‘Sir, you have to wait for help. You don’t know how many men are in there,’ the footman cautioned, pale and frightened.
‘If I wait it will be too late.’ He tried to calculate how many vases were in that room. May didn’t have unlimited ammunition. When there was nothing left to throw, what would she do then? It didn’t matter how many men were in that room. The woman he loved was in there. The thought of May struggling focused him. He gripped his pistol firmly. ‘I don’t have a choice.’ More importantly, he didn’t want a choice. He eyed the door. He had to assume it was locked. The next few seconds would be critical. He raised his foot and kicked as glass shattered on the other side.
It took his practised eye less than a second to take in the room. The ground was littered with glass from the broken window and porcelain shards. The man wrestling May bled from his forehead, one of her vases having found purchase as she struggled, pinned between him and a table. It was a fight she was losing. Liam fired without hesitation at her assailant, his body slumping off her. The bounder wouldn’t be getting up any time soon, but there was another to take the man’s place before May could flee to safety behind him. This man grabbed May and hauled her against him, a knife in one hand, her body a shield.
‘Guns are only good for one shot, Casek. I thought you were smarter than that,’ a voice drawled on his periphery as porcelain crunched beneath heavy boots. Roan. ‘Or is it that you’ve simply not improved with swords since last we met?’
Liam turned, keeping his body between May’s captor and Roan. ‘Pistols are good for other things besides shooting,’ he replied evenly. Clubbing men in the head, for instance, sometimes with deadly precision. Pistols were heavy. And Roan shouldn’t underestimate the knife he hadn’t drawn yet, wanting to keep an element of surprise. Knives were personal. He wouldn’t hesitate to throw his if he could get off a good attempt without risking May. But that seemed impossible right now.
‘They are. However, mine is still loaded.’ Roan revealed his silver barrel. ‘I don’t have room in my carriage for you, Casek. Just the girl.’ He raised dark eyebrows. ‘Unless you have the ledger papers? Perhaps a deal could be arranged? No? It’s too bad, but I didn’t think Worth would have given them to you.’ Roan’s eyes glinted dangerously. ‘Is Worth alive? I confess to a certain morbid curiosity there. And, quite obviously, you know we haven’t found him or we wouldn’t be here.’ Roan gave a shrug.
Out of the corner of his eye, Liam saw the slightest of movements in May’s skirts, her hand seeking something. He dared not concentrate on it too long or Roan would notice. He had to keep Roan focused on him and yet he wanted to warn May not to do anything ridiculous.
‘Any last words?’ Roan raised his long pistol with the ominous click of the hammer going back. Liam held steady, forcing his mind to ignore the fact that Roan’s shot was meant for him. Perhaps his knife was meant for Roan regardless of what the government wanted. ‘You’ve made my life a living hell these last months, Casek. Now, I shall send you there personally, and perhaps I’ll make Miss Worth pay for that, too. Perhaps you can spend your last thoughts imagining what we might get up to in your absence.’
Liam weighed his odds. In a duel between a knife and a bullet, which would reach their target first? If he threw early, Roan would certainly fire in retaliation even if he was bluffing now. But if he threw late, he might never get the chance. Roan would not miss at this range.
‘No!’ May cried desperately from his left. ‘I’ll go with you, just leave him alone, leave him alive. Tie him up if you must. He can do nothing then.’ She struggled against the man and his knife. Roan was amused, but too experienced to voluntarily divert his attention to her. Too bad for him. He missed May’s subterfuge. Amid her other struggles, no one noticed her hand in her skirt until there was a muted pop and the man behind her went down clutching his thigh, moaning on the ground. It stunned him for a fraction of a second while his mind took in what happened. Good God, May had shot him! Through her skirts none the less. That fraction of time was enough to send the room into chaos.
Liam surveyed the room, counting: one man down, May behind him safe as long as he stood between her and Roan, two other men by the door. One of them rushed him, charging like a bull. Liam clubbed him around the head without hesitation. The other man behind him halted at the sight of his fallen comrade, the knife in his own hand temporarily forgotten in his shock. But Liam didn’t stop. He threw aside his empty pistol and let adrenaline carry him, catching the man and slamming him up against a wall.
Liam grabbed for the man’s wrist, banging it against the wall until the fingers released the knife, but the man eluded his first attack, slashing wildly, his blade finding purchase in Liam’s shoulder, enough to hurt, enough to enrage before Liam captured his wrist. Liam brought his knee up into the man’s groin and dropped him. Between the groin shot and being smashed up against a wall, the last man between him and Roan would be moving no time soon.
He had May behind him as he made a shield of his body. There was only Roan and him now. With luck, the footman would have gathered help. There would be reinforcements if he could hold Roan off and keep him here without killing him. But Roan was no fool. He wasn’t going to stay. His eye was already on the garden door.
‘I can’t let you leave.’ Liam’s gaze flickered between the door and the gun runner. He was becoming far too conscious of the knife wound in his shoulder. Perhaps the man had got a better slash in than he’d thought. He was bleeding profusely, his shirt and jacket wet with it, and there was still Roan and his unfired pistol to contend with. Liam drew his knife at last.
Roan let out a harsh laugh. ‘Always so noble, Casek. Country before self? That’s going to cost you, I’m afraid.’ He raised his pistol arm again, slowly, deliberately, to make clear his intention. He hesitated a moment too long.
The door flew open, Preston Worth, gaunt and travel worn, leading the charge with a wild yell worthy of the Highlands.
Roan fired.
Liam threw.
May screamed.
‘No!’ May pushed at him hard with all her weight, catching him off balance. He went down, May falling beside him as another shot rang out from an indeterminate spot behind him. Vaguely, Liam recognised assistance had come. Men poured into the room. His arm hurt, his shoulder blazed, black spots spun before his eyes. His right side was wet. He fought for consciousness, but he had a tenuous grip on it. He thought he saw Worth storming behind Preston, a flash of silver pistol in his hand. His mind pushed away his hurts and fastened on one thought: Protect May.
She lay just inches from him, still and unmoving. He dragged himself into position, levering his aching body over her, ready to keep her from being trampled. He fought his own pain, cradling her against him with one good arm, her body horrifyingly limp. ‘May?’ The activity around him blurred to the edges of his reality. May was all that mattered.
He swallowed, holding back nausea and his own unconsciousness. He couldn’t let go now. Something was wrong with May. He saw the blood, a smear barely noticeable against the red of her dress. His blood. He must have got some on her. No. Her blood. Her blood. Clarity swamped him in a short, brilliant flash. Help had come too late.
He didn’t care about Roan, about anything in that moment except May. He clutched May to him, determined to hold her here physically at the last in spite of his failure to hold on to her in all the ways that mattered when she’d come to him. What a fool he’d been to send her away two nights ago—had it only been forty-eight hours ago she’d been naked and warm in his bed? And he’d turned her away, told her their love was impossible. Now she was bleeding, perhaps mortally. He had to hold on for both of them. But whether he willed it or not, consciousness let go with a final thought: he’d never get to tell her he’d been wrong. She had been the one who was sure of him, of them. All along the doubter had been him. And now she would never know.
&nb
sp; Chapter Twenty-Three
May would not die for him. Liam felt himself struggling towards consciousness. His body hurt. There was noise around him, men’s voices. Someone was pulling at his arm. He wouldn’t let go. They couldn’t have May.
‘Case, I’ve got you. You have to let them take her. She needs a surgeon, a good one.’ It was Preston kneeling beside him. He could feel Preston’s body next to his, Preston’s voice at his ear, trying not to shake. ‘Please, she needs help. You need help. You’re both hurt, badly.’ Preston kept talking, working his grip loose. ‘We got Roan, Case. The Watch have him. Notice has been sent to London. Someone official will be here in a few days to transport him.’ He was chattering away, getting an arm beneath him, helping him to rise. Someone else had May.
Liam knew a moment’s panic. ‘May! I have to stay with her. Preston, please.’ He grabbed for his friend with his good arm.
‘People are taking care of her. We need to take care of you,’ Preston argued firmly, dragging him to another room, the library from the looks of it. Worth was with them, following behind and shutting the door for privacy. ‘Father, we need the brandy, quick.’ Preston was already pulling off his own coat, then pulling at Liam’s coat and shirt. In a pinch, an aristocrat’s library converted neatly into an infirmary. Brandy was easily supplied from the sideboard and Preston’s own shirt made a handy source of bandages. Liam mused they might be the most expensive bandages he’d ever have. He fought for consciousness again. The walk to the library had been taxing.
Preston had him propped up in a chair, his face level with Liam’s as he knelt looking at the wound. ‘Stay with me, Case. Talk to me, tell me everything that happened.’
‘This is backwards,’ Liam drawled. ‘I’m supposed to be the one stitching you up.’
Preston gave him a wry smile. ‘I figure I owe you one at least.’ Worth passed the brandy. ‘I think this is when you usually say, “this is going to hurt a bit”.’ He poured the alcohol on the knife slash and Liam grunted against the shock of pain. ‘Lucky for you, I’m a dab hand at stitches and you don’t need too many.’ He nodded at Worth. ‘Father, if you’d hold the light?’
* * *
‘You’ll do.’ Preston stepped back when he finished tying the last of the bandage. ‘The slash wasn’t deep, thankfully. Give it a week.’ Preston pushed a glass of brandy in his hand. ‘Tell us everything.’
‘What is there to tell, Preston?’ Worth leaned a hip against the long reading table. ‘Mr Casek nearly died tonight in service of his country, in protection of May.’ Worth’s green gaze settled on him. ‘The three men in the room besides Roan didn’t shoot each other, is my guess. You took them out?’
‘May shot one of them.’ The brandy went down warm. May would love it. In his current state, everything reminded him of May. He wanted to go to her. Liam tried to stand and nearly fell.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Preston caught him by the elbow and steadied him.
‘I need to see May. I need to know.’ His words were starting to slur. Would she survive the wound?
Worth came to his other side. ‘They’ve taken her upstairs. Let’s take him before he hurts himself trying to climb the stairs on his own. He’s earned it.’ If he wasn’t so worried about May, he would have enjoyed the little victory with Worth.
Unfortunately, every worry he’d possessed was justified. The doctor had finished caring for her. A white bandage decorated her side, the beautiful crimson gown she’d worn had been cast aside on a chair, ruined. It had been sliced off her for expedience sake. But all the haste in the world didn’t look like enough. May was pale and unmoving, the only colour was her dark hair fanned on the pillow. He and Preston were holding each other up now that their adrenaline was spent and they were faced with the danger May was in—a danger neither could protect her from.
May’s father, who’d been unflappable, seemed to age as the doctor took him aside, murmuring news. Liam could guess what it was. She was in shock now, they would need to watch out for inflammation, there would be fever, it could claim her if they weren’t careful and she’d lost a lot of blood. How many times had Liam delivered that same news?
Liam dragged himself to the bed, falling to his knees as his strength gave out. It would be days before May was out of danger and his strength was already failing. This was his nightmare come to life: that his strength would leave him when he needed it most, when she needed him most. He fumbled for her hand among the bedclothes.
She was in danger just when he’d thought she was safe. If she had stayed put, if she hadn’t pushed him out of the way, she would be alive and well in her red dress. She should have let him do his job, should have let him take that bullet for her. But that wasn’t quite right. The bullet was never meant for her. It was always meant for him. Surely she’d known that. What had she been thinking?
* * *
Liam would not die for her, for his perfect mission record. It was the only thought that mattered, the only thought that hovered on the edges of her consciousness. There were feelings, though. Hot, sharp feelings of pain. Breathing hurt. She didn’t want to move. She was somewhere safe. But where was that? She didn’t feel quite alive, but she wasn’t dead. Dead didn’t make any sense. Roan wouldn’t shoot her, not fatally any way. He’d lose his leverage. He would shoot Liam. That, she could not allow.
There were more thoughts now, her consciousness able to grasp multiple details at once. She’d leapt for Liam, hoping to push him to the ground, hoping Roan would pull the shot. It had been too much to hope for. There’d been a pain in her side, she’d fallen and that had hurt, too. Falling among glass carried its own hazards. But the worst hazard had been the thought of Liam slaughtered before her eyes. Maybe she had done it to prove to him that she could, that she was brave enough, the same way she’d wanted to prove to him she could keep a house with her pressed sheets and lavender-scented pillowcases. It had been another way to argue. But maybe she had done it just because she loved him. She suspected the latter.
But what to do now? Liam had said their love was impossible. She did wonder if she could float here in this colourless world for ever. There was no reason to wake up if there was no Liam. The pain had become a little better. Perhaps in time it might go away altogether. It would certainly be easier than...than what? Waking up and finding Liam gone? I’ll protect you and then I’ll leave. Was it as simple as that? Could she wake up? Was this a dream? If so, she wasn’t alone.
Someone was here, at least their voice was, familiar and scolding as it called to her to open her eyes. Liam’s voice, here in the darkness. He hadn’t left. Yet. There was still time if only... His voice was loud now, exhorting her to wake, not to die. Was this some mystical limbo where she lingered, waiting to pass on? Not a dream like she’d thought? The last thought gave her a charge of fear. She didn’t want to pass on. She needed to see Liam, needed to stop him from going. If he hadn’t left already, maybe she could persuade him. He’d been hurt, she remembered that. Despite her efforts, he’d already been hurt before Roan had fired. She needed to know he was all right.
That was one decision made. She was going to find a way to wake up. Then, she was going to find a way to make Liam listen to her. Slow down, she cautioned. One step at a time. Just think about the next step. She had to find her eyelids. Had to force them to open even if it took days.
* * *
Ouch! The light was bright. She’d not planned on that. Her eyes shut, but not before someone had seen her.
‘May? May? Are you awake?’ The voice was rough and masculine, hoarse with hope and exhaustion and, oh, so very familiar. She tried again with the eyes, this time more slowly, wanting to savour the hope that existed between believing and seeing. In her mind, Liam was there, had been there all along. When she opened her eyes she would know for sure.
‘Liam.’ The one word was so very hard
to say and she had a hundred other words that wanted to come out, but they stopped in her throat as she looked at him. He was all smiles, but she could see the worry behind those grins, in the circles beneath his eyes, the stubble of his beard at his jaw. She must have been hurt badly.
‘May.’ His voice was scratchy and a tear formed in his eye. A tear! ‘I thought I’d lost you.’ She felt the press of his hand on hers in the blankets.
She smiled softly. ‘I’m right here.’
‘Yes, you are. At last.’ Then Liam Casek, the street rat who’d lived it all, seen it all before he was twelve, the man who’d fought in Serbia, who took on the work of the Crown deemed too perilous for others, who’d brought the notorious Cabot Roan to justice, who’d faced four deadly men in the rose sitting room just days ago, broke down entirely, tears streaming in his relief.
* * *
‘You wanted to see me, sir?’ Liam stepped into the town house library. Worth had summoned him after dinner, a celebratory supper even if the guest of honour, May, was absent, tucked in her bed upstairs. It had been an emotionally eventful day.
‘Yes.’ Worth waved to the empty chair across from him by the fire. ‘Help yourself to a brandy.’
‘No thank you, sir. I’m fine.’ Liam took the chair and waited. He was ready for bad news. Whatever it was, he could bear it. May was safe and that was all that mattered. It was time to be moving on, after all. His job was done.
‘May is going to pull through.’ Worth smiled. ‘Thanks to you.’ Liam wanted to argue it was no thanks to him. She’d been reckless and he’d been unable to stop her, but he held his tongue.
‘You kept her safe. Roan could have had her in the village if you hadn’t been there. Who knows how that would have ended? I try not to speculate on it. It didn’t come to pass. I wanted you to know how grateful May’s mother and I are.’ His brow furrowed. ‘But I didn’t call you here to congratulate you on a job well done. There is something more. My wife and I have not been fair to you over the years.’ He held Liam’s gaze and Liam returned it, seeing the man’s sincerity.
Claiming His Defiant Miss Page 21
