Lord Sinister (Secrets & Scandals Book 3)

by Tiffany Green

  Jeremy gave one of his smiles that made all the ladies sigh. “Nonsense, my dear. You are even more beautiful.”

  Julian rolled his eyes. “Go flirt with someone else’s wife, Jeremy.”

  “But not mine,” Nick said, giving the old fellow a pointed look.

  “Mine either,” his father grumbled, conveying to the entire group Jeremy’s shamelessness.

  “Well, you are a fussy lot,” Jeremy said before leading the way back in the direction of Kenbrook.

  ****

  Amelia sighed and opened her eyes. How wonderful to be warm and comfortable again. She focused on the canopy above her. The burgundy material looked exactly like the material above Julian’s bed at Kenbrook. Everything rushed back at once. Her rescue, Julian’s arms around her, the slow ride back to the estate.

  She turned. The burgundy panel at her head had been tied back to the post, allowing her to see Julian sitting in the chair beside the bed looking right at her. He smiled a tired smile. “Hello, love. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine.” She noticed his pasty countenance and the sweat on his forehead. “But you don’t look well.”

  He waved her concern away. “Just tired.”

  She started to say more when Alex rushed in the room. “Mama.”

  “Oh, Alex. Are you all right?” She reached for him, noting her stinging wrists had been bandaged.

  He gave her a gentle hug, as if she would splinter to pieces. “I’m fine. How are you feeling?”

  “Wonderful now.” She slid her gaze from him to Julian and back. Noticing the light in the window, she asked, “What is the time?”

  Alex pulled a face. “It’s almost eight o’clock in the morning. You slept a really long time.”

  “I guess I needed the rest.” She frowned when she saw Julian raise his hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead. His hand trembled. Something was wrong with him.

  Amelia pulled the covers back and prepared to leave the bed.

  Alex’s eyes went round. “What are you doing, Mama?”

  Julian came off the chair, staggered, then fell to the floor.

  Amelia sucked in a breath. “Alex, go get the duke.” She raised her head. “And my bag.”

  As Alex dashed away, Amelia ambled to Julian. She felt the pulse at his wrists. Slower than normal. She frowned. Then she rolled his head toward her. His skin had a greenish tint and glistened with sweat. She lifted his eyelids as the duke hastened into the room.

  “What the hell?”

  “Your Grace, please, lift him onto the bed.”

  He did as she directed. “What happened to him?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know, he just fell down.” She started to unknot his cravat. “What has he eaten recently?”

  The duke frowned. “Nothing for a while. Yesterday evening.”

  She bit her lip. “What was the last thing he drank?”

  Comprehension slowly dawned. “Wine, hours ago. Port.” The duke took a step closer. “But we drank from the same decanter.”

  Amelia sighed. “Was he injured at all recently?”

  The duke started to shake his head then stopped. “Yes.” He pointed to Julian’s right arm. “Giles threw a knife. It grazed Julian there.”

  “Quickly, Your Grace, I need that knife.”

  The duke had just disappeared through the door when Alex rushed in with her bag. “What is wrong with Father?”

  It warmed Amelia’s heart to hear Alex call Julian Father. “I-I think he was poisoned.” She opened the bag and rummaged through the contents until she found a large vial.

  “Poisoned?”

  She nodded. “Help me remove his coat and shirt, Alex.”

  They worked for several minutes until Julian lay naked from the waist up. A piece of linen had been tied around his upper arm. She unknotted the bandage and rocked back on her heels. The slice, about three inches long, had already festered red and swollen. And streaks of poison sneaked up his arm from the wound.

  She cleansed the cut with the contents of the vial, then removed a thin, sharp surgical knife from her bag. “Alex, go see what is keeping your grandfather. I need to examine that knife for traces of the poison so I’ll know how to treat your father.”

  With a wide-eyed nod, Alex scrambled from the room.

  Amelia said a quick prayer, then lowered the knife to Julian’s arm. She had to reopen the wound and drain as much of the poison as she could. And that’s when a pain so fierce wracked her lower stomach, she almost fell over.

  Panting, she clutched the knife, lest she drop it to the floor. The pain lasted about ten seconds, then it receded. It had her weak and shaken. She lifted her eyes to her husband lying on the bed, his breaths turning shallow, and brought the knife back to his arm. Her hand shook. She swallowed. Oh, please, not now.

  When nothing happened, she continued. After placing a stack of square white cloths below his arm, she sliced into the wound. Blood rolled out. She set the knife on the table and reached for the vial. She poured the clear liquid over the laceration.

  Pain struck, a bit stronger than before. She breathed through it, suddenly flushed. She frowned over at the roaring fire.

  When the pain subsided, she squeezed Julian’s arm to get as much poison out as she could. Where was the duke with that knife? If she could identify what Giles had used, she could make an antidote. Julian would be better in no time.

  She retrieved the surgical knife just as a fierce cramp struck low in her belly. She sucked in a sharp breath. She splayed a hand over the bottom of her stomach and felt the muscles tense. Oh, God. She would have the baby soon. When the muscles relaxed and the pain subsided, she slumped forward, taking in deep gulps of air. She couldn’t go into labor yet. Julian needed her.

  Someone opened the door. She straightened and turned. The duke entered the room. And with him, Inspector Hastings.

  Seeing the knife in her hand, the blood on her white gown, the inspector rushed forward. He jerked the knife away. “See, Your Grace, we caught her in the act.” Then he grabbed her arms, his grip bruising.

  Amelia shook her head in vehement denial. “No. The knife was poisoned, I was—”

  “Poisoned?” Hastings bared his teeth. “How despicable, Lady Amersleigh.”

  She faced the duke. “Your Grace, Mr. Giles’s knife was poisoned. I had to reopen the wound because it has begun to fester.” Her voice rose in urgency. “I must continue with an antidote. Julian could die.”

  The inspector began to drag her from the room. “You aren’t doing anything bu—”

  “If I were you, Inspector Hastings, I would release my daughter-in-law this very second.” The duke’s words held a deadly tone. Chilling.

  The inspector halted after two steps. His brows shot up. “Your Grace, with all due respect, we just saw her—”

  “I said to remove your hands, sir.” Joseph had murder in his eyes. “Now.”

  The inspector let her go. The duke’s expression softened when he glanced at her. “Are you all right, my dear?”

  “Yes.” She turned back to Julian and had to hold onto one of the bed posts when a labor pain struck.

  “Amelia?” The duke hurried to her.

  She shook her head. “I’m all right.” She glanced at her father-in-law. “Giles’s knife. I must inspect it.”

  “Right away.” He sent the inspector a perturbed look. “I was on my way to fetch it when I was detained.” He began toward the man. “Come, Inspector, while I do Lady Amersleigh’s bidding, allow me to explain what has happened.” Giving the other man no time to respond, the duke grabbed his arm and urged him from the room.

  ****

  No, her eyes were not deceiving her. The man walking down the stairs with her father was, indeed, Inspector Hastings.

  Megan glanced to her right. Exiting the parlor was Jack bold-as-you-please Townsend. Blast! Spying the door he was just about to pass, she ran toward him, grabbed his hand and pushed him into the coat closet. And knowing he wou
ld make a sound, she followed him inside.

  “Megan, what are—”

  “Shhh.”

  Hands sneaked around her waist. She tipped her head up. Although she couldn’t see anything in the dark, she knew the blasted man wore a very wide smile. “Jack,” she whispered as quietly as possible, “you must remove your hands.”

  “There’s not a lot of room in here. My hands need to go somewhere.”

  Sure they do.

  She pressed her ear to the door.

  “Although I don’t mind in the least, why are we here?”

  “Inspector Hastings is here,” she whispered back. “He was coming down the stairs with Father.” Realizing the blasted man still hadn’t removed his hands, she unwound them from her. “I am happily married, Jack.”

  He sighed. “Don’t remind me.”

  She could hear voices. One of them her angry father. Hopefully, this wouldn’t take long. Jack tried sneaking his arms back around her.

  When the voices died down and angry footsteps marched away, Megan cracked open the door. They had left. She bolted out and nearly ran into Lord Fielding.

  His brows shot up when he noticed she and Jack had been in the closet. Megan lifted her chin. “Don’t even think it, Lord Fielding. I couldn’t allow Inspector Hastings to see Jack.”

  He winked. “It’s a deuce disconcerting when people get the wrong impression, is it not?” Then he strutted off, whistling.

  Megan shook her head. Spying her father bolting back up the stairs, she excused herself from Jack and hurried after him.

  “Father.”

  He halted and turned, holding a knife in his hand.

  “What is going on? I saw Inspector Hastings.”

  “Come, I’ll explain on the way.” To a passing maid, he said, “Have the duchess meet us in Julian’s bed chamber.”

  Now that really worried Megan. “Is Amelia all right?”

  He paused at the top of the stairs. “I’m not certain, sweet. But it’s Julian that now has me concerned.”

  “Julian?”

  Her father nodded, his expression grave. He held up the knife. “This was poisoned when Giles threw it. It grazed Julian’s arm.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Amelia halted and tensed for another pain to strike. Sweat dotted her brow and ran down her back. So close now, the pains practically one on top of the other. She closed her eyes. Not yet. Just a little longer. She almost had the antidote ready.

  Her hands shook hard, and she could hardly crush the herbs under the pestle.

  “Are you all right, dear?”

  Amelia glanced over to Margaret sitting beside Julian. She managed a weak smile. “Yes, just a little tired.” She had told no one of the pains.

  Megan sat on Julian’s other side, bathing his forehead in cool water. She glanced up, worry in her expression as well. “Perhaps you should rest a while.”

  Amelia looked at her husband, to his deathly pale face. Her heart surged up her throat. “No, this potion must be given to him without delay.” She turned away as another pain tore through her and prayed no one would notice. Not yet. Time ran short. Julian grew weaker with each breath. He wouldn’t last much longer.

  When all the herbs had been crushed, she added boiling water. After the dregs had been strained, the antidote could be administered. “Margaret, spoon this into Julian’s mouth. Careful, though, it’s hot.”

  The duchess rose and approached. She looked worried. “You are so pale, Amelia. Why don’t you rest a while?”

  Amelia nodded, but before she could respond, a fiery bolt shot through her belly. She grabbed her stomach and gritted her teeth. Very close now.

  “Oh, dear,” Margaret whispered. “Is it the baby?”

  Megan came forward, concerned.

  “Yes,” Amelia answered, panting. She couldn’t hide it any longer.

  Margaret and Megan exchanged looks and Amelia knew their thoughts. Working to make the antidote, she had pushed the worry aside. But she couldn’t any longer. The baby would arrive, but early.

  “Well, why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Megan asked as she led Amelia to the next room while Margaret administered the antidote.

  Slipping in between the cool sheets, Amelia released a sigh. “The remedy needed to be prepared without delay.”

  “I understand.” Megan rose.

  “Where are you going?” Amelia asked, frightened.

  “Just to see if Dr. Benson has arrived.” She held up her hands when Amelia started to argue. “I promise to be right back.”

  With a nod, Amelia forced her body to relax. She should rest as much as she could because in the near future, she’d need all the strength she could muster.

  Oh, please, let Julian be all right. Her hand moved over her middle. And the baby. Let her be all right as well.

  ****

  Either he suffered the worst case of bottle-ache in the history of mankind, or he had been poisoned. Since he’d had only one glass of port, it must be the latter. And Julian had no idea if he would survive. With a groan, he opened his eyes. Blurred vision sharpened. His mother hovered over him, her worry melting into relief.

  “Oh, Julian, the antidote is working faster than I thought.” She patted his hand.

  He licked his dry lips. “How?”

  Anger shot into his mother’s eyes. “That despicable Mr. Giles. The blade he flung at you was dipped in poison.” She squeezed his hand. “If it hadn’t just grazed you…” She let the end of the sentence hang in the air. Julian knew the dose would have been lethal. The way he felt now with just a scratch attested to that.

  He looked past his mother. “Where’s Amelia?”

  “She’s resting.”

  If his mother didn’t detest gambling so much, she would be one of the best. She had the most sensational ability to bluff. He would have bought the lie except that she had answered him a little too quickly. He narrowed his eyes. “What is wrong?”

  All pretense melted away. “Amelia is going to have the baby soon.” She pressed him back down when he started to rise. “You are too weak, Julian Alexander.”

  “I must go to her,” he said and started to pant. He fought the dizziness.

  She shook her head.

  How could he explain his urgent need to be there with Amelia when she had the baby? The truth, a tiny voice said inside. “Don’t you understand, Mother? I wasn’t there the first time. And I should have been.”

  She probed deep into his stare. “All right. But let me summon Nicholas to assist you.”

  Julian had gotten as far as setting up on the edge of the bed when Nick sauntered into the room. “By God, it’s good seeing you up.”

  “Get me a shirt.”

  “At your service, my lord,” Nick said with a grin and retrieved a shirt.

  “You forgot to bow.” Julian slid the garment on and fastened three buttons until he grew frustrated and left the others. “I’m ready.”

  “Nervous?” Nick asked as he helped Julian to his feet.

  “Immeasurably.” Julian held on to his friend as they made the slow trek to the next room.

  Megan stood with Father and Jack, all three wearing worried frowns. His sister rushed forward. “Oh, Julian, you shouldn’t be out of bed.”

  His strength had drained down to nothing. “I’ll be fine.” His voice sounded strained. “Take me to my wife,” he told Nicholas.

  Nick assisted him to the bed chamber, almost carrying him the last few feet to the chair beside the bed, then left the room quietly.

  Dr. Benson turned from pouring hot water into a bowl. He gave Julian a frown. “My lord, you are too weak to be here.”

  Julian paid the man little attention. He focused on his wife lying so still in the bed. Damp curls clung to her pale forehead and neck. “Amelia?” He took her hand in his and brought it up to his lips.

  Her eyes opened, dull with pain. “Julian?”

  “I’m here, love.”

  Her head moved slightly from side to si
de. “You should be resting.”

  “I’ll rest here.”

  She opened her mouth to argue and he placed a finger over her lips. “I missed you giving birth to our first child, Amelia, I’m not going to miss another.”

  Relief sprang into her eyes before she closed them and drew her brows in pain. She squeezed his hand.

  “What is it, Amelia?” He gave the doctor an anxious glance.

  “It’s a labor pang,” Dr. Benson said, unconcerned.

  Her grip lessened. “Where’s Alex?”

  Julian began to shake his head when Dr. Benson stepped forward. “Pardon, my lord, but I couldn’t help overhearing the question. Lord Fielding is instructing Master Alexander in the art of charcoal drawing.”

  “Oh.” Amelia’s grip tightened, she gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut. Then she relaxed and panted.

  “Amelia?” Julian never felt so helpless.

  “It’s close.” Her face scrunched up. She had to be in agony. Dear God, what could he do? How could he help her?

  “Yes,” Dr. Benson said after checking her, “very close.” He turned to a maid Julian hadn’t noticed until that moment. “Bring me some more linen, please.”

  Julian held on to Amelia’s hand, trying to wish away her pain. She looked too weak and fragile to be going through this. Fear sprang up his throat. He turned to the doctor. “How long has this been going on?”

  Dr. Benson gave a reassuring smile. “Everything is going perfectly well, my lord.”

  “But she’s so weak and small.”

  The doctor shook his head. “Lady Amersleigh is stronger than you think, my lord.”

  “Julian.”

  He turned to his wife. “Yes, sweet, what is it?”

  “Do not worry so.”

  Swallowing the lump in his throat, he nodded. “I’ll try.”

  Twenty minutes later, Julian didn’t think he would make it. Every moan and shudder from his wife sent a hot poker straight through his heart. How in God’s name did women ever survive childbirth?

  “There we are,” the doctor said as a wail rose up.

  Julian slumped in relief. Oh, thank God that was over. He pressed a soft kiss on Amelia’s lips.