The Doctor and the Libertine - Callie Hutton Page 0,2

sucked in a breath. So, this was Lord Sterling? She had certainly heard enough about him from the gossip sheets—her one indulgence in triviality—and from what her friends, particularly Lottie Westbrooke, told her about the wastrel. He was the one who had discovered Lottie was the daughter of a well-known courtesan and publicly insulted her so that Lottie’s husband, Carter had to make Sterling a visit and ‘convince’ the man to leave his wife alone. She was certain fists were involved in the convincing.

She studied his features. Aside from the hollowness of his cheeks, he was a nice-looking man. Blond hair, a bit too long for fashion, a fine aristocratic nose, strong chin, and slight lines on either side of his mouth. His skin was blotchy, with the puffiness present in those with alcoholic addiction.

What a waste of what should be a superb, sought-after man. He had a title, money, connections, and fine looks. Why would such a man throw it all away? As a firm teetotaler herself, she could never understand the draw of spirits. But then, Father never approved, so she never even tried it.

It took a few hours, but she finally got his leg set, all the cuts cleaned and bandaged, and with Walter’s help, his ribs wrapped. He would be laid up for some time. No carousing for a while.

Luckily, he never awoke the entire time she worked on him. She would have been unable to give him laudanum for the pain she inflicted by moving his broken leg into place before encasing the break in a cast since his body was saturated with some sort of spirits.

Before returning to her bed, she washed up, checked her patient one more time, made sure there was enough coal to keep the stove going so he wouldn’t catch a chill and sent Walter back to his room. It was nearly five in the morning when she climbed the stairs to the first floor and collapsed on her bed.

Edwin opened his eyes and winced. Bright sunlight shone into the room, hurting his eyes. Before he ever wondered where he’d awakened this time, he noted the pain in various parts of his body. Aside from the usual pounding headache, he picked up his hand and frowned at the bandage on his wrist. When he tried to sit up, it was apparent his leg was also in some sort of a cast.

He moved his head around as little as possible. It appeared he was in an infirmary or hospital. “Hello?” He groaned as that little bit of effort made the pounding in his head worse.

Time must have passed because the next time he opened his eyes, the sun was in a different position, and a woman with her back to him stood in the room, writing something as she leaned her elbow on a counter.

“Hello?” The effort this time wasn’t as hard as the first time.

“Oh, you’re awake?” Her voice was like smooth brandy. Something he could use to help clear his head. She laid her pencil down alongside the pad she’d been writing in and walked over to him.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I was hit by a runaway horse.”

She dragged a stool from the counter and sat on it. She leaned over him, the smell of roses and lavender drifting from her. Probably her hair.

She pulled up one eyelid and examined his eye, then did the same thing to the other eye. “Would you care to tell me how you ended up on my front step last night?” She drew back and studied him.

“First off, can you tell me where I am and who you are?” He tried to offer one of his famous charming smiles, but it didn’t quite make it with the pain radiating throughout his body.

He needed a drink.

“I am Dr. Stevens, and you are in my infirmary. I found you last night on my front steps, and I have reason to believe someone—I doubt a friend since the way you were left indicates more an enemy—dropped you on my doorstep.”

“I see.”

She smiled. “Do you? Would you care to tell me how you received all these bruises, Lord Sterling?” She swept her hand along his body.

Edwin tried to shift a bit, but everything hurt, so he remained where he was.

He needed a drink.

“I guess you found my calling cards.” Again, he smiled, but got no response from Dr. Stevens. He sighed. “The last I remember a few of us were racing our horses. I think mine threw