Phillip tended to Jared, got him up and dragged him over to sit next to Josie.
Jared’s ripped shirt was missing a sleeve. He leaned his head back against the stone side of the building behind them and moaned. Blood trickled from a cut to his forehead, and Josie could only stare. Gently she placed a hand on his forearm. “Captain Allendale?”
“’Tis all right, Miss Storm. I cannot move my left arm. It hurts like the devil. I’ve been through worse.” Jared gazed at the courtyard to where his brother and friends battled. “Lord, help them,” he whispered.
Theo had taken a punch that had knocked the wind out of him, and he sat dazed to the outside of the imaginary circle within which the men fought.
Michael and Phillip had backed off when Marcus had yelled at them for getting in the way, “He’s mine!” They gave Marcus his space, but it had not gone well. They were tense and ready to step in if necessary.
The giant started to lose steam.
Marcus moved slower. His knuckles were bloodied. His face was battered, but he remained focused and intent on Red. He had tossed his coat aside, and his ripped vest soon joined the dust. Blood spread across part of his back from a knife wound.
~*~
Marcus had never hurt so much in his life. The pain was cathartic as he sought to purge the hurt and suffering he had carried with him at the loss of Josie. He struggled not to look over to her. Jared was injured and sat by her side. He trusted his brother to take care of her. He had never faced so fierce an enemy, in fencing or in the boxing ring at Gentleman Jackson’s, but then again, this man did not adhere to the rules of those sports. Marcus had abandoned all attempts at courtesy and quickly switched to fighting dirty. He did not know if he could take this man, but at least he had to try.
Michael and Phillip stood poised and ready should he need them.
Marcus spat blood out of his mouth. He was breathing heavy, and in spite of the cool damp air, he was sweating. He gasped for breath in between blows and ducked as much as he could. The giant tossed Marcus to the ground, and Marcus found his hand close to the gun that had fallen out of his coat when the fight began. In desperation, he reached for it and cocked the hammer back. He rose to his feet and found Red charging at him like a bull. They struggled for the gun, and it discharged as both men tumbled to the ground. Red went limp on top of Marcus.
The crowd stilled, not sure who had been shot in the scuffle. Marcus was not even sure himself, as every part of his body screamed in agony. Marcus growled to his friends, “Get this brute off me.”
Phillip and Michael rolled the giant on to his back. With great effort, Marcus rose to his knees and pointed the gun at the man’s chest. Phillip bent to take the giant’s pulse and nodded to Marcus that he was alive.
Red’s eyes fluttered open and he gazed at Marcus. The giant’s breath shuddered in his body as blood seeped from the wound in his chest.
“Who paid you?” Marcus asked as his chest heaved in an effort to breathe. He thought he would pass out but wanted to finish what he’d started, hopefully without humiliating himself.
“Lord Widmore. Wanted ’er ded. I wern’t gonna kill ’er, only sell ’er.”
“As a prostitute?”
Red nodded.
Marcus fought back the urge to punch the man again.
Red weakly shook his head, and his eyes rolled back in his head.
Phillip checked his pulse and pulled his eyelids shut. He gave Marcus a grim look. “He’s gone.”
Marcus nodded, disabled his gun, and handed it to Michael.
Phillip rose to his feet, and they looked at each other across the dead body.
Marcus shook his head at Phillip. “Goodness, Phillip. I do not think I have ever seen you so out of fashion.”
Phillip grinned. Dirt streaked his face, and his hair fell in his eyes. “You do not look very fashionable yourself, my friend.”
Marcus’s legs went weak. “Theo. Michael. A little help if you would.”
26
Marcus, held up by Michael and Theo, stopped in front of Josie. Tears trickled down her cheeks at the sight of him battered and bloodied. As he came to stand there, her heart welled with love for this man.
“Are you well, Miss Storm?” he asked formally. His eyes were distant and glassy.
“I am as well as ever I could be. I am grateful to you for coming to my rescue.” She was not sure Marcus ever heard those words as his head wobbled forward.
Theo and Michael dragged Marcus into the inn with Lord Westcombe getting the door.
Phillip returned, helped Jared to rise and offered his other arm to Josie, who shakily stood to her feet. Slowly, they entered the inn, where Phillip had procured a private parlour.
Jared slumped in a high-backed chair by the fireplace, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. Josie stumbled to another chair on the other side of the fireplace and collapsed into it. She glanced at Phillip.
“Miss Storm, I’ need to check on Lord Remington. I will arrange for food and drink to be brought in to you.”
“Thank you, Lord Westcombe, but shouldn’t Captain Allendale also be seen by the doctor?”
Captain Allendale opened an eye to look at her. “All in good time, Miss Storm. I believe my brother got the worst of it, and when he has been tended to, as well as the others, I will take my turn.”
Josie nodded.
Phillip left the room.
The room soon bustled with the proprietor and his wife, who placed a feast for them on the center table. When they finished, they bowed, retreated, and closed the door behind them.
“Go ahead and eat, Miss Storm. There is no need to stand on ceremony with me.”
Josie gulped. Her stomach clenched. “I am not sure I can.”
“Try, at least. My brother would have my hide, were he able, if I do not see to your care.” Jared opened his eyes as he regarded her. He did not smile, but he winked.
Josie went to the table and sat by herself. She had been lonely, abandoned, and terrified in the carriage. Now that the adventure was over, she was lonely and wanted to cry. She was also hungry. She poured some port, took a sip, and began to relax. The smells coming from the hot food at the table—fresh baked bread, soup, and a joint of beef—all tempted her. She began to help herself to some of the offerings when the door opened again and Sir Michael entered.
Michael grinned at Josie. “A feast to celebrate our success, eh, Miss Storm? Except that you dine alone.” He glanced over to Captain Allendale. “Jared, what kind of host are you? You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Jared growled.
Michael laughed and walked over to the injured man. “Come, let us get you settled upstairs to await the doctor’s ministrations.”
Theo entered the room and assisted Jared in rising to his feet. “I will escort him up, Michael. Please sit and keep Miss Storm company. We should not have any more trouble…”
“But ’tis better to be safe than sorry.” Michael pulled back his torn coat to reveal the gun at his waist. Michael sat at the corner of the table closest to Josie.
Josie regarded Michael carefully. His hair was wet and freshly combed, and a colorful bruise was developing around his left eye. The clothes he had been wearing before were that of a servant, but now he was dressed as a gentleman of fashion although with a sloppily tied cravat. Any other injuries hid behind a smile, a twinkle in his eyes, and his natty attire.
Theodore and Jared left.
“Miss Storm,” Michael began, “how have you fared through your adventure?”
Josie reached up and touched her hair, which had tumbled out of its pins. She had not even thought of repairing her appearance in the middle of all that had happened. She glanced at Sir Michael.
“’Tis of no consequence, Miss Storm, when one is among friends. You can tend to your appearance later. You look far better than the first time I ever saw you. I believe a carriage was involved in that, as well.”
“Perhaps I should stay away from carri
ages, sir, since they seem to hold so many dangers for me.”
Michael laughed and grimaced as a hand went to his side.
Josie raised an eyebrow.
“A rib, tis nothing that time will not heal.” He bit into his buttered bread and closed his eyes as he hummed his contentment.
Josie grinned. How like Sir Michael to make everything seem like a lark. She sipped her soup. The last vestiges of dizziness seemed to ebb away the more she ate. “How did you find me?” Josie had been stunned at how her rescuers had appeared.
Michael set his bread down. He poured a glass of ale, took a sip, and regarded her over the mug. Setting it down slowly, he finally spoke. “It was all Remy’s doing, Miss Storm.”
“Josie. Please. We were friends once, were we not?”
“Josie. Marcus worried that something bad might happen to you, even with Sir Bastian out of the way. Something was fishy with that first carriage accident.”
“Accidents happen. Why would he worry about me? I would have thought he would have wanted nothing to do with me after the way I dismissed him.”
“I cannot speak to that, but the first accident was not an accident. We didn’t know, though, if you were the intended victim or not, and if the perpetrator would be bent on pursuing other attempts to harm you.”
Josie set her spoon down and took a sip of her wine. Marcus had provided for her protection even after she had rebuffed him. All the time she had wanted to connect with him and he had her guarded and watched. It made no sense. “But how did you end up here?”
“Marcus followed you and sent for help when you were kidnapped. We took off in pursuit, and he left us messages at the inns along the way. We cut across country and managed to get here before the fog settled in. We had a great mill in the courtyard, you were saved, and here we sit.” He raised a glass as if giving a celebratory toast.
Josie rose to stand by the window. She stared into the foggy night. Five men had come to her rescue, and all had suffered injury. For her.
Lord Westcombe entered the room and gently closed the door.
Josie glanced over to him, taking in his ripped shirt and the cuts on his face. He had washed up and had tried to repair the damage done to his person, but he still appeared careworn. Josie turned toward him. “I do not know how I could ever adequately thank you all for what you have done.” She choked back her tears.
Phillip walked over, placed a hand on her shoulder, and guided her back to the table. “Everything will be fine, Miss Storm.” He seated her, handed her the goblet, and bid her drink.
She complied.
Phillip sat next to her and filled his plate.
The two men glanced at each other.
Lord Westcombe shook his head.
“What is it?”
“Nothing,” Sir Michael said.
“I do not believe you.” She turned to Phillip. “Is it Lord Remington?” She did not need him to say anything, but the look of sorrow in his blue eyes spoke volumes. “He will recover.” She whispered the words, almost as a prayer.
“He has not awakened yet. The doctor is concerned.” Phillip focused on his food. “Josie, you must not blame yourself. He came of his own accord. We all did.”
Josie sipped her wine. Marcus had fought valiantly. His friends as well, but Marcus had taken the brunt of the fighting upon himself. “I cannot believe I doubted him.”
Theodore entered as she spoke.
“None of you doubted him, did you?” She glanced to all three of the men, who returned her gaze with steady eyes. “No, you would not. You trusted he would never betray his principles no matter what things looked like on the outside.”
“We have known him longer than you, Josie,” Michael replied gently.
She sighed. “Maybe so. But I was still wrong.” Josie set down her glass, rose, and wandered back to the window.
Lord Harrow took a seat and pour something to drink.
Josie hugged her torso and silently cursed herself for doubting Marcus. If she had believed him, perhaps none of this would have happened. Now, how would she ever forgive herself if he did not survive? Tears streamed down her face. Lord, please spare Marcus. Please heal him and his friends for they only sought to save me. Thank You for sending them. She sensed an answer in her spirit, but it crushed her further to remember how many people had rejected and failed to believe in Jesus and how he had died for her sins. She became terrified that Marcus would also die because of her. The grief and fear overwhelmed her.
Phillip came to her with a linen napkin from the table. “I would offer you my handkerchief or even my cravat if either of them had survived the fight.”
Josie turned and leaned into his dirty vest and ripped coat.
He tentatively placed an arm around her.
The contact only lasted for a moment before Josie backed away. “Thank you, Phillip.”
“We will need to stay here this evening. The fog is too thick to attempt the drive back to London tonight. I will arrange for rooms and check on how Allendale and Remington fare.” With that, he exited.
Sir Tidley rose, stirred up the embers in the fireplace, pushed a chair closer, and motioned for Phillip to bring Josie over.
She started to shiver uncontrollably as shock took over. The two gentlemen helped her settle in the chair and wrapped a blanket around her and gave her a sip of brandy. It did much to warm her up on the inside.
Theo returned shortly to state that a room for Josie awaited as they arranged a bath for her along with a servant to assist her for the evening.
“How are they?” She had to know how Marcus was doing.
Theo was sober and paused as if weighing what to tell her. “I wish I could give you a good report. Captain Allendale’s collarbone has been re-broken. He will be home from war longer than he would like, but the doctor expects that if he stays away from any more fights, he will recover in due time.”
“Lord Remington?” Josie asked hopefully.
Theo sighed and avoided eye contact. “The doctor is still with him. He has yet to regain consciousness. It is too early to tell.”
“Oh.” Josie’s spirits plummeted.
“Shall I escort you to your room, Miss Storm? The landlady will personally see to your care. I have tried to explain what you have endured. In the morning, we will escort you safely home as I am sure your father, Lady Grey, and others are concerned for you.”
Josie nodded and rose unsteadily. “Thank you. I owe you all a debt of gratitude that I could never fully repay.”
The men nodded.
Theo led her out of the room.
Josie was treated with courtesy by the landlord’s wife, and after a warm bath and oversized nightgown borrowed from her hostess, she was put to bed with the promise that her own gown would be washed and pressed by the time she rose in the morning. Josie fell asleep, but her dreams were disturbed. She awoke in the middle of the night in fear. She glanced around, and it took a few moments before she remembered where she was as all the memories of the previous day crashed in on her. She lay there in the dark, wondering and worrying how Marcus fared.
Why had he kept watch over her? Why did he go to such lengths to protect her? She shivered with the remembrance of Red and Weasel and her time in that carriage. Rolling over on her side, she hugged her pillow close and brought her blanket up snug around her shoulders as she shivered at the brutality of the fight she had witnessed and the way Marcus and his friends had suffered. All for her. It had overall been too eventful of a day, and she did not know how long she rested there praying for Marcus as he lay in another room that the men refused to let her visit. She didn’t even know which one it was. There would be no nocturnal bedside vigils.
Shame overcame her as she remembered his faithful prayers by her bed. But here she was, alone and unable to act on any similar desire.
Tomorrow she would return to London. What would happen after that? She had already planned to return home. She hoped that her disappearance had not become common
knowledge amongst the ton or her reputation would be in shatters. But what would that matter when the man she loved was near death? She closed her eyes in an attempt to fall back asleep and dreamed she was walking the gardens of Rose Hill with Marcus.
When she awoke later, she found that her fire had been stoked by a maid, her clothes had been returned, and a pot of tea awaited her. She rose, and her head pounded. She savored the tea, warmed herself by the fireplace, and managed to dress. The innkeeper’s wife had provided her with a shawl to use as well, and Josie gratefully wrapped it around her before she exited the room to go down to break her fast.
She entered the private parlour and was surprised to observe Captain Allendale there before her.
He stood as she came in. His arm was in a sling and appeared to be bound to his torso. It was partially hidden by his jacket that lay loose on his shoulder on that side of his body. He deftly slid a chair back and helped her sit before he returned to his own seat. His blue eyes were bloodshot, and he had not shaved. His jaw was set, and he ate little.
“Did you rest well, Miss Storm?”
Josie shook her head. “How is your shoulder?”
“It hurts more than I care to admit, but the doctor says that now that it is immobilized, I can go home to recover in my own bed under the care of our family physician.” He sighed. “I will not like having to explain this to Whitehall.”
“How long now before you can return to service?”
“It might be two more months now.” He frowned.
“I am sorry. I wish…” She shook her head. She wished many things. Foolish things. What was the point?
“What do you wish?” He looked at her now, his brows furrowed in concern.
“It is immaterial and foolish at present.” She helped herself to some toast and jam.
“Sometimes dreams sustain us when life is hard.” His voice was soft and gentle.
“Sometimes wishes taunt us with what may never be ours as well, and in that, they can be torture.” Josie frowned. “I’m sorry you have suffered for my foolishness.”
The Virtuous Viscount Page 23
