A cold weight pressed on his chest. She was dying.
Drops of water fell on her pale cheeks.
Rain.
His fingers shook as he gently wiped them away.
More fell.
Oh God. Not rain. He dragged his sleeve across his eyes.
He swallowed the burning lump in his throat. God. Don’t let her die. I’ll do anything. I’ll stay away from her. I swear.
Please. Don’t let her die because of me.
CHAPTER NINE
Victoria ached all over. The musky scent of sandalwood enveloped her. Arms held her in a firm grip against a warm, hard chest rising and falling with steady breaths. Her cheek rubbed against the soft fabric of a coat. Someone carrying her.
“Benton, help Miss Allenby inside. Send for the doctor. And, Benton, get the name and directions of the young man helping my cousin. Damnation, man! Don’t just stand there. Make haste.”
A heart thrummed loud and strong in her ear. Travis’s voice, harsh and demanding, echoed through her aching skull. Yet somehow it comforted her to know he was the one in whose arms she lay. But did he have to shout so when a blacksmith was using her head for an anvil? Her eyelids refused to open, as if they were weighted with lead. Victoria stifled a moan at the pain in her temples.
All motion ceased.
His chest heaved and his warm breath brushed her cheek.
“Thank God.” Travis spoke quietly this time. “Victoria, open your eyes.”
She opened them a fraction, squinting against the agony of bright light.
“Good,” he said. “Look at me.”
A wave of dizziness rolled over her and black fog filled her vision. Her eyelids slammed shut.
“Victoria, wake up.”
Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? She forced herself to look up at him. Deep lines etched the sides of his mouth and concern clouded his eyes.
“My head hurts.” Her voice sounded tiny and miserable.
“I know,” he said, starting up the stairs. “But you must stay awake until the doctor arrives.”
She tried to frown. It hurt, too. “Did I fall asleep?”
“There’s been an accident. The carriage tipped over. You hit your head.”
“Oh.” She wrinkled her brow. Pain rippled across the skin of her forehead. She winced. Her memory failed to reveal anything after they left the theater. “Is Maria all right?”
“She has some cuts and bruises, but she is fine. Don’t talk. Reserve your strength.”
Footsteps sounded beside them.
“Open the chamber door, Mrs. Pearce.”
The thought of laying her weary bones on a soft feather mattress tantalized her protesting body.
He lowered her gently. The cool sheets felt like heaven against her skin. The soft pillow cradled her throbbing head. She closed her eyes.
She felt gentle hands rolling her on her side, fumbling at the fastenings of her gown. Every joint screamed in protest. She groaned at the pain tearing along her shoulder. The hands let her fall back.
“Here, let me.” Travis again.
She felt his warm fingers on her skin at the neckline of her gown. His touch scorched her flesh. She forced her eyelids open to find his dark head bent over her, his expression hard. Metal glinted in the candlelight. The fabric yielded to the sharp blade. With a rending sound, his strong hands tore the delicate fabric from neckline to hem in one swift movement. She gasped as cool air chilled her skin before he yanked a sheet over her now almost naked... She clutched at the sheet.
“You can manage the rest?” he asked the housekeeper.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Don’t let her fall asleep. It is very important. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Travis didn’t move. His expression uncertain and his eyes full of guilt, he hovered over her like some great eagle protecting its young. His hand reached out to touch her. Blood dripped from the tips of his fingers onto the sheet.
“You are hurt,” she whispered.
He glanced at his bloody hand with a surprised expression and shook his head. “It is nothing. A scratch.”
She wanted to reach out, to touch him, to ease the soul-deep pain lurking in the azure depths of his eyes, but she felt too tired, her arm just too heavy.
“My lord?” Mrs. Pearce raised her eyebrows.
“Yes, of course.” He strode away, but turned in the doorway. “No sleeping. I’m relying on you, Mrs. Pearce. Do not leave her alone for a moment.”
Victoria’s eyelids slid closed. Mrs. Pearce’s gentle hands eased her into her nightgown, her cool touch nothing like the warm, strong fingers of the dark, enigmatic earl.
Travis ran downstairs. Thank God. She was conscious and apparently not suffering from anything except a severe knock on the head.
Benton waited for him in his study with brandy and bandages.
“Did I ever tell you what a marvel you are, Benton?”
A small smile crossed the implacable face. “Yes, my lord.”
“Hmm.”
He sipped his brandy while Benton cleaned and bound the jagged gash in his arm. No need to ruin an expensive rug waiting for the doctor to arrive. God. Where in hell was the doctor? Victoria looked all right, but what if she had unseen injuries? His throat tightened. Somehow he resisted the urge to rush upstairs to check on her. He’d made a vow. He’d keep it.
The vision of Victoria lying on the sheet wearing nothing but her shift, her black hair spread on the pillow, forced its way into his mind. The fine lawn chemise beneath her stays had left little to the imagination. Small breasts tipped with delicate pink, shapely curves, a dark, inviting triangle at the apex of her thighs. He’d wanted to lie down beside her. Cover her shapely form with his body and protect her from the world. The mental picture sent hot blood racing through his veins. Fiery pleasure throbbed in his loins.
Damn. Did he have no control at all when it came to Victoria Yelverton?
He winced as Benton pulled the bandage tight. He welcomed the distracting pain, the sharp reminder of his promise. Lust wasn’t his problem. He could handle unfulfilled desire, even revel in it. The overwhelming need to protect her had him regretting he’d ever been born.
Tenderness. A weakness he despised. Miranda had taught him well on that score. A primal response designed to trap a man into betraying everything he believed in. No woman would ever hold him in thrall again.
“That should do it, my lord, until the doctor arrives.” Benton poured wine into a snifter.
Brandy. It would dull the pain in his arm, but would it ease the ache in his chest? He closed his eyes. It couldn’t be his heart. He’d frozen that out of existence.
He drained his glass and poured another. “Thank you. Let me know the instant Doctor Marsh arrives. He’s to go straight up to Miss Yelverton and then to Miss Allenby. In the meantime, I have a note for Wilson to deliver.”
“Yes, my lord. I’m sorry I was not able to get the young cleric’s name who arrived with you. He just said he was glad to be of assistance and left with the stage.”
Good Lord. A Samaritan who wanted nothing for his good deed. Remarkable. “Thank you, Benton.”
By the time Wilson arrived, Simon had finished his letter. “Do you know the Marquess of Deveril by sight?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I want you to find him and give him this. I don’t care if you have to go into every hell and brothel in London; you are not to come back until you have put this in his hand. Personally. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord.”
He frowned at Wilson’s doubtful expression. “Well?”
“My lord, do you think the attack could have anything to do with the cove I saw outside in the street this afternoon?”
Simon's heartbeat picked up speed. “What?”
“I saw this ugly customer earlier today loitering in the street. Didn’t seem to have any business to be there. I had the feeling he paid particular attent
ion to this house. I wondered——”
“Did you tell anyone about this?”
“I wasn’t sure, my lord. There’s lots of strangers hanging about these days. I thought if he was there again tomorrow I would say something to Mr. Benton.”
It made sense. One afternoon might just be a coincidence; a second appearance would warrant comment. He nodded. “I’ll talk to you about it when you come back. For now, I need you to locate the marquess. Start his lodgings, then go on to White’s. If he’s not there, ask the porter if he can find anyone who knows where he went. If not, try Brookes’s, then Madame Berthier’s. After that, it’s anyone’s guess.”
“Yes, my lord.” The eager young man swelled with self-importance as he took the note and left.
Travis took another pull at the brandy. He ought to go see how Maria fared. He desperately wanted to check on Victoria, but he would not betray his word. From now on he would keep his distance.
Where the hell was the doctor? The sooner he looked at Victoria, confirmed she would be all right, the better Simon would feel.
“God, Simon, I’m so damnably sorry.” A couple of hours later and Dev’s face was a picture of misery. “Genevieve got me so angry, I couldn’t think straight.”
At well past two in the morning, Simon glared at the big man in the doorway of his library. He was right to be unsure of his welcome. His bloodshot eyes and slurred speech told their own story. No doubt he’d spent the last hours of the night drinking his way to his own private hell.
“Tally ho!” called a cheerful voice. A lanky red-head nudged Dev forward and stepped around him into the library. Lord Philip Garforth, Lady Julia’s brother.
“What the hell are you doing here, Garforth?” Simon growled.
“I overheard your man looking for our Deveril here at Brookes’s and helped track him down in the Devil’s Kitchen. Sounded like there might be a good mill in the offing. Mohawks, eh, what?”
Despite his irritation, Simon smiled. Garforth loved a fight. He gestured the two men towards chairs and offered them brandy.
Dev shook his head. “Tea.”
Simon nodded, handed a goblet to Garforth, before opening the door to speak to Wilson. “Is tea in your repertoire?”
Eyebrows shooting up, Wilson grinned. “Certainly, my lord.”
“How are Miss Yelverton and Miss Allenby?” Dev asked when Simon resumed his seat.
His gut clenched. He forced himself to speak calmly. “Fortunate. My cousin has only cuts and bruises. Miss Yelverton received a severe blow to the head.” Simon clung to Marsh’s opinion that the lack of further swelling indicated no bleeding of the brain, although only time would tell. Mrs. Pearce had instructions to wake Victoria every hour as a precaution.”
“What exactly happened after I left the theater?”
Simon, pausing only while Wilson delivered the tea tray, succinctly ran through the events leading up to the accident.
Dev sipped his tea with a thoughtful expression. “Your driver got off the box and disappeared when the carriage stopped?”
He sounded as incredulous as Simon felt. “He did.”
“And he is now sitting outside in the hall?”
“He arrived a few minutes before you did.”
“And two men on horseback followed the carriage?”
Simon nodded.
“And two more on foot?”
“I think there were three.”
Dev took another sip of tea. “Then they were expecting you in that spot at that time.”
“One of them spoke with a Hampshire accent.”
“Interesting.”
The throbbing in his arm intensified and Simon rolled his shoulder, seeking relief. “Very.”
“I think we should have your coachman in.”
Drink-raddled as he was, Dev exuded a business-like air. He’d never failed to impress Simon with his phenomenal intellect. With his innate strategic abilities and extraordinary facility with languages, Dev had been one of England’s best spies during the war against Bonaparte. That was before his older brother died and left him with the title. Before he’d fallen under Genevieve’s spell, curse her. If anyone could get to the bottom of this affair, Dev would. Provided he stayed sober.
Simon invited his coachman in. Bald and overweight, he perched on the wooden ladder-back chair miserably regarding the three, stern gentlemen facing him.
“So, Griggs,” Dev said with an easy smile. “Give us your version of the events of this evening.”
Griggs clenched his large, weather-beaten fists on his knees. He looked over at Simon “I’m sorry, my lord. If you wants to turn me off, I wouldn’t blame you.”
“Let us hear what happened first,” Dev said.
Simon leaned forward. His first instinct was to grab the man by the throat and choke the truth out of him. And he would, if Griggs gave him the slightest provocation. Victoria’s face, bloodless and full of pain, flashed into his mind. His chest tightened. She might have been killed. Someone would pay for this night’s work.
“After Lord Travis got out with the ladies, I parked like I always does and went to talk to a couple of the other whips. We always has a chin-wag on theater nights.” He glanced at Simon, flushed and swallowed hard.
“Continue,” Dev said.
“Well, my lord, someone passed a bottle of blue ruin and I had a couple of swigs and the next thing I knows I’m laid out alongside the wall, no coat, all the carriages gone and my head’s like Mother O’Reilly’s knocking shop on a Saturday night.”
He winced at the bemused looks on the faces of his audience. “Banging,” he explained.
Garforth’s crack of laughter cut through the tension. “Banging,” he repeated. “That’s rich.”
Deveril raised his hand, his expression serious. “So, Griggs, did you know everyone drinking from the bottle?”
Griggs frowned. The ham fist on his knee clenched and unclenched. He shook his head. “There was Lord Dorset’s man, and his two footmen, and Sir Willowby’s tiger and a coachman I didn’t know.”
“Whose flask was it?”
“I dunno. We always has a drop. Keeps the cold out, like.”
“What did this unknown driver look like?”
“Kind of ordinary.”
“Tall? Fat? Thin?”
“Ordinary. Like a driver.” Sweat beaded on Griggs’s forehead, but his soft brown eyes remained steady on the marquess's bland face.
The man’s stupidity was unacceptable. A red haze coating his vision, Simon rose from his seat.
Deveril shook his head. “Let me finish, Travis.”
Shocked by his lack of control, Simon reined in his anger and sat.
“Who stood beside this man?” Deveril asked.
“At first, his lordship’s man, then he was next to me.”
“Was he taller than you?”
Griggs frowned again, lips pursed. “Taller.”
“Young or old?” rapped out Deveril.
“Young, and big with it.” Griggs beamed as Dev nodded.
“Livery?”
“Green and black.”
God. This was like pulling teeth. Simon resisted the urge to yell at him to think. This steady elicitation of information was pure torture but Dev knew his business, and likely any intimidation on Simon’s part would have Griggs’s mind frozen and useless.
“Whose livery?”
Griggs shook his head. “It were kind of odd like.”
“Odd?”
“Uniforms are usually a solid color and then trim, you know, like braid and buttons. This were odd. Patches.”
“Is there anything else about this man you can recall?”
Griggs screwed up his face in the effort of remembering. “He had a scar on his face. On his forehead. I remember noticing it, because it went right through his eyebrow. Lucky he didn’t lose his eye, I thought at the time.”
“Well done, Griggs.” Deveril smiled encouragingly. “I think that will be all for now.”
>
Griggs swiveled his eyes in Simon’s direction. “I suppose I better collect my things, my lord?”
Like most of his servants, Griggs had been a member of the Travis household for many years. Griggs wasn’t supposed to drink on duty and his orders were not to leave the carriage unattended, but he was not responsible for the actions of the attackers.
Simon sighed. “No, Griggs. I’ll let it go this time. The consequences of what you did could have been disastrous. As it was, Miss Yelverton and Miss Allenby were seriously hurt. I’m relying on you to see nothing like this ever happens again.”
Griggs’s face reddened as he got to your feet. He pulled out a blue spotted handkerchief, mopped his brow and swiped at his eyes. “Thank you, my lord. I swear on the life of my children, I will never let you down again."
The room remained silent as he shuffled out. Simon poured himself another glass of brandy and offered the bottle to Garforth who filled his glass and paced to the window. “We’re no closer now to finding out who did this, than we were when we started.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Dev said. “We know Simon’s coachman wasn’t involved.”
“He could be lying,” Simon offered.
“It will easy to check his story and description with the other coachmen, however, I think he was drugged.”
Garforth settled back in his chair with a soft whistle. “So what now?”
“Wilson,” Simon said spearing his fingers through his hair. “He said he saw someone hanging around outside earlier today.”
“Let’s have at him,” Garforth said.
“Yes. Bring him in and let’s see what he has to say,” Dev agreed.
Within moments, the young footman sat in the chair recently vacated by Griggs, his face rampant with curiosity and excitement. He’d probably enjoyed his foray into the clubs and hells of London tonight.
Dev stared at him intently. “I understand from Lord Travis you observed a suspicious stranger on the street outside today?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Can you describe him?”
“Yes, my lord. About my height, but burly. He had a scar over one eye. Balding at the front, hair brown and kind of long at the back. A moustache, but no beard. He wore a black riding coat, kind of old and dirty.”
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