His stomach heaved and his sight filled with black and white spots. Unconsciousness pushed at his mind, demanding entrance. Oblivion was both a temptation and a nightmare. He couldn’t give in to his body’s demands. Not yet. Not until Sydney was safe.
Scuffling noises sounded behind him. He pushed away from the floor with his good arm. Ghostly images eddied in front of his face. Ignoring them, he sat back on his heels, reaching between his legs for his knife. The air shifted around him, and he whipped his head up. His eyes registered the cloaked figure before they blurred again. Sydney.
“Not supposed to be here,” he whispered, swaying.
“And miss my opportunity to save you again?” a raspy voice asked.
He blinked several times to clear his vision, but her hooded image wavered in and out of focus. “Are you hurt?”
A gloved hand cupped his face. “All’s well, my love.”
He tried to shake his head. The movement was sluggish. “Giles missing,” he managed before lurching forward.
Thirty
A steel pike jammed into Ethan’s shoulder, thrusting him awake. “Son of a—”
Cool hands clasped his face. “Look at me, Ethan,” Sydney demanded.
His gaze slashed around, not recognizing the room. “Where am I?”
Her fingers dug into his cheeks until his attention settled on her. She no longer wore the black cloak. “You’re still at Abbingale. In a small parlor located on the first floor. Your shoulder is dislocated, and Mrs. Fielding is attempting to make an adjustment.”
“By cutting the damned thing off?” He angled his head around to see how much was left.
“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s trying to help you.”
“Besides, my lord,” the apothecary said behind him, “severing the limb is only necessary if the patient is uncooperative.”
Ethan twisted in his chair to glare at the owner of the impertinent remark; Sydney held tight, but he still caught a glimpse of Helsford lurking near the apothecary.
“Now, I’m going to release you,” Sydney said. “But you must relax and sit perfectly still.”
“I’m not going to like this, am I?”
Mrs. Fielding cupped her hand over the top of his dislocated shoulder, positioning her thumb to the center of his shoulder blade. “The worst part is over, my lord. Removing your fitted coat likely hurt you far more than will snapping the ball back into its socket.”
“I’m weak-kneed with relief, Mrs. Fielding.” He clenched his teeth together, then nodded his readiness to Sydney. She released his face, though she continued kneeling in front of him.
“Lord Helsford, would you mind taking your position?”
“My pleasure.” He moved to Ethan’s right side.
“Helsford?” Ethan heard the double en tendre behind his friend’s words. “If you so much as touch me—”
“His lordship has agreed to be my assistant, if necessary,” Mrs. Fielding said. “Now, what I’m about to do will feel a little strange and might be uncomfortable, but you should not feel any significant pain. If you do, let me know immediately. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Sydney scowled at his militant tone.
With her hand still on his shoulder, Mrs. Fielding grasped his wrist, where it hung at his side. Slowly, she lifted his arm in a wide arc, and the bone rotating beneath his skin did, indeed, feel strange, like the moving parts of a clock not quite aligned. She reached the hundred-degree angle and stopped.
“I’m going to need your assistance after all, Lord Helsford.”
His friend smirked. “Interesting to note Danforth’s mind is not the only stubborn part of his body.”
“Shut up, Helsford.” Sweat raked down his spine, and the discomfort in his arm began to build.
The earl bent at one knee and pushed three fingers into the front of Ethan’s armpit.
“Ethan, look at me.”
He trained his eyes on Sydney, on the emerald sphere of her irises. Somehow staring into her eyes gave him the strength to endure their manipulations. A small twitch in his cheek was the only outward sign he felt what they were doing.
Pop!
A harsh, relieved breath escaped his nose.
“What was that?” Sydney demanded.
“His shoulder rotating back into place.”
Sydney sent him a smile and squeezed his hand before climbing to her feet.
“You did well, my lord,” the apothecary said.
“Are you talking to the jackanapes kneeling on the floor or me?” Ethan asked.
“Both, I suppose.”
“All he did was stick his fingers in my armpit.”
Helsford rose. “All you did was stare longingly into Miss Hunt’s eyes.”
“A difficult feat with your clumsy fingers digging around.”
“Boys,” Sydney scolded, carrying a small pillow and a couple torn lengths of sheet.
“Where’s your walking stick?” he asked, scowling.
Helsford grinned, ear to ear. “She used it to thrash the matron.”
Ethan started to share Helsford’s smile and then realized he’d put her in a situation where she had to defend them both. Shifting his gaze to the floor, he tested his right shoulder. The movement hurt like hell, but at least he could use his arm again.
“Not too far,” Mrs. Fielding warned.
He halted the action.
“Once a shoulder dislocates, the joint is forever unstable and you can easily dislocate it again. Especially right now.”
“Brilliant.”
Sydney handed the pillow to the apothecary, who placed it between his injured arm and torso.
“My lord, please bend your arm for me.” Mrs. Fielding helped guide his arm into the position she wanted.
Sydney held out one end of the torn sheet to the apothecary and together they devised a secure sling for his arm. Then they used the other length of sheet to immobilize his arm against his body.
“Is that really necessary?” he asked, feeling like an invalid.
“Yes, my lord.” Mrs. Fielding tied off the strip of linen. “It’s important that you not use your arm for three weeks. Once you remove the sling, you must not lift anything heavy for at least two months, for the reasons I’ve already mentioned.”
Helsford did one of those disbelieving air snorts. He knew better than most what such confinement would do to Ethan’s mental state.
“Three weeks? Are you certain?”
The apothecary’s lips pressed together. “You might be able to remove it in a fortnight.” Her next words were directed at Sydney. “Though I don’t advise it.”
Ethan’s stomach roiled at the thought of going through such nauseating pain a second time.
“If you have ice available to you, I suggest you use some on the shoulder for a few days to reduce the swelling. Same for the lump on your head.” The apothecary picked up a small portmanteau that acted as a medical bag and dug out a brown bottle. “I know a few exercises that will strengthen the shoulder and reduce the stiffness. I’ll pay you a visit when it’s time to remove the sling and share them with you.” For the first time, she appeared unsure. “If it pleases you, my lord.”
“It pleases him, Mrs. Fielding,” Helsford said. “May I walk you out?”
Surprise widened her eyes. “Thank you, my lord. But that’s not necessary. I’m used to navigating the city on my own.”
“Mrs. Fielding,” Ethan interrupted. Exhaustion rode heavily on his chest. “Helsford wants to pay for your services in private and ensure you get home safely.” He flicked his hand toward his friend. “If you don’t allow him his gentlemanly due, he becomes intolerable.”
She glanced between him and Helsford, then nodded.
“Thank you, Mrs. Fielding,” Ethan said. “I think.”
“You’re
welcome, Lord Danforth. I think.” She handed him the brown bottle. “For the pain.”
Ethan read the label. Laudanum.
Sydney walked with the apothecary for a while, speaking to her in a low voice. At the door, she bid the healer farewell and then returned to his side. “How do you feel?”
He shifted awkwardly in the hardback chair. “Like that’s the closest I ever want to come to having a limb severed.”
She stared at him. “You paint quite the picture.”
“What were the two of you whispering about?”
“Do you always inquire about private conversations?”
“When I believe they’re about me.”
She sighed. “You have a severe concussion, Ethan. Mrs. Fielding warned me to watch for certain symptoms.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes.”
“How long was I out?” He couldn’t keep the self-disgust from his voice.
“Not long.” She brushed a lock of hair off his forehead; her fingers continued a featherlight trail down his cheek. “Time enough for us to send for Mrs. Fielding and wrestle you into this chair.”
Rubbing his splintering forehead, he said, “I don’t recall anything after seeing you running down the corridor.” Except the paralyzing fear. He recalled that.
“You rammed into Mrs. Kingston, sending her gun flying,” she said. “Lord Helsford was racing up the stairs at the same time and subdued the woman.”
“After you clouted her.”
She sent him a quelling look. “Matron’s being interrogated by Lord Somerton at the moment. Mrs. Ashcroft, Miss deBeau, and Amelia are attending the boys.”
“The bodies?”
“Removed.”
“It’s nice to know all I have to do is take a wee nap and everything is taken care of by the time I wake.” No wonder Somerton had reservations about him for the chief’s position. When Cora had needed him, he’d lain senseless in a warehouse for days. At the most critical moment tonight, he got a bump on the head and fell unconscious, leaving the woman he loved to fight for her life. Could he be anymore inept?
He almost groaned out loud. Did he truly love Sydney? He must. Why else would he put up with her stubborn, managing ways? Her kindness and selflessness. Her aching kisses and lush, warm body. A resigned breath poured from his lungs, and his hand fell away.
“Ethan,” she said in a stern voice. “Nothing is taken care of. We’ve set some things into motion, but there’s a great deal more to do. We still have no idea what’s truly going on here and now Giles Clarke is missing.”
“Dammit, how could I have forgotten?” He tried to stand and a wave of dizziness struck him. He landed hard in his seat, and a cold sweat broke out on his face. “Christ.”
“You didn’t forget. I daresay the pain has been a bit of a distraction,” she said, steadying him. “Amelia found William Townsend’s name on Abbingale’s subscription list.”
Grasping the opportunity to do something besides sitting there and getting sick, Ethan considered this information in conjunction with what he’d learned earlier. “The boys told me that Giles’s father had come to collect him.”
She pulled a chair closer and sat. “You think Lord Latymer is Giles Clarke’s father.”
“It seems rather fantastical, but the association would explain a great deal.”
“How so?”
“Latymer’s career was set. He could have easily risen to Foreign Secretary. Then for no reason that we understood, he became entangled in a French plot to kill his friend, the only individual who possessed full knowledge of the Nexus. Why would an ambitious, aristocratic gentleman give up his career and heritage?”
“To protect his son.”
“Precisely.”
“But what was he protecting Giles from?”
“Mark Snell said one of the gifted boys disappears every few weeks. That the gifted boys are not orphans.”
“There are other boys here who have families? Does that mean they’re being held against their will?”
“Mark’s revelation coincides with what we know of Giles Clarke and his mother. Someone was forcing Mrs. Clarke to monitor Catherine Ashcroft’s every move. And that same someone was likely using Giles to coerce his father into betraying his country.”
“A form of extortion?”
“Consider the attempt to kidnap Lord Melville’s grandson,” he said. “They kidnap the children in order to force their parent—or parents, in Giles’s case—to do their bidding.”
“How horrible.”
Not half as horrible as what he’d learned from Mrs. Kingston.
“What?” she asked, reading his expression.
“I’m not sure I should tell you.”
“Does it have to do with the children?”
He nodded, and she closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, she wore her proprietress expression. “Tell me.”
“You were right to question LaRouche’s generosity when it came to caring for the children of his enemies. According to Mrs. Kingston, the Frenchman began selling some of the boys.” The tears glistening in her eyes proved he did not need to expound.
“And the other boys? The runners?”
“As we thought, they were part of an elaborate French intelligence scheme.”
Her expression took on a faraway look as if she was trying to imagine such an awful chain of events. “I must find the boys he sold,” she said in a broken whisper.
He leaned forward and kissed her trembling lips. “Yes, we must.”
Gratitude shone in her beautiful green eyes. “We?”
“Yes. We.” He sealed the promise with another kiss. “You might like to know LaRouche is dead.”
“How? When?”
“I suspect sometime yesterday. When LaRouche started trafficking the boys, he evidently crossed the matron’s moral threshold. She had already planned out his death. My arrival yesterday merely sped up the process.”
“What did your arrival have to do with it?”
“She didn’t get around to that part, but I suspect it had something to do with him calling me a spy. She must have seen her little enterprise crumbling before her eyes.”
“Good Lord. All that was happening beneath this roof, and I did not see any of it.”
“Not true.” He grasped her hand. “You knew something was not right here. That’s more than anyone else cared to notice.”
“Do you think Latymer’s going to flee England?”
“There’s nothing here for him anymore. One of the boys overheard him tell Giles they were traveling on a ship.”
“Cameron Adair was right.”
“So it would seem.” He studied her face. “Earlier, you did not mention what Mac’s doing.”
The last dim light faded from her features. “That’s because I have no idea. I haven’t seen him since our discussion in my study. Amelia is sick with worry, as am I.”
“He’s grieving and angry. The combination of those two emotions can be blinding at first. Once he overcomes the initial shock, they will help focus him.”
“On what?”
“Finding his brother’s killer, of course.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, God.”
Angling forward, he curled his finger under her chin, tilting her head back until she looked at him. “You didn’t really think he would sit back and allow the Nexus to avenge Mick’s death, did you?”
Her breath shuddered. “I didn’t think that far.”
“That’s because you’re not a man,” he said softly. “Revenge is our very first consideration.”
“I could not bear it if I lost him, too.”
“He’s angry, not stupid. Unlike his brother, he knows who he’s up against.”
“Won’t Lord Somerton want
to question Latymer before Mac,” she hesitated, “avenges Mick?”
“Somerton caught up to Mac after our conversation in your study.”
“And?”
“They came to an understanding.”
“Oh.” Worry creased her brow.
“The Nexus will watch over Mac and see to Latymer, should he falter. Perhaps you, and the other ladies, could focus your considerable talents on coming up with a plan for Abbingale’s lost boys, including Giles Clarke, when we locate him.”
She nodded. “I’d like that, and thank you for keeping an eye on Mac.”
“You’re welcome.” Ethan moved his hand to the back of her neck, pulling her closer. “I’m sorry I failed you.”
Her fingers curled around his forearm and her other hand gripped his nape. “You didn’t fail me, Ethan. You couldn’t ever.”
“I left you vulnerable—”
She silenced him with a kiss, a long, comforting kiss. “Your first instinct was to safeguard me, and you did, at great cost to yourself. Had I stayed away, like you asked, you would not have suffered so.”
“As much as I hate to admit this,” he brushed his lips over her jaw, “you gave me the incentive—and the distraction—I needed to disarm Mrs. Kingston.”
Following his lead, she dotted warm kisses along his neck. “I couldn’t stand not knowing how you fared. Amelia distracted the others long enough for me to get away.”
He kissed the corner of her mouth. “Which would explain why everyone is here now.”
She smiled. “All part of my master plan.”
“I am a lucky man to be in love with such an intelligent woman.”
She froze.
“Given my past, I’m sorry for the burden my declaration places on you. And this isn’t exactly how I wanted to tell you.” He blew out a breath and rested his forehead against hers. “Hell, I’m not even sure I wanted to tell you.” Considering her silence, he was making a muck of things. Again.
He drew away. “I’m sorry. I can see this was not the time. Maybe never was.”
“Ethan,” she said in a wobbly voice. “You’re such a fool.”
Tears gathered in her eyes, and her features appeared… happy.
Hope slammed into his heart and, for a moment, he forgot all about the pains in his body.
A Lady's Secret Weapon Page 31
