“How bad is it?” she asked Crawford without looking away. And then she swallowed hard. She’d never seen a person who was yet alive look so pale.
“He’s lost a great deal of blood.” Crawford hadn’t yet questioned why she’d entered without permission. But she wasn’t going anywhere. Jerking her chin up, she met his gaze fiercely.
“The bullet needs to be removed. I’m not sure we should wait for a doctor,” he added.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.
She nodded. “You know how to do it? You’ve done it before?” The man had spent a decade captaining a navy ship at sea. She vaguely remembered Louella mentioning he’d doctored several of his men.
“I have.”
“Then we mustn’t wait.” Gabriel looked as though he was hanging on by a thread. He’d already had to endure the carriage ride back to Sky Manor for God knows how long. “What do we need to do?” She nearly choked on her own words as she reached out and took Gabriel’s hand in hers. It was cold. So very cold.
“Miss?” The older man in the room stepped forward as though he’d like to dismiss her.
“Miss Redfield may assist me,” Crawford ordered. “We’ll need hot water. Towels. The sharpest knife you can find as well as tongs or something similar. Boil the tools.”
At the man’s startled expression, Crawford asserted, “With all haste.”
The two servants rushed out of the room. Of course, they would. Crawford was a duke, after all, and one did not deign to question a duke when he gave an order.
“You are not squeamish, I hope?” Crawford cocked one eyebrow her way.
Olivia shook her head. She hadn’t been. But this was Gabriel. “I’ll be fine.”
Louella slipped inside. “I’ve brought whisky, in case he wakes. And laudanum.”
“What of Miss Shipley?” Olivia could not keep from asking after the woman Gabriel had planned to marry.
The woman he was going to marry.
“She’s returned to her chamber. She asked that we keep her informed.” Louella handed Olivia a long apron to cover her gown and then slipped her arms into a similar garment. Not without another one of those questioning stares.
“Will you see about locating some honey? We’ll use it to pack the wound after…” Crawford drew Louella’s attention away from Olivia. She nodded and disappeared as quickly as she’d arrived.
“If the physician arrives, he’ll want to use leeches.” Olivia had seen too many doctors practice the barbaric treatment to think any differently. “It doesn’t make sense. If he’s already lost so much blood…”
“He’ll bleed him over my dead body.” Crawford’s answer reassured her.
“Hopefully not mine.”
Both their gazes swung back to the patient.
Gabriel looked for all the world to be sleeping, his eyes closed, but then he said, “God, that hurts. Crawford, what did you do? Drag me in the road behind the horses?”
Olivia laughed and a sob escaped at the same time. Apparently hearing her, Gabriel peered over from beneath half-closed eyes. “Olivia.” He uttered her name. “My little one-eyed Luvy. My love. Oluvia.” A slow smile stretched his lips, endearing himself to her even more, if that was possible.
“You fool,” she whispered, leaning down. Crawford had turned his back and so she placed her lips upon his forehead. “You weren’t supposed to get hurt!”
“Lovia.” His words emerged on a whisper. “So thirsty.”
Lovia? My love? She withdrew a handkerchief from her pocket and dipped it into the water pitcher sitting on the side table. It didn’t mean anything. Just his usual flirtatious charm.
Even with a bullet in his side.
He made an attempt to push himself up, but she pushed him back. “Lie down, you idiot. You’ve been shot.” She squeezed a few drops of the water onto his lips.
He swallowed, licked his lips, and then groaned. “Shot, you say? I’d never have guessed.”
But he was joking with her.
The stupid, ridiculously foolish but most endearingly wonderful man was joking with her!
Crawford had turned back to address the wound. And with a calmness she envied, he pulled the sheet down to reveal a pair of breeches that had been tan when Gabriel left that morning but were now soaked scarlet with blood—some places almost black.
Without any hesitation, using a small knife from his pocket, Crawford cut the material away to expose the portion of hip just above Gabriel’s thigh. Olivia shuddered at what she saw. The bullet had left a ragged hole with blood oozing out of it. She inhaled deeply, to steady herself.
“Still no doctor, Your Grace,” the older manservant announced as he stepped in carrying a linen-covered tray with several knives and a few other metal tools laid out in a neat row. “Lady Kingsley suggested tweezers. As well as a needle and thread.”
“They’ve all been boiled?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” And then the man sat the tray on the dresser nearby and stepped back as though awaiting further instructions. The other manservant had entered behind him with several folded white linens draped over his arm.
“Tear one of those into strips and secure his hands.” Crawford was all business as he selected one of the sharper-looking knives.
Louella returned again as well, this time carrying a jar of honey and what looked to be a pot of tea. Hot water.
Olivia took it from her and poured it onto one of the cloths. There was no time to waste. She needed to clean the wound so that Crawford could see what he was doing.
Louella wet a second cloth and stood at her husband’s side.
“Tie his hands to the post, Olivia,” the duke ordered. The man Olivia presumed to be Gabriel’s valet had already tied one of Gabriel’s wrist to the bed frame snugly. Taking a strip from him, she followed suit with Gabriel’s other hand. “Don’t be shy about it,” Crawford added. “It needs to hold. If he breaks free while I’m digging this damn bullet out…”
“Right.” She gulped and pulled at the knot tightly.
Gabriel stirred. “I’ve dreamed of you doing this, Oluvia, but never with company.” And then he chuckled. She leaned down to shush him and then met Louella’s eyes from across the room. Louella might be angry, but Olivia didn’t really care what anyone thought at that moment. Not even her sister. She only wanted Gabriel to live.
She needed him to live.
“Pour some whisky on the wound, Louella.” Crawford’s steady orders seemed to keep them all calm.
And then her sister’s husband was standing over the wound with the knife. With a nod at the manservants, who grasped hold of Gabriel’s legs, he lowered the gleaming metal to Gabriel’s flesh.
Gabriel was still awake, though, and turned his head to Olivia again. “I got shot, love,” he slurred. “Shoulda checked for a pistol…”
Blinking back tears, Olivia did the only thing she could think to help him through this. She reached for the bottle of whisky and dribbled some into his mouth.
“Drink as much as you can, you fool, this is going to hurt.” She dribbled some more. “It’s going to hurt… really bad.”
Gabriel chuckled but swallowed a mouthful. And then another. And then Crawford ordered, “Brace yourself, Kings.” And to Olivia, “Hold him tight. Sit on him if you must.”
Gabriel’s wicked grin was wiped away in an instant to be replaced with the shock of pain. Her own tears threatened but she blinked them away as she sprawled across his chest with her weight. Hold him down, Olivia. The knife was sharp. One wrong move…
She glanced over her shoulder and watched as Crawford cut into the wound.
Gabriel convulsed beneath her, his breath hissing against her face. He hissed again. So much blood. She couldn’t look. Oh, Gabriel!
Touching his face, smoothing his hair, she did her best to distract him from what was happening at the other end of the bed.
“Hold on, love,” she whispered. “I’m right here.” When Crawford let up a moment, she dribbled more whisky
past Gabriel’s lips and then dabbed at his forehead with a damp cloth. But then more cutting, more digging. Almost like a living nightmare, Olivia held him tightly while he writhed and gritted his teeth in agony. Every fiber of her being wanted to weep for his pain but instead she tried to distract him, to comfort him.
After one particularly long and painful moan, he stilled and then went limp.
Olivia felt lightheaded for a moment. Was he…?
“Passed out from the pain,” Crawford said, as though to reassure the others in the room. “I can see it now. Louella, hand me the tweezers.”
Crawford bent low to see what he was doing and the rest of them seemed to be holding their breath. Olivia closed her eyes, chanting a plea to God until she heard the ringing sound of metal on metal as Crawford dropped the bullet onto the tray.
It looked far too innocent.
With an approving smile, Louella handed Crawford the threaded needle. Bending low again, the most honorable Duke of Crawford neatly sewed six tidy stitches into the also most honorable Earl of Kingsley’s skin.
Olivia watched in awe.
After tying it off and cutting the thread, Crawford looked up tiredly. “I don’t know…” He stopped and cleared his throat. “I don’t know if it’s enough. We can only hope it doesn’t turn putrid.”
“But the honey?” Louella asked.
“Will help. But…” He shook his head. Suddenly, Crawford looked ten years older than he had that morning. Louella reached over and squeezed her husband’s wrist.
The bullet was out. But Gabriel’s battle had only just begun.
Olivia would not leave him alone. He might awaken and need… more whisky. Or the dose of laudanum. She’d be right here where she could help him.
Please? Don’t let him die!
She slumped onto the chair at the head of Gabriel’s bed and then, leaning forward, buried her face in his neck. She couldn’t leave him. He wasn’t hers to care for. She had no right to be touching him like this but…
She couldn’t help herself.
Louella and Crawford slipped out of the room while Gabriel’s valet applied the honey and a bandage.
Olivia barely had the strength to sit up but wanting to do anything to bring him comfort, she reached up and untied his poor wrists, red from when he’d pulled against the ties.
“Oh, Gabriel,” she whispered.
“He’ll be just fine, ma’am.” The valet sent her a sad smile. “Was good you were here.”
And then in an utter act of kindness, the valet collected some soiled linens and piled them on the tray. “I’ll take these below stairs.”
The man knew. And he was leaving her alone with him.
“Thank you.” Her voice came out sounding almost like a croak. “Thank you.”
He nodded and closed the door softly behind him.
Chapter 31
The Battle
“Gabriel.” Her voice pulled him away from this place—this temporary place that had no pain. Olivia. Hell, he couldn’t leave her alone.
He would not leave her alone. He’d decided that the moment a bullet burned through his side.
Soft tendrils of her hair slid along his jaw. Was she crying? Don’t cry. But nothing came out of his throat. The air he drew in barely reached his lungs.
Oh, hell. He couldn’t die now. Now that he’d finally figured things out.
She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. Using his very last vestiges of strength, he raised one hand to her back. I can hear you. Did she know?
He wanted to say so much more but each breath was a battle. Damn Lockley. Damn his own stupidity for not thinking the blighter would have a pistol up his sleeve.
“I can’t go without telling you… telling you how I feel.” Her breath warmed his skin with each word.
Stroking his pinky along her skin, he told her to go on. Was it possible she loved him? He’d not wanted her to love him before because he’d thought they were a hopeless cause.
But they were not a hopeless cause. In fact, she was his hope. She was everything to him, and he’d not let her go.
He focused all his mind upon her sweet voice.
“Last spring. I never did anything with you that I didn’t want to do. I know you blame yourself, because you aren’t free to give me more. But you gave me more than anyone in the whole world. You were my friend. You are my friend. And so much more.
“Miss Shipley is a most kind and lovely lady. I wish her no ill will. I don’t want you to feel regret for what we share. I shall never regret any of it. I love you, Gabriel. I just love you and there’s nothing that will change that. It doesn’t mean you have to love me back or worry for me. It doesn’t mean you must feel guilty for marrying Miss Shipley. You’re an honorable man. It is something you promised your father. And you’ve been good to me… my friend.
“We loved, no? Together, we loved for a time. It’s more than I ever dreamed.”
“Hush.” Gabriel finally managed.
His precious, generous Olivia. She gave and she gave. She expected nothing in return.
“But this love comes to you with no strings. I give it to you so that you always know that there is one person in the world who thinks you’re wonderful and… just loves you.”
“Not… leaving… you,” he barely managed.
“You are not leaving. You’re going to heal up beautifully.” She sniffed. “You aren’t going anywhere, Gabriel Fellowes. Do you understand me?” She lifted off of him and his hand dropped back onto the bed.
“Love. You. Ah…” Oh, hell. Where was all this pain coming from? Cool metal touched his lips. A spoon. He recognized the sickly-sweet taste of laudanum. Normally he would have pushed it away. But oh, hell. Had Crawford left the knife inside of him? He needed to tell her something. “Oluvia,” he murmured. And then blessed darkness.
He was in the mine. Only it wasn’t cool and humid. It was hot, and he could hardly breathe but for the smoke filling the tunnels.
Olivia.
He’d pinned her against the hard and jagged wall. He loved her. He needed to save her. So why were her legs wrapped around him and his cock buried inside of her?
“We need to get out, love, before it caves in.”
“Leave me here,” she panted against his mouth, at the same time drawing him deeper into her body. “Miss Shipley is waiting.”
“No.” But he couldn’t stop himself. He was so close. He didn’t pull away but continued thrusting.
And then they were burning up together. They would die together.
“Drink this.” A stern voice broke through the darkness. Every inch of his body hurt. And burned. And a great weight was crushing his chest.
“Can’t breathe,” he rasped. But he was tipped forward and liquid was poured past his lips. Half of it dribbled down his chin and onto his chest but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the pain—the fire.
He didn’t open his eyes. The voice he heard by his bed was not Olivia’s. Had he only imagined her here before? Had that been a dream, too?
Was this a dream? A nightmare?
He laid back again and waited to die.
Where was she?
Four days. Gabriel remained in his bed, fighting for his life. Louella and Crawford had promised they’d remain at Sky Manor until he was out of the woods. But then they would leave.
Louella knew everything now. What she didn’t know, Olivia presumed she’d guessed. But neither she nor Crawford had said a word.
They couldn’t. If Gabriel died…
Olivia nearly choked at the thought.
But if he died, none of it mattered. And even if he lived…
None of it mattered.
The mood in the manor was subdued. No one laughed. Dinner was a most somber affair. Lady Kingsley had thanked Crawford profusely and begged him to stay on. The doctor had arrived later, leeches in hand, and Crawford had sent the man packing.
Nathanial had talked Olivia into going on a few short nature walks with him, bu
t she’d never strayed far from the house. And even though she knew him to be harmless, she’d asked Mary to come along on each occasion.
The terror she’d felt from Lockley crept up on her at the strangest of times. She avoided the hike to the folly, although it had been her favorite before.
Lockley was dead.
Lady Priscilla had taken to her chamber. She’d not come down for any meals, nor had she sat in the parlor in the afternoons, reading or knitting or crocheting with Lady Kingsley, Mrs. Beasley, Louella, Miss Shipley, and herself.
The girl considered her brother’s injury her fault.
Which was what had brought Olivia to the outside of Lady Priscilla’s chamber that afternoon. She hoped the girl would let her in. She hoped she could relieve some of her guilt. For Lady Priscilla’s sake but also for Gabriel.
He loved his sister.
He’d practically given his life for her. And again, Olivia stifled a sob. He could not die!
But she had to do something.
Olivia rapped four times on the young woman’s door.
Lady Kingsley had studied her curiously when she had discovered Olivia sitting at Gabriel’s side after the bullet was removed. Louella had come with Gabriel’s mother and then escorted Olivia back to her own chamber.
The nurses in the daytime had not allowed her to enter again.
It wasn’t proper for a young woman to be in a gentleman’s bedchamber. Even Miss Shipley was only allowed to visit a few times with her aunt by her side.
Who was Olivia, anyhow? Just another one of their guests, a distant acquaintance from his time at Misty Brooke.
Olivia knocked at the door again, harder this time.
“Go away.”
“Please?” Olivia was relieved, at least, to hear the girl’s voice. “I’m not leaving until you let me in.”
She heard footsteps and then the door opened just a few inches. “I appreciate your concern, Miss Redfield, but—”
“It wasn’t your fault.” Olivia insisted before the door could be closed again. “I know you believe it to be your fault but there was something else. I think you’re blaming yourself and—” Olivia gulped. “Your brother ordered the baron off after discovering Lockley attacked me.”
The Perfect Spinster: A Regency Romance (The Not So Saintly Sisters Book 2) Page 23
