Devil in Spring

“Blancmange?” Pandora guessed.

Garrett smiled. “Time.”

Pandora gave a resigned sigh. “I’ll try to be patient with him, but he’s being cautious in the extreme. He won’t let me read novels with adventure plots because he’s afraid it will raise my blood pressure. He has everyone in the house tiptoeing and whispering so I won’t be disturbed by noise. Every time someone visits, he hovers and watches the clock to make certain they don’t overtire me. He won’t even kiss me properly, only gives me dry little pecks as if I were his second-favorite great aunt.”

“He may be overdoing it,” Garrett conceded. “It’s been two weeks, and you’re doing well. There’s no more need for pain medication, and your appetite has returned. I think you would benefit from some limited activity. Excessive bed rest can lead to weakened muscles and bones.”

There was a knock at the bedroom door. “Come in,” Pandora called out, and Gabriel entered the room.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Gibson.” His gaze went to Pandora. “How is she?”

“Healing fast,” Garrett said with quiet satisfaction. “No signs of aneurysm, hematoma, edema, or fever.”

“When can I begin to go on outings?” Pandora asked.

“Starting tomorrow, I think limited outings would be acceptable. Perhaps you might start with something easy, such as visiting your sisters, or going to the tea room at Winterborne’s.”

Gabriel’s expression turned thunderous. “You propose to let her outside the house? Exposing her to filthy public places swarming with germs, bacteria, vermin, street manure—”

“For heaven’s sake,” Pandora protested, “I’m not planning to run out and start rolling on the pavement.”

“What about her wound?” Gabriel demanded.

“The wound has closed,” Garrett said. “My lord, although your caution is understandable, Pandora can’t be kept in a sterile environment forever.”

“I think—” Pandora began, but her husband paid no attention.

“What if she falls? What if someone accidentally bumps into her? And what about the bastard who ordered the attack? Just because Mrs. O’Cairre is in custody doesn’t mean Pandora is safe. He’ll send someone else.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Garrett admitted. “Obviously I can’t speak to the issue of homicidal conspirators.”

“Dragon will be with me,” Pandora pointed out. “He’ll protect me.” When Gabriel didn’t reply, only gave her a stone-faced glance, she said in the most reasonable tone she could muster, “I can’t stay cooped up in the house for much longer. I’m far behind on my production schedule. If I could just go out every now and then—”

“I’ve already told Winterborne the board game won’t be ready in time for Christmas,” Gabriel said brusquely, coming to stand at the foot of the bed. “You’ll have to come up with a new production schedule. Later, when your health permits.”

Pandora stared at him in astonishment.

His control was going to extend to her business. He was going to decide when and how much she could work, and oblige her to ask his permission for whatever she wanted to do, all in the name of protecting her health. She felt her temper erupt.

“You had no right to do that,” she cried. “It wasn’t your decision to make!”

“It is when your health is at stake.”

“Dr. Gibson just said I could go on limited outings.”

“The first time you went out, you became mixed up with a group of radical political terrorists.”

“That could have happened to anyone!”

His expression was unyielding. “But it happened to you.”

“Are you saying it was my fault?” Pandora stared in astonishment at the cold-eyed stranger at the foot of her bed, who had changed from husband to enemy with bewildering suddenness.

“No, I’m saying—damn it—Pandora, calm down.”

She was struggling to breathe, blinking against the rage that misted her vision in a hot red cloud. “How can I calm down when you’re breaking your promises to me? This is what I was afraid of. This is what I told you I didn’t want!”

His voice changed, becoming hushed and urgent. “Pandora, take a deep breath. Please. You’ll work yourself into hysterics.” He turned to Dr. Gibson with a quiet curse. “Can you give her something?”

“No,” Pandora cried wrathfully. “He won’t be satisfied until I’m kept sedated in the attic with an ankle manacled to the floor.”

The physician regarded them thoughtfully, looking from one to the other as if watching a game of lawn tennis. She approached the bedside, reached into her leather doctor’s bag, and pulled out a prescription pad and pencil. In a businesslike manner, she wrote a prescription, and gave it to Pandora.

Fuming, Pandora looked down at the slip of paper.

Take one overwrought husband and administer compulsory bed rest. Apply as many embraces and kisses as necessary until symptoms are relieved. Repeat as needed.

“You can’t be serious,” Pandora said, looking up at Garrett Gibson’s composed face.

“I suggest you follow it to the letter.”

Pandora scowled. “I’d rather have an enema.”

The doctor turned away, but not before Pandora saw the flash of a grin. “I’ll stop by tomorrow, as usual.”

Both husband and wife remained silent until Garrett Gibson left the room and closed the door.