“Hurts,” she got out. “Blazes.”

“I know,” the earl said, his voice low, urgent. “I know it hurts, sweetheart, but we’ll get you patched up. Just hang on.”

Sweetheart, Anna thought. Now he calls me sweetheart, and that hurt, too.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, though the pain was gaining momentum. “Just don’t…”

“Don’t what?” He laid her on the sofa in the library and sat at her hip while Nanny Fran bustled in behind him.

“Don’t go,” Anna said, blinking against the pain. “Quacks.”

“I won’t leave you to the quacks.” The earl almost smiled, accepting a pair of scissors from Nanny Fran. “Hold still, Anna, so we can have a look at the damage.”

“Talk.” Anna swallowed as even the earl’s hands deftly tugging and cutting at the fabric of her dress made the pain worse.

“What shall I talk about?” His voice wasn’t quite steady, and Anna could feel the blood welling from her shoulder and soaking her dress even as he cut the fabric away from her wound.

“Anything,” she said. “Don’t want to faint.”

Her eyes fluttered closed, and she heard the earl start swearing.

“Clean cloths,” Westhaven said to Nanny, who passed him a folded linen square over his shoulder. “Anna, I’m going to put pressure directly onto the wound, and it will be uncomfortable.”