The sharp report of a gunshot startled Emmanuel, but he could not see much. Lord Edric was ahead of him, pressing his horse onward through the woods. Mr. Chandler was right behind him. An uncomfortable position, indeed.
“Did someone shoot the fox?” Mr. Chandler shouted and Emmanuel could not help but sneer. He did not know who the steward was trying to fool.
“It appears so,” he murmured.
Lord Edric slowed down and Emmanuel and Mr. Chandler caught up with him.
“Something is wrong,” he shouted at Emmanuel. “The dogs are still chasing after the fox. Why did someone shoot?”
“That is odd.” They trotted after the dogs, who lost the scent after a while and kept walking in circles. There was thunder in the distance.
“We have to go back,” Emmanuel shouted to Mr. Chandler and Lord Edric. “It is getting too dangerous to stay out.” There was no trace of Lord Peregrine, Isabella, and Lord Gefferton.
“They probably went back, as well.” Lord Edric pointed out when he saw Emmanuel looking around him, trying to spot the rest of the party through the pouring rain. It was now coming down in sheets, soaking through their attire. Emmanuel’s mind was on Isabella, hoping she had indeed returned to the house. Getting all wet would no doubt be detrimental to her constitution. He did not want her to fall ill.
They rode back as fast and safely as possible. When Helmsfield Manor came into view, Emmanuel saw three horses waiting near the stables.
“Duke! Have you seen Isabella?!” Lord Gefferton shouted at him.
Emmanuel quickly trotted toward him.
“No. Why? Isn’t her horse here?” Emmanuel was confused.
“The horse came back on its own. Lord Peregrine did not see her, either. He was already here when I came back.” Lord Gefferton sounded desperate. “My wife will strangle me if something has happened to her.”
“We will have to go back. Lord Gefferton, did you see where Medusa came from?” Emmanuel could not suppress his worry. The sky was getting darker, thunder was nearing, and they were all wet.
Lord Gefferton pointed back in the direction of the woods. Emmanuel sprang into action, giving instructions to his stable staff. He ordered the stable boys to saddle up more horses, before urging both Lord Peregrine and Mr. Chandler to return to the house and inform the women and staff to get everything ready for their return.
Lord Gefferton, Lord Edric, Emmanuel, and a stable boy returned to the woods on fresh horses, while the other boys tended to Pegasus, Poseidon, Medusa, and Lord Edric’s horse, Odin.
“We need to find her quickly. The weather is getting worse,” Emmanuel yelled.
He issued directives on which way each person should go.
“Fire a shot if you find her. If not, let us meet at the entrance of the woods in half an hour to report,” he barked.
Each took off at a gallop in a different direction. Emmanuel bent low over his horse to avoid hanging branches. He led his horse into the darkness beneath the trees. A crack of lightning startled his horse and it neighed in complaint.
“Yes, I know, I know. It is fine. Calm down.” Emmanuel whispered in his horse’s ear. It was a young stallion he had only ridden a few times. “We need to find Isabella. She is very important to me, you hear?”
* * *
“Isabella! Isabella!” he shouted, through the pouring rain and thunderclaps. He stopped, not sure if he had heard a sound or not, listening carefully.
“I am here,” he heard distantly. He trotted forward until he reached a huge oak tree. Underneath it he found Isabella, half sitting, half lying, her face pale and eyes narrow. She was clearly in pain.
Emmanuel jumped down from the horse, cursing his prosthetic leg, fastened the reins to a branch of the oak tree and bent down next to her.
“How bad is it?” he whispered.
“My head hurts and my shoulder,” Isabella whispered back, her voice barely audible. She had clearly used all her strength to call for help.
Another flash of lightning made them wince and the stallion shied, pulling on the reins. Emmanuel needed to alert the others and fired a shot into the air. Isabella winced, her face scrunched up in pain. The horse was struggling to get away, but Emmanuel had secured it tightly to the branch.
“We need to get you back as soon as possible. Can you stand?” Emmanuel was quite ready to pick her up and carry her all the way home if he had to—if only he could.
“I think so, with a little help.” Isabella bravely tried to stand. She would have fallen back down if Emmanuel had not caught her. He helped her get up, supporting the arm that was not hurt.
“I feel dizzy.” Isabella’s voice was quiet as she tried to keep upright.
“Just hold on. I’ll help you get on the horse.” It took a few attempts and a few cries of pain from Isabella before she was able to be seated on the horse. He talked softly to his horse, calming it, before unfastening the reins and ascending to seat himself behind Isabella. Thankfully, the thunder stopped and the rain was slowing in its ferocity.
“Just lean back against my chest. Make yourself as comfortable as possible. I’ll ride back slowly and try to avoid obstacles. All right?”
“Thank you…Emmanuel.”
“You’re very welcome.”
The ride back was slow and they were both shivering in their wet clothes. They encountered a few obstacles, causing Isabella to cry out in pain. Every wince of pain or cry of agony had Emmanuel wincing and he apologized profusely every time.
Just out of the woods they meet the others, all of them sighing in relief when they saw Emmanuel and Isabella trotting towards them.
“Are you all right?” Lord Gefferton inquired immediately, coming forward and stretching out his arm to Isabella.
Isabella nodded reassuringly as she gritted her teeth to keep from shouting out in pain. She let go of his hand and collapsed in Emmanuel’s arms.
Chapter 22
Accidentally on Purpose
Emmanuel paced unevenly in the parlor, ignoring the twinges in his leg as they awaited news on Isabella’s condition. Her father sat in the winged arm chair, staring bleakly out into the rain, while his steward stood behind his chair, eyes following Emmanuel’s movements like a predator.
Emmanuel was more and more certain that this man was the one who shot him, and ran a sword through his father. He needed to get Lord Gefferton alone and ascertain the man’s background. Just to be sure.
But right now, he could think of nothing but Isabella’s cold body, so pale and weak looking as he had carried her into the Manor. He had been allowed to take her to her room but then he was banished to the parlor with the rest of the men.
His aunt and her mother were fairly sure they could help her using the household simples but if needed, one of the footmen was standing by to get a sawbones.
Lady Gefferton entered the room, looking tired. “She’s all right. There was a bit of wood that had embedded itself in her side. We managed to remove it and clean the wound. Lady Edric stitched it up.”
Emmanuel got to his feet. “May I see her?”
“We gave her laudanum for the pain. She’s asleep now.”
Emmanuel nodded, and swallowed. “I would still feel better if I could see her, please. Just for a moment.”
Anxiety twisted his belly in a way that he did not understand. He felt he had to see with his own eyes that she was still alive and unharmed. That no one had taken her away, too.
It was irrational but he could not help himself. He did not care about propriety.
Lady Gefferton studied him with narrowed eyes before beckoning for him to precede her.
“Diana!” Lord Gefferton exclaimed, clearly not in agreement with Emmanuel seeing his daughter while she slept.
“Just for a moment, Colin,” Lady Gefferton murmured, and Emmanuel raised an eyebrow at their casual language. They must really be worried for their daughter to discard all formality like that.
That simply increased the anxiety in Emmanu
el’s breast. He quickened his footsteps.
* * *
Agonizing pain.
Isabella felt surrounded by it.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to escape into sleep but the deeply intense throbbing pain in her side prevented her from finding unconsciousness.
She shifted uncomfortably but a strobe of agony streaked through her and she froze.
“Oh…” She groaned and relaxed into the mattress. She could not believe she had managed to injure herself in such a manner.
She had been riding along, her mind wandering to that magical glen where Emmanuel had made her feel things—and then afterwards, he withdrew from her as though he was…perhaps he was disgusted with what they did. She did not know, but it was bothering her. As a result, she had not been paying attention to where she was going. Suddenly, it was raining and she heard a shot, so close to her that she was startled, her horse shied, and there was a sharp pain in her side. To make matters worse, she had fallen off her horse, onto her side.
The agony had almost made her pass out.
Medusa, faithful horse that she was, had stayed, snuffling at her face as if inquiring if she was all right. Isabella had reached up to stroke her head but then almost screamed in agony.
She tentatively explored her side and felt the warm, thick wetness of blood seeping into her riding habit.
Am I going to die here?
She tried to think what the heroines in one of her books would do, but she was in too much misery to think. She pulled herself up against the tree trunk, thanking the heavens for both the canopy of leaves above her that made sure she was not drenched, and that the flow of blood from her wound was not exacerbated.
A jagged bolt of lightning, followed by the deep, crashing rumble of thunder panicked her horse, and it ran off. Scared by the storm herself, she controlled her breathing, taking shallow but long breathes, trying to control her fear and the pain in her side. Finally, she must have fallen into a doze. The next thing she knew, she was shivering from the cold and wet.
She tried to call out for help, hoping her father was somewhere close by. She took a deep breath and called out and much to her surprise, someone answered her call…Emmanuel.
He was literally her knight in shining armor.
Does that mean he is not disgusted with me?
There was a knock on the door. “Come,” she called, pulling the covers up higher.
Emmanuel poked his head into the room. “Good evening, Miss Addison. Are you well? Can I fetch you anything?”
Isabella just blinked at him.
Emmanuel tentatively sidled into the room, looking around as if searching for something. “You’re alone.”
Isabella blinked at him again. He sighed, stepping closer. “I do not mean to breach propriety. I just needed to see how you were doing. Are you well?”
Isabella shook her head.
“Oh. Er, what can I do to make it better?”
Isabella’s mind flicked to the clearing, the burst of…ecstasy she had felt when he…she didn’t even know. How floaty and full of well-being she had felt afterwards. She suspected that whatever he’d done then would certainly help with the pain now. She just did not know what to ask for.
Was it the kiss?
Was it the clearing?
Something extraordinary had happened there and she hoped that it would not be the last time.
“Isabella?”
She jerked in surprise and then closed her eyes, wincing in pain. Somehow, she had forgotten that Emmanuel was standing in front of her and that he had asked a question.
I must be in a lot more pain than I realized.
“I am…all right. Thank you.” The words had to be forced from her mouth. She did not understand what was happening to her. She blinked several times, trying to clear her vision.
“What is…?” she moaned and suddenly his hand was around her arm, vice-like in strength.
“Isabella?” he sounded frightened. Isabella wanted to reach her hand up and reassure him but she didn’t have the strength.
“M’alright…” she murmured, before her eyes closed again and everything went dark.
* * *
Mrs. Pinfield had not only been the housekeeper at Helmsfield Manor for forty years, but she had also been the keeper of simples. There was not much she did not know about healing. Lady Edric had called her in to look after Isabella as she recovered.
“My wound is healing nicely," said Isabella. "I think the stitches should be ready to come out today.”
“I shall decide that, Miss Addison,” said Mrs. Pinfield. “Now if you would just loosen your robe and seat yourself on the sofa over there so that I can examine you.”
“I hope your hands are warmer this time,” Isabella grumbled. “Last time you touched me, they were freezing. Perhaps you should warm them in front of the fire before you examine me.”
“I am certain my hands are warm enough,” said Mrs. Pinfield. “You are not a babe or a frail old man. Now if you please, Miss Addison.”
Isabella sighed. She inched down her robe before moving from the bed to the sofa. It still hurt to sit up for too long, but she was also getting bored with lying down. Emmanuel came to visit her every day but her visits were limited by her mother and her aunt. He was only allowed to check that she was still breathing before they hustled him out.
She knew the house party was still going on—albeit in a subdued way—for her sister told her all about it. The excursions planned, shooting, games of cards, and musicales still went on. She felt simultaneously sulky for being left out, yet relieved that the whole trip was not curtailed by her injury. She was about to sit down when she noticed Emmanuel's cane leaning against the wall. She reached for it, using it to maneuver her way to the sofa.
While Isabella disrobed, Mrs. Pinfield went to wash her hands in the perpetually refilled bowl of hot water from the cauldron in the fireplace—it provided warmth as well as sufficiently heated water for Isabella’s needs. The constant low fire warmed the room enough that she was comfortable in just her robe, or even without it. Mrs. Pinfield then dried her hands and carefully unwrapped the silk bindings that covered her entire middle to reveal the ugly, jagged, slightly swollen slash held together by a row of stitches.
“You are lucky, Miss Addison,” she pronounced. “The wound is healing cleanly and there is no infection. You should take better care of yourself.”
Isabella smiled. “Thank you for your care and concern, Mrs. Pinfield. I do appreciate it.”
“You would need more stitches from me if you the splinters had gone deeper. It was very lucky that you did not move much once you were penetrated. Do you remember now how you got the injury?” Mrs. Pinfield set about cleaning the site with gentle efficiency. She had a lavender-smelling paste with which she coated the wound after it was cleansed.
“No, I do not. There was a loud shot and my horse shied and then a pain in my side. What is that paste you use?” Isabella was staring at her wound, which was now liberally covered in green goo. “It seems His Grace left his cane behind the last time he was here. He will be upset later, thinking his favorite cane is lost. I don’t even know why he had it, he doesn’t usually need it. Was he injured, too?”
“So many questions!” Mrs. Pinfield retorted. “To answer your first, this is the paste I used on the young Duke when he was recovering from the lead ball those brigands put in his leg. It stopped him from getting the fever. It helped cure his wound and it seems to be helping yours, as well. The Duke left you his cane, should you need it to move around. He came by while you were asleep.”
“Please thank His Grace for the cane.”
The old lady snorted. “You can thank him yourself. I am sure he will be by soon. He has been most anxious about your health.”
Isabella made no reply, preferring to allow the healer to concentrate on her ministrations.
“Good, now all that is left is to rebind the wound.”
“Does it need the bandage?
It is so itchy now that it is starting to heal.” Isabella squirmed a little, unable to touch the wound but needing to scratch.
“Are you treating this wound or—” Mrs. Pinfield was interrupted by a knock on the door, “Speak of the devil…”
* * *
Gefferton burst into George Chandler’s chambers, fury radiating from him like a furnace.
“Did you have my daughter shot?” he growled.
George’s eyebrow rose. “I was under the impression that she was stabbed by a splinter of wood.”
A Sinful Duke She Can't Refuse (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 19
