There was no sign that they were being followed. So he allowed the mare to slow up, then realized how rigid Emily was, pressed to his chest. She was holding her side, and when he looked down, he was appalled at the amount of blood soaking the front of her habit. Jerking off his cravat, he pressed it to her side, making her cry out.
“It's going to be all right, Emily."
Her pale face was set, her lips compressed together. Still, her chin quivered. Somewhere in their flight she'd lost that silly hat with the white feather. He nuzzled her hair with his cheek and whispered in her ear, “Cry if you want, Em. I won't mind."
She nodded her head twice and whimpered as tears spilled down her blanched cheeks. He felt helpless as her warm sticky blood soaked through his cravat and leather glove. He didn't dare rush the mare because it would jostle Emily more. All he could do was encourage her to hang on and whisper endearments as her life's blood seeped through his fingers.
When they reached the Park, he guided Marabell to the front door and dismounted. Drawing Emily down into his arms, he cradled her close to his heart and took the steps two at a time. He arrived at the door just as Pickering opened it. Throwing orders at the flustered butler, Gabriel rushed up the stairs as Emily swooned in his arms.
He passed her room, deciding to place her in the suite next to his own. He intended to oversee every bit of her recovery. Gently, he laid her down on the big four poster and, with shaking hands, unbuttoned the bodice of her habit. The white cambric blouse, crimson with blood, followed. He grabbed the flimsy muslin of her chemise with both hands and rent the fabric neatly in two to expose the ugly wound, still oozing blood. Quickly he reached around and ripped the waist of her skirt, further exposing her side.
“Milord, what are you doing?" Mrs. Hopkins rushed in with a maid right behind her. If either woman was appalled with the liberties he'd taken with the unconscious Emily, neither said as both stood, opened mouthed and wide-eyed, observing his attempt to stem the flow of blood. When the housekeeper started to leave, Gabriel called over his shoulder. “Where are you going?"
“To get bandages, hot water and balsam powder, milord." Her eyes narrowed slightly before she added, “And I think I had better find a gown for the young miss."
He gave her a curt nod and thanked her before turning back to his work.
He drew up a light wool coverlet at the foot of the bed and draped it around her so he still had access to her wound.
When he put a hand on her forehead, Emily moaned.
“I'm sorry, Emily, but you’ll feel more pain before this is over. You've my promise, though," he said between clenched teeth, “when I get my hands on the blackguard who's responsible for this, his life won't be worth a farthing."
There was a commotion in the hall. The young maid, standing nervously in the doorway, stepped aside to let Tom and Freddy enter. Hard on their heels were Chesterfield--and Cecil.
At the sight of his cousin, something snapped inside of Gabriel. He swung around and in two strides had his hand about Cecil's throat. In two more strides, Gabriel slammed Cecil into the wall, wiping his cousin's arrogant complacency from his reddening face.
“You blackguard!" Gabriel growl was guttural as he put everything into trying to tighten his hold about Cecil's throat even as Chesterfield and Tom each grabbed an arm to stop him.
“Hold up, man!" Chesterfield said. "You'll kill him!"
“I mean to." Gabriel felt a hint of satisfaction with Cecil's purplish hue. But the combined efforts of Chesterfield and Tom as well as Caldwell's own frantic hold on Gabriel's hands were weakening his grip.
“This is murder, Lindemann," Tom shouted in Gabriel's ear.
“He tried to murder your sister," Gabriel ground out though clamped teeth.
“Gab, Gab." It was a weak, almost pathetic cry, coming from the bed. “No, Gab."
Slowly, sanity began to work through the red haze of hate. With an extreme effort, Gabriel gave a final shove against Caldwell's windpipe, applying as much pressure as he could with three men pulling on his arms. He stepped away, breathing hard, clenching and unclenching hands that felt empty and cheated as he glared at Cecil, slumped against the wall, gasping for breath.
“Are you mad?" Chesterfield put himself between Gabriel and Cecil.
“Yes, for justice. This knave is responsible for Emily being shot." His words brought all eyes to the bed where Emily lay. Her eyes met his, looking even larger in her colorless face.
“Gab," she whispered. “Please."
He was beside her in an instant, smoothing back the curls from her frightened face. She brought her hand up, and he took it lovingly, tenderly. She stared at his hands, hers dwarfed, lost between his two, the same two he'd just used to try to strangle the life out of his cousin.
“Remember," she half whispered, “you have no proof. Cecil still wins, even if you kill him."
“What nonsense is this," croaked Cecil.
Gabriel didn't turn around. “Get out of here, Caldwell, before I call you out."
“Why you--"
Gabriel heard sounds of a struggle behind him. Chesterfield and Tom were obviously restraining Cecil. Then, Chesterfield said, “Do as Lindemann says, Caldwell."
“Bad ton, this," Ellison said, standing just inside the door.
“Go to hell," Cecil answered in a gravelly voice. “You liver bellied tulip, get out of my sight!"
Tense moments passed, but in the end, Tom and Chesterfield forcefully escorted Cecil to the door and shoved him from the room. Chesterfield slammed the door closed, leaving the anxious little housemaid out in the hall.
Tom hung over Gabriel's shoulder. “Emily."
“Pickering's sent for Doc Larson," Gabriel said, still holding his wood sprite's cold hand.
“What happened?" Chesterfield walked around the other side of the bed, and Freddy and Ellison came around to flank him.
“My cousin's henchman achieved success at last," Gabriel said by way of beginning. He started with the attack on his person in London. No one interrupted to ask questions, and when at last he concluded with the ambush on Emily and him that afternoon, the silence was almost palatable.
“You must not turn him away," she whispered, breaking the silence.
Gabriel shook his head. “Don't talk, Em."
“She's right, Gabriel," said Chesterfield. “You, yourself, must see how preposterous your story sounds. Without evidence of Cecil's treachery, the ton will see you as the blackguard, turning off your cousin and his sister without a sou."
“You expect me to be cordial to those two," scoffed Gabriel.
“At least until we have hard evidence against them," Chesterfield replied. “Best way to do that is to keep Caldwell and his sister under our noses."
Gabriel could see the justification of Chesterfield's argument. Still, it was a bitter pill to swallow. Tom was the one who decided the matter for him.
“I want the man who did this to my sister to pay," Tom declared.
“After this, can you be pleasant to Caldwell?" Gabriel asked.
The smile Tom gave Gabriel bordered on a grimace. “I can take my cue from the enemy. In the end, what matters is that he's made to suffer."
A light tap sounded on the door, and the housekeeper entered carrying a tray loaded with strips of linen, a pitcher of hot water, an assortment of apothecary jars and the makings for a cup of tea. “These men will have to leave, milord."
As each man filed by Gabriel for the door, a silent pact was made as every man met the Gabriel’s eyes.
“Rest easy, Emily," Tom said, reaching across Gabriel to awkwardly pat his sister's hand.
“Give the young lady this to drink, milord," Mrs. Hopkins said, handing a delicate tea cup to him.
“What's in it?" Gabriel asked suspiciously.
“Nothing that will hurt the young miss. 'Tis nothing more than tea with a little laudanum added," she said pointedly.
Gently Gabriel lifted Emily's head and put the cup to her pa
rched lips. After she drained the contents, he eased her back onto the pillow and helplessly watched her slip back into unconsciousness.
When Doc Larson arrived, Gabriel remained by the bed to make sure the good physician didn't bleed Emily. After extracting the bullet, Larson held it between the forceps and eyed it speculatively. “A poacher's bullet you say, my lord? Don't know of any of the locals who need to poach your lands. Your game warden keeps them well supplied. Let's them lay traps from time to time as well."
When Gabriel didn't answer, Larson went about liberally applying balsam powder to the wound and binding Emily's waist with strips of muslin. “The gel's a lucky one. This is no flesh wound, but it's not so bad that it should cause her too much difficulty. Biggest worry is infection, of course. Watch her closely for the next day or so. Call me if she gets feverish. May have to cup her yet."
“Don't you think she's lost enough blood?" Gabriel was barely able to keep his tone civil.
“As to that, fever is one thing you can't be too careful about. Cupping’s the only way to rid the body of poisonous humors, you know."
Observing Emily's shallow breathing, her pallid face, her pinched features, Gabriel knew a moment of panic. He hadn't been able to protect his wood spite from his cousin's murderous plot. How often on the battle field had he witnessed the stoutest soldier, who’d sustained a slight wound, succumb to that insidious enemy, infection?
Suddenly Gabriel felt like he could cry.
*** Chapter 13 ***
Deborah saw Cecil pelt down the stairs and make for the library. By the scowl on his face, there was no doubt she'd have to deal with his foul temper. Still, he might be able to shed some light on what had happened to Emily Pendleton. Entering the library, she glanced at her brother's bowed head and closed the door.
Without raising his head, Cecil cut hard, cruel eyes to her and growled, “Get out. I'm in no mood for histrionics."
“Pray tell, why should I enact a Cheltenham tragedy?"
He returned her haughty gaze with a malevolent one, then rose and began a slow, predatory pacing about the room. “Because, my dear sister, we are completely undone, as you would say. That imbecile, Anslow, hit the wrong target today."
“Emily is dead?"
“Not yet, and were I a believer, I'd, myself, pray the foolish hoyden recovers. But little does it matter since our cousin has vowed vengeance."
“He has called you out." Deborah dropped into a tapestry chair and raised a shaking hand to her breast.
Cecil stopped his pacing only long enough to glower down at her. “Would that he had. Then, at least, I could run him through and win the title. More likely, you and I will be banished from the Park in disgrace, for he swears the truth will come out."
“But, then, we will not be received. . . anywhere."
“You and I, persona non grata." He laughed evilly. “At last, you perceive our dilemma."
“If what you say is true--"
“'Tis true enough." He threw up a hand in disgust.
“But I just left Tom and Chesterfield in the drawing room when they came to tell us that Emily had been shot by a poacher. They did not snub me."
Cecil halted his pacing and leaned over the back of a wing back to face her. “A poacher’s shot? No direct cut?" He pondered this for a few moments before straightening. “Then, perhaps they were able to assuage our cousin's lust for my blood after all."
“So what do we do?"
“Bide our time. They'll be watching me, but it appears all is not yet lost."
“If they know--"
“Suspect, Deborah. They can only suspect, for there is no evidence. Of that, I've been very sure. At any rate, we've little choice in the matter." He turned his mocking eyes on her again. “There is no where else for us to go, my dear sibling. We haven't the funds or the wherewithal to even make a proper dash to the continent."
###
For Emily, time blurred. She saw images of a haggard Gabriel, eyes hollowed from lack of sleep, a shadowed jaw from a heavy growth of bread, all filtered through a haze. He always seemed to be bending over her, placing a wet, cool cloth on her hot brow. She dreamed his strong arms lifted her onto cool clean sheets. Alternately, those same arms cradled her feverish body, wrecked by chills, in blankets and provided the only warmth that stopped the convulsive shivering.
In a distant part of her consciousness, she was aware of late night conferences in hushed voices held around her bed. Tom, Chesterfield, and then Freddy came and went at odd hours. As time passed, Emily became more lucid, her body less plagued by fevered heat and chills, and the worried scowl marring Gabriel's brow lessened.
Then one morning, she woke to find the sun flooding the room and Jane Taber's sweet countenance bending over her.
“How do you feel, Emily dear?"
“Thirsty," Emily croaked.
Jane helped her drink a glass of barley water. After resettling Emily, Jane sat in a chair by the bed. For the first time, Emily noted the cheery yellow and white striped papered walls and gold satin chaise lounge before a white marble fireplace. The massive four poster bed she occupied had towering posts, supporting a creamy satin and lace canopy that matched the striped stain coverlet.
“Whose room is this?"
“Do you mean this is the first you have noticed the beautiful furnishing?" Jane gave a merry laugh. “You must be getting better."
“I was not myself after being shot yesterday."
“Yesterday? Oh, no, Emily. It has been nearly a week now that you were injured."
That gave Emily reason to pause. It also explained her ravenous hunger.
A short, though timid knock on the door heralded Aunt Esmeralda, and Jane excused herself to freshen up. Plied with questions from Emily, the old lady was most willing to provide more insight on the happenings over the past week.
“What a to-do you caused, my dear." Lady Spivey said, sharing tea with Emily.
Emily smiled to herself. She'd seen the old lady spike her brew with an amber liquid from a flask hidden in the voluminous folds of her skirt. Some things never changed.
“Though I will say it did serve to get rid of Lady Raines and that jealous puss she has for a daughter."
“You mean the Lady Raines and Sylvia have left?"
“Indeed, left with their noses out of joint," her aunt reported with a satisfied smirk. “When it became clear that Lindemann would not leave your bedside even to entertain his guests for dinner, those two packed their bags and left the very next day."
“But Jane is still here?"
Lady Spivey was slow in answering as she indulged in a liberal sip of her tea. “Sylvia allowed Miss Taber could stay for a couple of weeks and only then at the urgings of the Viscount. You know, Emily dear, Sylvia hung around after your engagement was announced because she thought she might still have a go at Lindemann. After all, Lindemann Park is in the wilds of nowhere, and not many people would hear of the engagement for some time."
“Yes, Aunt Esmeralda."
“If you had done as I said and had Lindemann throw a ball to announce it to the neighborhood, you might have been spared some of Sylvia's nasty tongue."
“Yes, Aunt Esmeralda."
“Word of such a thing does make the rounds, though I would not count on those two putting about your engagement. A case of sour grapes there, if you know what I mean."
“Yes, Aunt Esmeralda."
“Of course, Lindemann claims he sent the announcement in to the Morning Post immediately. But a ball...a ball will fix it right and tight." She fixed Emily with a gimlet eye. “You will hint to Lindemann about one, my dear? You know, to seal this thing up, right and tight."
“Yes, Aunt Esmeralda."
“That’s my girl.” Aunt Esmeralda eyed her suspiciously. “I do believe that fever has made you more agreeable, Emily dear.”
When Jane returned, Emily pounced on her.
“You never said you would be leaving?"
“I am here for several more
days. Then I must join Sylvia and Lady Raines in Brighton. The Prince Regent is already in residence at the Pavilion."
“Are the Raines going to their home in Lancashire for the summer?"
“No, Lady Raines is hounding Sylvia to marry, for she says she is tired of gadding about on wild goose chases. This is Sylvia's third Season, and Lady Raines thinks it will be easier for Sylvia to nab one of the Carlton set." Jane gave Emily a small smile. “You were right, Emily. The gentlemen do run from poor Sylvia when they find out she can be such, ah . . ."
“A shrew."
Jane laughed. “Yes, and it appears to be a family trait. Her mother is much of the same temperament."
“What about you, Jane? What will you do after Sylvia marries?"
“It has been mentioned that I could become Lady Raines' companion."
“What an abominable thought. I will not let you do it. Come and live with me."
“Truly Emily, I will not mind. Besides, I cannot live with you after you marry the Viscount."
“Oh pooh, I cannot marry him."
“Why not? You do care for him, and he dotes on you.”
“Oh, he has come to care for me some. Still, it would not be fair. He never would have proposed if Cecil had not come, er . . . ." Watching Jane duck her head in embarrassment with the implication of her words, Emily quickly added, "At any rate, we would not suit."
“Now you are talking nonsense."
“No, it is true. Tom even pointed it out to me. Although,” she said thoughtfully, “I dare say he would never have said a word if he knew I meant to beg off. I lack the panache needed to be a viscountess. Gabriel deserves someone who can wear his cornet without having it slide off her head or tripping on her train."
Jane laughed, but seeing that Emily meant every word, she said, “You are wrong, Emily. Someday you will regret not fighting for the one you love."
“What about you, Jane? What about Freddy?"
Jane colored prettily. “There is no hope there."
“I will bet a monkey to a groat that he cares for you."
“But I have no dowry."
“Freddy is rich as Croesus. It would not matter to him if you have no dot."
The Hopeless Hoyden Page 19
