As she wriggled beneath him, he used his weight and strength to keep her pinned. Not out of conquest, it seemed, but out of concern. “What happened? Tell me the truth.”
“I . . .” She hesitated. Then she took a deep breath and decided to just be honest. He could make of the truth what he would. “They’re from bloodletting.”
“So many?” He cursed softly, running his fingertips over the ladder of scarred skin. “I thought you said you weren’t ill as a child.”
“I wasn’t ill. That didn’t stop the surgeons from trying to cure me.”
“Tell me,” he said.
Her gaze slanted to the corner. A wild pulse pounded in her ears, like a warning.
“You’ve seen my scars,” he reminded her, easing aside to give her space. “I’ve told you everything.”
“It was the year after my mother died.” Her own voice sounded flat, remote. “Papa thought I needed feminine influence—someone to see that I grew into a young lady. So he sent me to Norfolk, to stay with relations.”
“And you took ill there?”
“Only with homesickness. But my cousins didn’t know what to do with me. They saw it their duty to make me ready for society, but they lamented that I would never fit in. I was tall and freckled, and my hair gave them the vapors. Not to mention, my behavior left much to be desired. I was . . . difficult.”
“Of course you were.”
She felt a stab of hurt at the flip comment. It must have been evident, for he quickly qualified his remark.
“I only mean,” he said, “that was perfectly natural. You were sent to live with virtual strangers, and your mother had just died.”
She nodded. “They understood that, at first. But when weeks went by and my comportment failed to improve . . . they thought something more must be wrong. That was when they called in the doctors.”
“Who bled you.”
“To begin with. They prescribed a variety of treatments, over time. I didn’t respond as they hoped, you see. I do have an obstinate streak.”
“I believe I’ve noticed that.” He smiled a little. The warmth in his eyes gave her strength to continue.
“The doctors bled me more, dosed me with emetics and purgatives. After that, I refused my meals, took to hiding in the cupboards. They called the doctors back again, and again. When I fought them, they decided I suffered from hysteria. My treatments increased. Two footmen would restrain me, so the doctor could take yet more blood, dose me with more poison. They would bind me in blankets until I was drenched with sweat, and then force me to bathe in ice-cold water.”
The painful memories rushed in on her, but they weren’t as difficult to voice as she’d thought they’d be. After all this time, the words just flowed out of her, as if—
Oh, now there was an ironic thought.
As if she’d opened a vein.
“They . . .” She swallowed hard. “They shaved off all my hair and applied leeches to my scalp.”
“Oh God.” Guilt twisted his features. “The other day on the green, when I threatened to cut your hair . . .”
“No. Bram, please don’t feel that way. You didn’t know. How could you?”
He sighed. “Just tell me everything now.”
“I’ve told the worst of it, truly. Just one vile, useless treatment after another. In the end, I was so weakened by it all, I truly took ill.”
Frowning intently, he smoothed the hair from her brow. His eyes were the angry green of tempest-swept seas.
“You look so grieved,” she said.
“I am.”
Her heart pinched. Truly? Why would he care about the medical travails of a spinster, years upon years in the past? Surely war had shown him much worse. It had done far worse to him. And yet, something in his serious, battle-ready expression told her he did care. That if it were in any way humanly possible, he would go back in time and impale those surgeons on their own bloody lancets.
She could love him. God help her, she could love him for that alone.
“It’s all right now. I did survive.” She gave him a smile tipped with self-effacing humor, to keep the tale from growing too maudlin. Or perhaps to keep herself from bursting into grateful tears.
“That obstinate streak was to thank, I imagine. No doubt you simply refused to die.”
“Something like that. I don’t remember much of the illness, mercifully. I grew so weak, they sent an express to my father, thinking my time was near. He arrived, took one look at me, bundled me up in his cloak, and had me out of that house within the hour. He was furious.”
“I can believe it. I’m furious now.”
Blinking a moist sheen from her eyes, she cast a glance around the room. “That’s when we moved here, to Summerfield. He bought the place so I could convalesce by the sea. Slowly, I recovered. I didn’t need doctors or surgeons. Just nourishing food and fresh air. Once I was well enough, exercise.”
“So,” he said thoughtfully, running his thumb over her scars, “these are why . . .”
“Yes. They’re why.”