Read Online Rules of Passion by Sara Bennett - Greentree Sisters 02 - Rules of Passion - Free Book Online

Dobson and the footman, and Marietta was sent for warm water and more cloths. By the time she returned Max had been put to bed. She set about gently cleaning the wound on his head—beginning at his temple where the gash ran up into his hair and the thick curls were stiff and matted with dried blood. She hadn’t realized before how curly his hair was, or how long—it hung in dark twists over his brow and kissed his nape. It seemed a shame she had to cut some of it to get at the wound.
    Someone had used a great deal of force to strike Max—maybe they had even hoped to kill him rather than just incapacitate him. When Marietta suggested this to Dobson, he replied that some men didn’t care who they hurt. His coolness about the matter made her think he had known many such men.
    “I hope the doctor comes soon,” Marietta said. “The bleeding has stopped, and the wound is clean, but I don’t know what I should do next. It is quite deep, and I think it will need to be held together, to allow it to heal properly.”
    “He needs sewing up,” Dobson replied, casting his expert eye over her efforts. “Best if we let the leech do that, miss.”
    Relieved Marietta agreed. “Will it leave a scar, do you think?” she said, speaking her thoughts aloud. “Lord Roseby is a handsome man and it would be a pity to spoil his looks.”
    Dobson raised an eyebrow at her.
    She felt her color rising and her voice took on a justifying note. “I’m thinking of Lord Roseby, of course.”
    “Of course. I doubt it’ll scar if the job’s done proper. Besides, some women like a man with a scar or two. Shows he’s been out in the world a bit.”
    Marietta tried to imagine Max with a scar, apart from the one he already had on his chin, which was barely noticeable. She touched his hair, gently brushing it away from the wound. He made no sound. Although his chest was rising and falling quite normally he was dreadfully pale; his lashes lay like dark crescents upon his cheeks. He didn’t look like the man in the balloon, or the Max who had made her quiver as he inspected her palm. He looked helpless and vulnerable and dangerously appealing.
    Downstairs the doorknocker was violently manipulated, and voices and footsteps on the stairs followed soon after. The doctor appeared in the doorway, looking as if he had been dragged out of bed only moments before. He barely seemed to notice Dobson or herself, his gaze fastening at once upon Max as he moved forward to examine his patient.
    “Hmm, nasty,” he commented, prodding the wound with a force that made Marietta wince. “Whoever did this wasn’t just trying to put him to sleep.”
    Marietta, observing over his shoulder, hated to think that such desperate people lived in such close proximity to Aphrodite’s home. The doctor glanced around, seeking whomever was in charge, and Dobson cleared his throat.
    “I’ll sew the wound,” the doctor said. “It will be easier while he is unconscious. The gentleman seemsto be breathing evenly, but a blow to the head like that can cause damage to the brain. Bruising and swelling, even bleeding inside the skull.”
    “Should we make arrangements to take Lord Roseby home?” Dobson asked.
    “No, no, best to leave him where he is for now,” the doctor spoke authoritatively. “My advice would be as little disturbance as possible. Let him sleep and, if he wakes, give him water or broth, if he can take either. Someone must keep a watch on him; he should not be left on his own.”
    The stitching was an unpleasant business. Marietta was given the task of holding Max’s head still, her palms gentle but firm on either side of his face. He didn’t struggle—he was beyond it—and apart from an occasional wrinkle of his brow it was as if he was oblivious to the doctor’s probing. It wasn’t until the wound was sewn, and the doctor put on a fresh bandage, that his eyes flickered and opened.
    “Miss Greentree?” Max looked up at Marietta, clearly puzzled,