Passion and Propriety (Hearts of Honour Book 1) Read Online Free Page B

or tie him down.”
    Swallowing hard, Hannah leaned across the viscount’s chest and carefully placed her hands on his burning flesh. He was dreadfully ill, not to mention unconscious , but she couldn’t help being mindful of the fact she’d never been so close to a half-naked man before . . . well, not such a prime physical specimen. Holding her breath so as not to brush against his skin, she focused on her duty.
    Despite her friend’s careful actions, the viscount grew restless, moaning as the stitches were painstakingly removed. When Grace probed the festering wound, he began to struggle in earnest.
    “Keep still, my lord,” Hannah pleaded, lying across his torso as Grace had suggested to hold him in place.  
    His eyes flickered open, his vision glazed with fever and the effects of the sleeping draught.
    “Stop torturing me, woman.”
    “We’re trying to help you,” she said, and he studied her for a moment before turning to watch Grace remove a shard of metal from his wound.
    Neither woman flinched at the curse that erupted from his lips, the poor man well within his rights to be outraged at the incompetence of the surgeons who’d sentenced him to an agonising death.
    “How much longer?” he asked, grinding the words between his teeth.
    “Not long,” Grace answered, allowing the wound to bleed freely for a moment to dislodge any remaining impurities. “I just need to redo the stitching and apply an herbal salve, then we’ll leave you to rest.”
    After a pause, he nodded, and Hannah went to lift herself from where she lay across his chest.
    “Don’t.” His other hand fumbled to grasp hers where it pressed upon his uninjured shoulder.
    “Very well,” she said, concluding her touch must comfort him in some way.
    To his credit, the viscount kept his arm perfectly still as Grace restitched the wound, tugging the torn pieces of flesh together and threading them through with the curved needle and catgut she kept for the purpose. But his chest heaved with ragged breaths, and Hannah prayed God would be merciful to the suffering man. With tears stinging her eyes, she sagged with relief when his head lolled and he succumbed to unconsciousness once more.

Chapter 4
    Torment
    William was on fire, pinned down and unable to escape the burning pain.
    The screams of men and horses rose above the heavy thud of the big guns spewing their deadly missiles. The battle for Arapiles, south of Salamanca, had begun well. The English-fired shrapnel, a new development, shifted the balance in the favour of the Anglo-Portuguese troops, but still their losses were great. Cut down by a spray of fragmented shell casings fired by the superior French guns, William’s cavalry unit was decimated. His personal demons—images of his men, his friends —swirled through his mind, their faces hovering before him. Then a real spectre appeared.
    “We’ll have to remove your arm, Captain.”
    The army surgeon loomed over him while the lantern above his head swung to and fro, in time with the familiar sway of the ocean.
    “He won’t thank you,” someone argued, William’s vision too blurred to make out his advocate’s more distant features. “He’s a viscount. He’ll have your head if you don’t gain his permission before amputating.”
    “I don’t care if he’s the Duke of bloody Wellington. It’s the only way to save his life.”
    “Not my arm,” William shouted at the feel of steel cutting through his flesh.
    “Shh,” a woman’s voice soothed, her cool hand caressing his brow. “It’s going to be all right.”
    “Don’t take my arm.”
    “We’re trying to save it.” Her voice was soft, in stark contrast to the vicious pain radiating from his limb.
    “Just let me die,” he begged.
    “I can’t do that. You must fight to live”—the sweet voice scolded before changing to that of his father’s—“but it would be better if you’d never been born.”
    William flinched from his sire’s angry face. At least