‘Your curricle will be five minutes, Dr Warriner.’
He intended to take her home!
Just her and him. The lane to her house was long and deserted. There were trees and bushes on either side. Trees and bushes would hide her from the world if he had a mind to drag her behind them... Fresh fear began to claw in her gut.
‘No! Send a message so that my father’s carriage can collect me directly.’
He straightened, frowned and pinned her with his deep blue stare. ‘Suit yourself. Mrs Patterson will show you to the parlour, my lady. I have other patients to attend.’
* * *
Good lord, she was rude! Joe was still smarting from her peculiar behaviour hours later as he walked towards her front door. She hadn’t even thanked him for his time. Just glared at him as if he was offensive, her face wrinkling in disgust every time he had touched her, and she spoke to him worse than to a misbehaving servant. Whilst he knew full well some folk dealt better with pain than others, he had never seen anyone behave quite so badly over a sprained ankle in his life. Or perhaps it was not the injury at all which had made her so curt and obnoxious. Perhaps that was exactly how she always was? It was a pity. She was lovely. If she learned some manners and smiled occasionally, she would be as dazzling as her sister. Perhaps more so. Those dark almond eyes, framed with even darker lashes, were quite beautiful. When they weren’t narrowed suspiciously at him.
Maybe it was his surname which elicited her hostility? Despite the best efforts of all four Warriner brothers, the memory of their infamous father and grandfather still left a sour taste in the mouths of the locals. Nobody trusted a Warriner. It made no difference to some that his eldest brother, Jack, and his wife, Letty, were now hugely philanthropic within the area. Nor that his brother Jamie and his wife, Cassie, were responsible for bringing many tourists to Retford as their readers travelled across the country to see with their own eyes the locations of the hugely successful Orange Blossom books. Only a few had truly thawed enough to accept the family were decent. A great many more were waiting for them to return to type.
Lady Isabella had obviously been swayed by the malicious gossip and he disliked her for that. She had lived in Retford little more than a month but had already passed judgement! If he were as nefarious as his ancestors, would he have taken time out of his busy day to visit the most ungrateful patient he had ever attended?
However, Lady Isabella’s injury did give him the perfect excuse to call at her home, something he had desperately wanted to do since dancing with the delectable Clarissa at the assembly last month. In fairness, the physician inside him needed to check on his patient more, which was the main reason he was knocking on the Earl of Braxton’s door. He sincerely doubted the dour Isabella would be grateful, yet he was still compelled to do it. Sometimes his own diligence irritated him. As much as he wished he wasn’t so soft-hearted and desperate to help people, especially those who treated him with nothing but disdain in return, Joe could never seem to help himself. He would never get to sleep if he had not first reassured himself she was feeling better. It had been a nasty sprain and occasionally a bad fall caused clots to form in the blood. Such a complication was a rarity, especially in one so young, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Another brief examination of those splendid legs was necessary, no matter how distasteful the patient was.
Truth be told, Joe was also feeling guilty for enjoying the sight of her ankles. Once that silk stocking had been removed, he had had a moment where he forgot to be a detached physician and had gazed upon her silky skin like a man. He never did that. He had sworn the Hippocratic Oath solemnly and took his responsibilities far too seriously to ever allow himself to be waylaid with inappropriate thoughts before. However, Lady Isabella’s habit of regarding him as she would a Viking marauder about to pillage a village soon put paid to his temporary lapse of judgement and he was back to being irritated by her attitude again in seconds. So irritated he almost forgot about her splendid legs.
Joe rapped the knocker smartly. This afternoon’s visit was strictly professional. If he happened to collide with the adorable Lady Clarissa in the process, then it would certainly make it more tolerable. As would the sight of those legs which were unfortunately attached to the other, vexing, Beaumont.
The door opened quickly.
‘Could you inform the Earl of Braxton that Dr Warriner is here to check upon his daughter? I attended her injuries this morning.’
The austere butler appeared confused. ‘The physician is already in attendance, sir.’
Of course he was. No doubt the family had immediately summoned that aged old fool Dr Bentley the moment they learned their precious daughter had been treated by a Warriner. Usually Joe tried to ignore the old prejudices, but sometimes it grated. Especially when he was a far better doctor than the quack they preferred.
‘Even so, I should like to see her, for my own peace of mind, you understand. I will not delay the family long. I will be in and out quicker than a ferret in a rabbit hole.’
The affronted butler invited Joe to wait in the hallway. A few moments later he was ushered into the drawing room, where he was met by the Countess of Braxton. ‘Dr Warriner! I cannot thank you enough for coming to Bella’s aid.’ She squeezed his hands effusively and appeared far too grateful, almost on the cusp of tears, which he supposed made up for her daughter’s blatant disregard.
‘No thanks are needed,’ he said as his eyes automatically scanned the room for Clarissa. The object of his desire was sat in the far corner of the room, embroidering something on a small hoop, and did not bother looking up. Her usually smiling face contorted into a frown. A niggling voice in his head told him she was rude, but he ruthlessly blocked it out. An angel like Lady Clarissa couldn’t be rude. Not like the other one. His eyes drifted to the other side of the room where the younger sister was sat on a sofa, her injured ankle raised on pillows and her eyes narrowed in hostility. Next to her, Dr Bentley was packing away his equipment, which included his ever-present bleeding cups—the old fool’s usual treatment for everything. He glanced at Joe and nodded curtly.
‘Warriner.’
Always just Warriner. Never the title he had earned. The upstart. The charlatan who had the audacity to set up a rival practice in Bentley’s town, taking money which should rightly be his. What did that Warriner know anyway? Joe had studied medicine only since the age of eight. Toiled at medical school in Edinburgh in order to qualify top of his class. Built up a sizeable practice despite the horrendous reputation of the Warriner family because he was damn good at what he did. And he had worked hard, honing his craft every single day since. One of these days Joe would allow himself the pleasure of saying exactly what he thought, then quashed the idea instantly. ‘Good afternoon, Dr Bentley. How is our patient?’
‘She is my patient now and as such I will not discuss her treatments with you.’ Dr Bentley turned towards the Countess. ‘Good day, your ladyship. I will await your further instructions regarding the other matter and hope Lady Isabella sees some sense shortly.’ And off he marched out without a backwards glance. Bentley was obviously miffed. Clearly Lady Isabella had been a delight for him, too.
Because it was what he had come here for, Joe walked towards the sofa and smiled. ‘How is your ankle?’
‘Better now.’ She appeared about to burst into tears. The tears tugged at his heartstrings. He was always too soft and prone to want to rescue. A fault he had apparently been born with and one he had long given up fighting. Without being asked, he lowered himself on to
