace.

However, behind Huntley's acquiescence lay an ulterior motive. He was plotting. It made sense to him that after weeks in bed, he would feel weak and it was therefore sensible to have someone on hand. Therefore he would accept help, meek as a lamb, and in so doing put everyone off guard.

Indeed, that first time out of bed, with his valet gripping his elbow-as Huntley stood, the room swam. But as he grew used to being upright and the dizziness cleared, he asked for the crutch.

"I'm fine. I can do this. Don't fuss."

But weakened by bed rest, his good leg refused to move. Huntley scowled.

"Very well, take my arm if you must."

Putting his weight on Jenkin's shoulders, he hobbled to the chair. He slumped down. "Well, it's a start."

Once he knew his limits, then he'd exercise to build his muscles. Feeling certain that no one would approve, Huntley decided to keep the plan to himself.

Huntley insisted on moving to the chair at least twice a day and as the good leg grew stronger, a plan took shape. For what he had in mind, he'd need to choose his time carefully so as not to be interrupted. He decided on mid-afternoon, when Lady Ryevale worked in the office and the servants thought him asleep. With an actor's skill, when the maid collected his lunch tray he yawned and pretended to be tired. Once her footsteps echoed away down the corridor, he grinned and threw back the bed covers. The splinted leg was heavy and it took both arms to manoeuvre it over the mattress edge. Grasping the crutch, he put his good foot on the floor and stood without human a.s.sistance. He felt a little giddy but waited for the sensation to pa.s.s. Encouraged by this small victory, he set off across the room.

But after a few steps he felt weak as a kitten. His leg shook beneath him, and for the umpteenth time he cursed the weeks of inactivity. It took longer than he ever imagined possible to cross those few feet to the desk. And just when he was within touching distance, disaster struck. A ruckle in the rug caught his foot and sent him sprawling. The crutch arced through the air. Luckily, the desk broke his fall and saving himself on his arms and unspeakable pain gripped his thigh and Huntley feared he might vomit. But slowly, nausea receded and the walls came back into focus. He debated what to do next. It seemed a shame to get this far only to admit defeat. What harm could a few pushups do?

Facing the desktop, he shuffled back a few paces. Hands a shoulder-width apart, he leaned forward, letting his biceps take the strain as he lowered his nose toward the jotter. It felt good putting his muscles under strain. Heartened, Huntley repeated the dip, his confidence growing by the second. Everything went well until he forgot he couldn't rely on his legs and shifted his weight. An agony of blistering stars blinded his vision, his arms gave way and he crashed to the floor.

Winded, he lay on his side. He just about had enough breath for a colorful string of oaths when the door flew open.

"I heard a noise." Miss Tyler said, face pale with alarm. "Are you hurt?" She knelt on the floor, her closeness adding to his discomfort.

"I'm quite alright, thank you. Only my dignity dinted."

"Let me help you up."

"No, thank you. I can manage." But to his unending frustration, as he shifted from his back to his bottom, the pain made him gasp. "I just need to catch my breath."

As Huntley gathered his composure, he saw roses blooming on her cheeks. She was staring at him in a most peculiar way, her eyes warming his skin where they lingered. It was then it occurred to him that he had risen from bed bare-chested, wearing only his underclothes. He cleared his throat.

"I didn't dress for company." He was beginning to enjoy her fascination, as her eyes grew even larger and rounder.

"My apologies for the intrusion." She stuttered, tearing her eyes away.

Huntley stretched his arms, broadening his chest and watched her color deepen. "That's quite alright. I find your company, most stimulating."

"So...what happened? Why are you alone?"

"This has nothing to do with anyone else."

She pursed her lips. "You got up by yourself?"

"I had some crazy notion to exercise." He eyed her appreciatively. "And incidentally, that rust color really suits you. It brings out the green in your eyes."

The gown was modestly cut, but as she leaned forward he had a full appreciation of her new, fuller figure including the intriguing dark valley between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Hope scowled, which had the effect of tilting her feline eyes even more fetchingly.

"Well," he continued, "now you're here you might as well help me."

"As you wish."

She took his arm, but he was woefully unprepared for the result. Her long fingers against his bare biceps, sent raw longing cascading through his body. She felt it too and trembled. And her smell of clean skin with a tang of salt; for a moment he wondered if Hope bathed in seawater and was really a mermaid, at which point he wondered if truly he was losing him mind.

"I'd be grateful if you didn't mention my fall to Mother. It would needlessly distress her."

"Of course." She said, clearly distracted.

With her help Huntley sat up.

"Give me a moment." He grunted, ashamed of his helplessness. "In fact, thank you, I can manage from here."

But, Miss Tyler didn't move. That he cared for Miss Tyler was trial enough, but to have her see him stranded like a turtle on its back, was more than his dignity could stand.

"d.a.m.n it, go why don't you?"

Miss Tyler frowned. "It's just a well you are in pain, or I would be forced to tell you how rude you are." Then, to his utmost surprise, Miss Tyler sat down beside him on the rug.

"What are you doing?" He snapped, his self-composure in shreds.

"You may not want my help, but you could certainly benefit from some civilised company."

"I'd be perfectly alright, if people didn't interfere."

"Well, you don't look alright. In fact, I'd go so far as to say you are being uncommonly stubborn and need taking in hand."

"And you're the woman to do it, I suppose?"

"I was pa.s.sing and heard a crash. I was concerned." She explained, as if talking to a child. "And you are being unspeakably rude."

"Then don't treat me like an idiot." He couldn't let her care, he couldn't take that risk. His heart thudded against his ribs.

"Then don't treat me like one either." Hope gave a long sigh. "In fact, I'm glad of this opportunity to speak with you."

"Oh?" His heart raced, with Hope so close he had to suppress a shiver of longing as he ached to trace the dome of her breast with his tongue.

"It concerns my position here at The Grange."

Watching those plump lips his imagination ran away with him. The boundaries between dreaming and waking began to blur as memories of her velvet skin warmed his body.

"Go on." He murmured, leaning closer.

"Now you are so much stronger, I think it right that I go. As soon as circ.u.mstances allow, I intend to leave Lady Ryevale's employ."

Huntley felt as if he'd been slapped.

"But why? Has Mother not treated you well?"

Miss Tyler looked him straight in the eye. "Like a daughter."

"Then why?" Emptiness yawned ahead of him.

"Now I know you are going to be alright, I can't stay. Not now."

He tried to laugh it off. "Look, I apologise for swearing at you. It was pain speaking."

"That's not what I meant. I can't stay, not after your injury."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

She took a deep breath. "Smugglers nearly killed you."

"So? It wasn't you that shot me."

"No, but you will come to blame me nonetheless."

Huntley guffawed. "Stuff and nonsense. Why on earth would you say that?"

"Because I was a smuggler. Because of me you were reposted-and don't think that I hadn't noticed you can't bear my company. You either avoid me or bark at me. I can't stay. Not like this."

Huntley sat immobile, his mind frozen. The truth was he loved Hope Tyler, and yet he could not tell her. If he confessed his love she would love him in return, and then he must break her heart. Best to deny everything. He spoke coldly, ignoring the nagging void in his soul.

"After everything Lady Constance has done for you. How can you be so ungrateful? She needs you."

Hope recoiled.

"I suggest you employ a secretary to ease the burden of the estate work. I don't wish to appear ungrateful, but I cannot remain, not like this." She withdrew. The place on his arm where her fingers had rested was left empty and wanting, just like his heart. "I am sorry. Truly. And I hope one day you may think well of me."

As she made to rise, panic gripped his craw.

"Stay!"

"I'll send your valet to help you up."

"No, I don't mean that...I mean, stay, here at The Grange. Please don't go."

She shrugged. "Why?"

Desperate, he searched for the right words while avoiding the truth.

"Because I'm asking as a personal favor." And because of the deep yearning inside, the knowledge that he wanted to see her every day, that she was as necessary to him as salt to seawater.

"If," he shuddered, "if I am unable to return to active service," there, he had said it, "then what will get me through each day but your smile?"

He didn't blanch under the scrutiny of her stare. "Forgive me," he said simply, "I barely know my own mind, but what I do know is that I want.... need...you to stay."