Love and the Single Heiress

And that tonight someone had nearly succeeded.

Andrew paced the confines of the corridor outside Lord Ravensly’s bedchamber, his insides clenched with impatience and frustration. And stark fear. How the hell long did it take to examine and dress a wound? Certainly not this long. Damn it, the party guests had departed, a witness had been found and interviewed, the magistrate had been dealt with, and still Dr. Gibbens had not emerged. He’d encountered many precarious, unsettling, and even dangerous situations in his life, but the unconditional terror and numbing horror of looking down at Lady Catherine’s bleeding, unconscious form…

God. He paused in his pacing and leaned his back against the wall. Closing his eyes, he tunneled his hands, which still didn’t feel quite steady, through his hair. All the fear and anger and desperation he’d felt since the moment that shot had rung out burst through the dam of control and restraint with which he’d surrounded himself. His knees shook, and with a low moan, he sank down to his haunches and pressed the heels of his palms to his forehead.

Damn it, he’d only ever once in his entire life felt so helpless-and that situation had ended disastrously. And under such horrifyingly similar circumstances. A shot. Someone he loved falling to the ground…

His every nerve ending pulsed with the need to kick down the damn door, grab the doctor by the neck, and demand he make Lady Catherine well. And the instant she was, he would deal with the bastard who had done this to her. But in the meantime, this waiting was eating at him. That and the fact that just prior to the shot they’d argued.

Argued, for God’s sake. They’d never before exchanged a cross word. A sick sense of loss gripped him as he recalled her cool, dispassionate gaze during their conversation. Never had she looked at him like that.

“Any word on her condition?”

Andrew turned at Lady Catherine’s father’s voice. The Earl of Ravensly strode down the corridor, his features tight with worry.

“Not yet.” Andrew rose, then jerked his head toward the bedchamber door. “I’m giving your Dr. Gibbens two more minutes. If he hasn’t opened the door, propriety be damned, I’m storming the citadel.”

The ghost of a smile whispered across the earl’s haggard face. “How very American of you. But in this case, I must agree. In fact-”

The door opened, and Dr. Gibbens stepped into the corridor. “Well?” Andrew demanded before the earl could speak. He pushed off the paneled wall and approached the doctor, barely refraining from grabbing the smaller man by his cravat and shaking him as a dog would a rag.

“You correctly assessed the situation, Mr. Stanton. Lady Catherine’s injury is, thankfully, a superficial flesh wound, which I cleansed and dressed. Thanks to your quick intervention, she did not suffer a severe loss of blood. While the bump on her head will bring some discomfort, it will not cause any long-lasting harm, nor will the cut on her lip. I expect her to make a full recovery.” He removed his spectacles and polished the lenses with his handkerchief. “I’ve left some laudanum on the bedside table, but she refused to take any until she’d spoken with both of you. I recommend that she not be moved this evening. I’ll call upon her in the morning to assess her condition and change her dressing. She is most adamant that she return to Little Longstone and her son tomorrow.”

Everything inside Andrew rebelled at the thought of her being out of his sight, and he had to clamp his lips together to keep from voicing his objection.

“Headstrong gel,” the earl said, his eyes suspiciously moist. “She cannot bear to be parted from Spencer. Is it wise that she travel so soon?”

“I’ll give you my opinion after I examine her tomorrow,” Dr. Gibbens said. “I bid you both good night.” With a nod, the doctor left them.

“Come, Stanton,” the earl said, opening the door. “Let us see for ourselves how my daughter is faring.”

Andrew offered up a silent thank-you for Lord Ravensly’s invitation, for in truth, he didn’t know if he was capable of remaining in the corridor for another minute. He followed the earl into the bedchamber, then paused in the doorway.

Lady Catherine lay in the oversized bed, the maroon counterpane covering her to her chin. Bathed in the golden glow cast from the fire burning in the grate, she looked like a gilded angel. Loose tendrils of chestnut hair fanned out across the cream pillowcase, and his fingers itched to brush the shiny strands back from her soft skin. For all the times he’d dreamed of holding her in his arms, never once had he suspected that if the moment ever came, it would arrive in the guise of carrying her unconscious, bleeding form.

He approached the bed slowly, his knees threatening to wobble, his gaze minutely noting every nuance of her being. Her eyes appeared huge, and shadows of pain lurked in their golden brown depths, along with something else that looked liked fear. A small red mark marred her swollen bottom lip. Her face was devoid of color.

“Dr. Gibbens assured us you would make a full recovery,” Lord Ravensly said, taking her hand between both his own. “How are you feeling?”

A grimace passed over her features. “Sore, but very grateful. My injuries could have been much worse.”

The earl visibly shuddered, a sentiment with which Andrew wholeheartedly agreed. Her troubled gaze bounced between them. “Were you able to find out anything about who fired the pistol?”

Andrew cleared his throat. “One of the party guests, Mr. Sidney Carmichael, reported he was just entering his carriage when he heard the shot. He saw a man running into Hyde Park. He provided a good description to the magistrate and said he would definitely recognize the man if he saw him again. Lords Borthrasher, Kingsly, Avenbury, and Ferrymouth, as well as the Duke of Kelby were entering their carriages nearby and agree they saw a shadowy figure in the park, but none could provide a detailed description.

“The group of gentlemen who searched outside came upon an injured man near the town house. He identified himself as a Mr. Graham. Mr. Graham claims that while walking down Park Lane, he was accosted from behind. When he regained consciousness, he realized he’d been relieved of his purse and watch fob.”

“I see,” she said slowly. “Did the robber have a pistol?”

“Mr. Graham didn’t know, but then, he never saw his attacker before he was rendered senseless.”

“No doubt the scoundrel knocked him out with the butt of the pistol,” Lord Ravensly fumed. “Then the weapon discharged, and here we are. Damn footpads.” He shook his head, then frowned at Lady Catherine. “Now what is this nonsense Dr. Gibbens said about you wanting to return to Little Longstone tomorrow?”

“I promised Spencer I’d be home tomorrow, Father.”

“We’ll have the lad brought to London.”

“No. You know how he hates the city. And after tonight, can you blame me for not relishing a prolonged stay in Town myself?”

“I suppose not, but I don’t like the thought of you alone, isolated in the country while you’re recovering. You need someone to take care of you.”

“I agree,” she said slowly, frowning in a way that made Andrew wonder what she was thinking. He agreed wholeheartedly with the earl, but somehow he’d expected the new “headstrong, independent” Lady Catherine to demur. To claim that her staff could adequately care for her.

“ ‘Tis a pity Philip cannot come to Little Longstone for an extended visit.” She said the words lightly, but something in her tone caught Andrew’s attention. That and the fact that she hadn’t said “Philip and Meredith.”

“Yes,” the earl mused, “but he cannot leave Meredith now. I’d volunteer my services, but I’m afraid acting the nursemaid is not my strong suit.”

Andrew forced himself not to point out that acting the nursemaid was hardly Philip’s strong suit either. He looked at Lady Catherine, and their gazes met. His stomach tightened when he again saw a flash of fear, and something else he couldn’t decipher in her eyes. Then her expression turned speculative, and almost… calculating?

Before he could decide, she said, “I believe I have thought of the perfect solution. Mr. Stanton, would you consider accompanying me to Little Longstone, then remaining as my guest? It would prevent me from having to travel alone, and I’m certain you would enjoy a visit to the country. Spencer would love to see you again and hear more of your adventures with Philip in Egypt. You had little opportunity to get acquainted at my husband’s funeral. And with Spencer there as chaperone, your visit would, of course, be above reproach and quite proper.”

For reasons he couldn’t explain, a warning tingled in his gut-an instinctual reaction that had served him well