The Bride Sale by Candice Hern Page A

though she did not have sort of the fair-haired porcelain beauty he generally preferred.
    Her hair, the color of rich, black coffee, swept off her face in deep waves. A few wayward wisps escaped at the nape of her long, slender neck. So lovely a neck, he thought, should never be hidden by bonnets—or be encased in a leather harness. She had a full mouth, a straight nose, and clear, fine-textured skin that made him think of Devonshire cream. Her large brown eyes—now glaring at him while he stood gaping like a schoolboy—were fringed with long lashes and set off by perfectly arched brows. They reminded him of the beautiful Spanish girls who had attached themselves to his regiment years ago.
    He swallowed hard and tried not to think about how long he had been without a woman.
    â€œAm I to understand that your brother is better?” he asked Gonetta, attempting to ignore Verity and the way his blood heated up at the very sight of her.
    â€œIt do look that way, my lord,” Gonetta replied. “Miz Osborne here, she fixed him right up.”
    â€œDid she, indeed?”
    â€œShe did make med’cine fer him, outa plants and all. She know just what he did need and, sure ’nuff, it worked.”
    â€œIt is too early to tell—” Verity began.
    â€œDavey, he gonna be jus’ fine now,” Gonetta interrupted. “I do know it, my lord. Miz Osborne here, she cured him.”
    â€œWell, then,” James said, “that is good news. I had sent to Bodmin for a physician for Davey. Perhaps when he arrives later today the boy won’t be in such a bad way. We are most grateful to you, cousin.”
    Verity’s gaze narrowed at the word “cousin,” but she said nothing. She was going to be difficult about the ruse. But, by God, if she stayed under his roof, it would be as his relation. He would not have the servants gossiping about her as if she were his lightskirt, though that was, no doubt, precisely what they assumed her to be.
    â€œIn any case,” he went on, “I would feel better if a physician examined him. I am sure Davey will need to be bled if he is to fully recover. I doubt Mrs. Osborne is prepared to—”
    â€œYou will not have him bled!”
    Startled by this outburst, James cocked a brow at Verity. So, despite the obvious anxiety she still felt in his presence, certain issues seemed almost involuntarily to fire her spirit. Interesting.
    â€œHe is much too weak,” she continued in a more diffident tone. She fingered the plant in her hand with jittery movements and did not meet his eyes.“Bleeding him will only make him weaker, less able to fight off the fever.”
    He glared at her in disbelief. What nonsense was this? “I beg your pardon, cousin, but surely the boy must be bled.”
    She looked up at him. “I—I disagree,” she replied, her voice unsteady. “He will recover more quickly with good strong herbals and no bleeding.”
    â€œWhat the devil are you talking about?” James said. “That is without doubt the most preposterous bit of rubbish I ever heard. Pure quackery.” Her attitude took him by surprise. In spite of these little bursts of spirit, he would have guessed her to be more commonsensical than crackbrained. But then, she had tried to escape Pendurgan in the pouring rain, weighted down with layer upon layer of heavy clothing. Perhaps she was something of a loose screw after all. Damn. That was all he needed.
    â€œEveryone knows that bleeding is necessary to excise bad humors from the body,” he went on in a tone that, even to his own ears, sounded overly pedantic. “Physicians have been bleeding patients for centuries.”
    â€œAnd most of their patients die,” Verity said.
    â€œNot from being bled.”
    She looked up at him again. “How do you know?” she asked. Tension showed in her face, in the angle of her spine, and in her hand, tightly gripping