Excerpt of Never a Mistress, No Longer a Maid by Maureen Driscoll

Ned Kellington opened his eyes slowly and noticed two things. One was that his head, which hurt even more than it had earlier, was being cradled in a very soft lap. The other was that two perfect breasts were tantalizingly close to his mouth. He’d noticed her shape earlier, despite the ridiculous attempt to hide her curves in men’s attire. She had blonde hair pulled under a cap and light brown eyes that showed flecks of amber. It was a pity he wasn’t in any kind of shape to do something about it.

"Are you all right?"

He looked up into the amber eyes that were filled with concern. Then she worried her bottom lip and Ned was struck with the highly understandable, yet, at the moment, quite impractical desire to take that lip between his own teeth.

"Can you walk?" she asked. "We really must find shelter before someone comes. I found a small cave on the other side of the hill. It’s where my horse is tethered."

"Can’t we just ride your horse back to camp?"

"You won’t make it, sir. I need to see to your leg."

"While normally I would accommodate all such requests from a lady, I have a feeling from that scowl on your face that you mean you’d like to see to it medically. But what use can a lady be in those circumstances?"

"You, sir, are about to find out."

While that sounded more than vaguely threatening, Ned was able to stumble to his feet. She wrapped her arm around his waist to help keep him upright. The pain in his leg was greater than earlier, which diverted his attention from the feel of her breasts pressed into him as they walked. Diverted it to a point, at least.

"Am I slipping into delirium, or did you strike me earlier?"

The girl – how old was she? – had the grace to be embarrassed.

"I couldn’t let you become ill."

"So you decided to knock me senseless instead, possibly concussing my brain. I believe I would’ve preferred to take my chances with the river. What’s your name?"

The question seemed to take her aback, because they stumbled and nearly fell.

"Iris. Iris Johnston."

"Well, Miss Johnston, what brings you to the middle of a war?"

"I’m tending the wounded," she said defensively, as if finding her near a battlefield were the most natural thing in the world.

Ned glanced at the girl as he forced his legs to take him up the hill. Her answer surprised him. Most female nurses were prostitutes. She didn’t look like a camp follower, or at least her attire wasn’t one that a lightskirt would ever consider wearing. But her body was certainly delectable enough. Her speech was that of a lady, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d met a fallen woman who’d once been respectable. And it wouldn’t be the first time he’d taken advantage of one, either. He pulled her closer.

"Are you feeling weak?" she asked with even greater concern. She had a wrinkle between her brows when she frowned that was worthy of kisses. Or at least Ned thought there was a wrinkle between her brows. At the moment, she seemed to have four of them. He would have to rest his eyes as soon as possible.

When they finally reached their destination, Ned was relieved to see there was a shallow cave in the hill, hidden from the path they’d just travelled. With any luck, they’d be safe until he could recover his strength.

He lay down on the ground and closed his eyes.

"I need to check your wound," she said. Then he felt her knife cut away part of his breeches. A moment later, he felt her small hands tentatively probing his thigh. In other circumstances, it would have been highly erotic. In this one, he simply wanted to sleep. Which was when he realized he must be far more seriously wounded than he thought.

She continued to speak in quiet, calm tones. She had a dulcet voice. Maybe she was an opera singer or an actress. He felt her hands go through his pockets. First his jacket, then, after a moment’s hesitation, his breeches. He heard her say something about a flint, then he drifted off to sleep.

Some time later, he woke to her telling him to take a sip of water.

"Why can I drink it now, when I couldn’t earlier?" he asked the breasts that were pressed once again so close to him.

"Because I boiled the water, driving away the spirits of disease."

Ned took a sip of water from the canteen she handed him, then saw a fire burning deeper in the cave, where it couldn’t be seen by anyone passing by. He only hoped no one was around to smell it. She took the canteen from him, then gave him a bottle of whiskey.

"Scots whiskey? Where did you get this?" he asked, as he took a sip.

"I’m never without it," she said, taking the bottle and pouring it on his thigh.

"Good Lord woman, are you trying to kill me?" he asked, wincing.

"Hardly," she said rather primly for a woman so deliciously endowed. She handed him a stick. "You’ll need to bite on this. We can’t afford to have anyone hear you." She picked up a knife from her satchel.

"Miss Johnston, I will not allow you to cut into me." "Mr...what is your name? I know it’s impolite to ask, but it’s no more impolite than not making yourself known to a lady in the first place."

"Lord Edward Kellington."

"Well, Lord Kellington..."

"Lord Edward. I’m a brother to the Duke of Lynwood."

"Well, Lord Edward, if I don’t remove that bullet, there’s a very good chance you’ll henceforth be known as a late brother to the Duke of Lynwood. Bite the stick. You needn’t worry about becoming ill from it – I’ve soaked it with whiskey."

"I don’t fear becoming sick from a stick, madam. I fear being killed by a female wielding a knife. I prefer to wait for a surgeon."

"I prefer keeping you alive, although if you were to ask me why, I’m sure I couldn’t give you three good reasons. I’m not sure I could name one. But fear not. I’ve soaked the leg, the knife, the needle and the thread in whiskey."

He knew the leg needed to be tended to, even if he didn’t quite trust the person would do the tending. But, given the lack of options, he resigned himself to it.

"You have absolutely no respect for good Scots whiskey. May I have another drink? I assure you I’m filled with plenty of spirits that would be well assuaged by the potion." Then he gave her the smile that had melted half the hearts in the ton and spread a good portion of their legs.

She gave him the drink. Then the stick. He obligingly bit down.