“A number of stab wounds to her shoulders and upper chest,” he said in his dry physician’s voice. “One perilously close to the carotid artery, but nothing as bad as her face and hand. What a frenzied attack. It’s a miracle she survived.”
Julian stood in a daze, the woman’s terrified cries still echoing in his head. The sight of her naked chest stirred not the slightest concupiscence in him, although she had a fine figure, her arms nicely muscled, her breasts high and round and crowned by brown-pink nipples, her stomach smooth and taut. Such a healthy young woman had no business lying on this operating table.
“Julian?” His father’s voice broke through his milling thoughts. “I’ll do what I can for her hand, but first you will have to attend to her face.”
Julian drew in a deep breath. He ought to have anticipated this. In the past few months, his father’s shaking palsy had become more pronounced, and he would not be able to perform the handiwork required on the woman’s face as dexterously as Julian could.
“Very well.” Julian clenched his jaw. A tot of brandy would do wonders for his nerves. On the other hand, he needed all his wits about him if he was to operate on a lady’s face.
He swabbed the raw flesh as gently as he could, glad she was unconscious to the bite of carbolic acid. Cleaned of its sticky red mask, her face emerged, a pale creamy fruit split open. Her nose was small and narrow, her mouth generously curved, her eyebrows arched like delicate moth wings. Thick russet curls framed her neck. She wore no cosmetics or artificial enhancements, no ornaments or ribbons in her hair, two tiny gold earrings her only adornments. Beneath the horrible knife wounds scoring both cheeks, he could yet discern her beauty and natural freshness. It was up to him to repair the desecration of her face. He turned to the tray of instruments and selected a needle. His hand was not quite steady; it took him several attempts to thread the needle. He shut his eyes and fought to clear his mind. Forget what happened earlier. Forget everything except the task at hand.
He opened his eyes and began to stitch.
Some time later—he knew not how much time had passed but his back was aching and his knees were trembling with exhaustion—he dropped his needle for the last time on the tray and heaved a deep sigh.
“Good job, son.” His father clapped him on the shoulder.
Lifting his head, he saw that his father had cleaned the woman’s hand and sutured up the stumps of her fingers.
“I’ve seldom seen such savagery directed at a woman.” Elijah rumbled in disgust as he finished winding a bandage around the woman’s palm. “What kind of monster did this?”
“A ruthless one. He would have killed her if I hadn’t happened along.”
By mutual consent, they both switched their attention to the remaining wounds on the woman’s chest. While his father took care of the neck wound, Julian focussed on the cuts to her left shoulder. Now that he’d worked on her face, her nakedness started to distract and disturb him in ways new to him. Given his age, looks and disposition, he’d had his fair share of paramours and seen plenty of naked female bodies, but this was different. This woman roused strange, uncomfortable feelings in him. He clamped his jaw tight, dismayed by his reactions. The poor woman was his patient. He shouldn’t take prurient pleasure in her nakedness, especially when she was in such a vulnerable state. He bent over his task and tried in vain to block out the image of her firm, round breast so tantalisingly close to his fingers.
“And where did you just ‘happen along’?” Elijah asked abruptly.
Julian blinked. “A deserted dock near the Isle of Dogs,” he answered cautiously, knowing full well what would happen next.
“I see.” A heavy frown creased Elijah’s forehead as he continued to disinfect the woman’s neck. “So, you just happened to be passing a deserted dock near the Isle of Dogs late at night and miles away from home, and you just happened to come across a beast doing unspeakable things to a defenceless woman. Is that it?”
“Father, I—”
“Do you know this woman? Tell me the truth, Julian.”
“No! I’ve never seen her before tonight. I swear.”
“And her attacker?”
“I would recognise him again anywhere. He was unusually big and ungainly, with pockmarks around his eyes.” Julian paused. “I don’t know who he is, but I know who he works for.”
His father expelled a sigh heavy with resignation. “Let me guess. He works for Thaddeus Ormond, and you know this because you’ve been haranguing Sir Thaddeus. Yet again.”
“I’ve not been haranguing Ormond. He refuses to receive me,” Julian protested, bitterness tingeing his voice. “But if I’d not been following him, this poor creature would be dead.”
“How is she connected with Sir Thaddeus?”
“I don’t know. All I can tell you is that I followed Ormond when he left his house this evening.” His plan had been to accost Ormond in public, because he could no longer gain access to him at his Mayfair townhouse, having already been thrown out by Ormond’s sneering footmen. But for the moment he preferred to keep this detail from his father.
“I followed him to a rather mean street near Spitalfields,” Julian continued. “He stopped outside a shabby house and this woman emerged. She appeared quite willing to get into his carriage. I followed them for some while. They came to a halt at a deserted spot, and the woman seemed to fall from the carriage as if she’d been pushed out. Then, a large ruffian suddenly approached and dragged her away. Ormond made no attempt to help her. In fact, he stuck his head out and watched on as the animal threw her into another waiting carriage and sped off. I followed the vehicle, but lost it when we approached the Thames. By the time I found it, the woman was struggling with her attacker. She fought valiantly, but he hit her over the head. She fell to the ground, and no doubt he was going to finish her off before dumping her in the river when I came to her rescue and beat him off.”
“Hmpf.” Elijah grunted. He dressed the last of the woman’s injuries, then wound a bandage around her head to protect the stitches. He beckoned Julian to help him fold a clean sheet around their patient’s body. “That’s all you and I can do for her at present. We’ll let Figgs and Mrs. Tibbet put her to bed upstairs.”
“No, I can carry her up myself—”
“You’ll do no such thing. I must see to your injuries.”
“They’re nothing but scratches. I’ll see to them later myself.”
Elijah’s face turned puce. “I know you’re a strapping lad of four and twenty, but you’re not too old for a good old-fashioned beating if you disobey me.”
Elijah had never so much as raised a finger against Julian. The idea of him administering a beating was ludicrous, but not the slightest bit amusing. Julian sank down in a chair. “Very well, Father,” he said with unusual meekness.
His father summoned the servants and gave them instructions. Figgs gathered up the cocooned woman and left with the housekeeper trotting behind.
“Take off your shirt,” Elijah ordered Julian when they were alone.
Julian silently obeyed. The shirt peeled off reluctantly, sticking to the congealed blood oozing from his cuts. His father grimaced before he set about cleaning and dressing the wounds.
“So you managed to beat off a large assailant armed with a knife?” Elijah said after a few minutes, his tone remaining stiff.
Julian nodded tiredly. Now that the immediate crisis had passed, exhaustion threatened to swamp him, and he was glad to be seated. “Sparring with Gareth has its uses.”