It was with great relief that the manservant saw his master out of the chamber five minutes later without the expected explosion.
"For God's sake, man, be sensible!" Jack Chauncey allowed his exasperation free rein. "You're in agony. You can hardly move your leg. What possible good will it do you to go belowstairs for another evening of fruitless and debauched junketing?"
"It'll do me more good than cowering up here," Simon declared through clenched teeth. He was lying back on a chaise longue, trying to flex his lame leg. An afternoon in the damp miasma of a Fenland mere had played merry hell with his shattered limb. "I'll not be beaten by the Ravenspeares, Jack. I'll not have false pity and behind-the-hand laughter directed at me. 'A fine virile husband he makes, the Hawkesmoor,'" he mimicked. '"Hobbling on his stick, can't stand upright most of the time, a pathetic-'"
"Oh, hold your tongue, Simon!" Jack interrupted, giving up the attempt to make the man see reason. He seized Simon's foot, flexing it against his shoulder. "Push."
Simon gritted his teeth and pushed. The wasted calf muscles tightened agonizingly but he continued, fighting through the pain. Sometimes it was worse than others and this evening was about as bad as it had ever been. His mouth took a wry turn as it occurred to him that on top of the afternoon's damp he was probably suffering the aftereffects of his gallant dash to his bride's rescue the previous night. The muscles were clenched into a tight knot so that he could hardly bear to straighten the calf without crying out, and his knee felt as if scalding pincers were at work beneath the skin. But he knew from bitter experience that if he gave in to the pain, he would be bedridden for several days.
A knock at the door brought a snarling denial to his lips. "Leave me!"
Jack raised his eyes heavenward. "It's probably Stanton to see if you need help getting downstairs."
Simon grimaced. "Open it then, but don't let anyone else in."
Ariel stepped swiftly into the chamber as Jack opened the door, not giving him time to deny her entrance. She had a basket over her arm. "You seemed to be in pain when you dismounted, my lord. I can ease your leg, if you would have me do so."
"I have no need of anything." Simon glowered as he tried to pull a rug up over his exposed leg. "Leave me, please."
Ariel set her basket down on the floor beside the chaise. She had changed out of her riding habit and now wore a gown of pale blue silk opened over a white lace underskirt, over which she had wrapped a white holland apron. Her hair was drawn up into a knot on top of her head with a fringe of curls clustering on her brow and around her ears.
Even in his pain and irritated dismay, Simon could appreciate the daintiness and elegance of her attire. She had clearly taken to heart the morning's discussion over her scruffy riding habit.
"I have some skill in these matters," she said with a briskness designed to hide her own hesitation in offering the intimate attention necessary to give him ease.
"My needs go far beyond a housewife's stillroom skills, girl," he said with a sardonic laugh. "Your husband, my dear, is a sad cripple, not to be eased with simples."
"I understand," she replied, reaching to twitch aside the rug. "And my skills go much further than the stillroom."
He pushed her hand away roughly as she took hold of the covering. "I said, leave me be."
Ariel sucked in her lower lip, regarding him in frowning silence for a minute. She held her hands loosely clasped and Simon was momentarily distracted by the bracelet encircling one slender wrist. He'd seen it somewhere before, he'd swear to it.
"Are you embarrassed by your wound?"
His harsh laugh grated again. "How should I be? A man in his prime reduced to a helpless cripple with a wasted leg! Some kind of a bridegroom I make!" He knew his bitterness was fueled by pain, but as always, this was the one thing he couldn't control.
"I think you should leave, ma'am." Jack spoke gently, taking her arm. "Simon is a bad patient and always has been." He tried to soften the rejection with a conspiratorial chuckle. "I swear he's more ill-tempered than a wounded bear."
Ariel resisted the pressure to move her back to the door. "It's a wife's duty to tend to her husband."
"When you take up your place under my roof, madam, then shall you play a wife's part," Simon declared with another raw excuse for a laugh. "For the moment, I bid you leave me to my friends. They know well what to do for me."
Ariel silently picked up her basket again and returned to her own room. Of all the stubborn, prideful men! He was in obvious agony, she knew precisely how to soothe his hurts, and he wouldn't take her help because he was afraid she'd be disgusted by the sight of his wound.
Or was it because he couldn't bear to accept her help? She was a Ravenspeare, and she must not be a witness to his mortifying weakness.
He wouldn't give her brothers the satisfaction of seeing that their taunts needled him, and he had foiled the nastiest of their schemes so far. She knew that he wasn't sure yet what part she had played in last evening's attempt to humiliate him. It was only natural that he should keep her and her offers of help at arm's length.
"If your wife has skill with medicines, man, you could do worse than let her minister to you," Jack scolded, returning to Simon's side. "I know little of how to ease you, and I'm damn sure all this pushing and prodding you insist on doing isn't particularly helpful. It just causes you more pain, as I can see."
"Oh, cease your railing." Simon sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the chaise with a grimace of pain. "Help me get dressed. I'll not have it said that the bridegroom is too weak to attend his own wedding feasts."
"Sometimes I think you have no more sense than a child." Jack gave him his arm, supporting the man as he stood up.
Simon gritted his teeth as he put his bad leg to the floor. "Give me my cane."
Jack handed it to him and watched with long-suffering resignation as Simon tottered around the chamber, trying to avoid putting weight on his lame leg.
"All right, I think I can pull this off without looking too pathetic," Simon muttered. "Help me with my stockings and britches, if you please." He sat down on the edge of the bed. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, and his skin had a gray cast.
Jack drew the woolen stockings over Simon's legs. He was so used to the serpentine scar, a scarlet cicatrix against the pale, wasted flesh, that he barely noticed it anymore. He tried to be gentle but he knew how much pain he was causing his friend as he manipulated the stocking over the twisted knee.
"God's grace, man, but you've missed your calling as a nursemaid." Simon offered a twisted grin as Jack efficiently drew on his britches, fastening the buttons at his waist. "You'll be washing behind my ears next."
"Oh, do stop your complaining, Simon! You're damn lucky to have any friends, such a grouse you are." Jack handed him his coat, his smile doing nothing to hide his concern. "Are you sure you can manage to sit through the evening?"
"Of course." Simon clasped his friend's arm briefly. "Take no notice of my grouches, Jack."
"I don't," the other said. "If I did, you'd see neither hide nor hair of me… of any one of us." He put his shoulder beneath Simon's hand. "You can lean on me until you get to the stairs. No one will remark it."
But Ariel, the dogs sitting at her heels, was waiting outside her chamber when Simon's door opened and the two men emerged. "We should go down together, my lord," she said with a cool smile. "Since we're presenting a united front to the world." She stepped up beside him, saying to Jack, "I will give my husband my arm. No one will consider it in the least strange."