chapter 35

Mrs. Pennywhistle eased up from the floor. "Well," she said briskly, "Now that she's in your care, Mr. Rutledge, shall I fetch some bandages and salve? We may as well treat the ankle until the doctor arrives."

"Yes," Harry said curtly. "And send for another doctor—I want a second opinion."

"Yes, sir." The housekeeper fled.

"We haven't even gotten the first opinion yet," Poppy protested. "And you're making far too much of this. It's just a minor sprain, and . . . what are you doing?"

Harry had laid two fingers on the top of her foot, two inches below the ankle, feeling for her pulse. "Making certain your circulation hasn't been compromised."

Poppy rolled her eyes. "My goodness. All I need is to sit somewhere with my foot up."

"I'm going to carry you to bed," he said, sliding one arm behind her back, the other beneath her knees. "Can you put your arms around my neck?"