Whirlwind Affair

Chapter 24

The sharp report of a pistol rent the air, followed almost immediately by a woman's sharp call for help.

Mrs. Brown. Without breaking his run, Austin veered swiftly toward the sound. 'The lake,' he shouted to Michael and Miles, who followed hard on his heels. His heart slammed against his ribs, and he forced himself not to imagine what he'd find.

Less than a minute later, they burst into a small clearing, and his worst fears were realized. Robert lay on the ground. Mrs. Brown kneeled next to him, her face chalk-white, pressing her petticoat to his shoulder. A short distance away, Shelbourne lay in the dirt, his breathing labored, his features contorted with pain, the hilt of a knife protruding from his gut.

'See to Shelbourne,' he said to Michael, then ran directly to Robert, with Miles following him.

'Thank God you're here,' Mrs. Brown said, her gaze flicking over him and Miles for only a second before returning to Robert.

'Is he alive?' Austin asked, dropping to his knees. His stomach turned over at the ashen pallor of Robert's skin and the dark stain spreading on his jacket.

“Yes. But he's… he's bleeding badly. I don't know how serious the wound is.' Her voice shook, but her hands were steady as she applied pressure to stem the blood. Austin watched the white petticoat turn a frightening red. 'I… I couldn't rip my petticoat, so I just removed it. We need bandages. A doctor.' She looked at Austin through frightened eyes. 'He saved my life. Threw his knife as Geoffrey shot him and-'

'I know.' Forcing his own fear aside, he looked at Miles. 'We need a physician. As quickly as possible.'

With a terse nod, Miles dashed off in the direction of the stables.

Austin then instructed tersely, 'All right. Let's apply more pressure to slow this bleeding. Then we can examine the wound.' He placed his hands over hers and pressed downward. And prayed for his brother's life.

*******

Michael crouched down next to Geoffrey Hadmore. Pain glazed his dark eyes, and his chest heaved with shallow, panting breaths. His hands spasmed over his stomach, where crimson blood spread in an ever-widening stain against his white shirt. One look at the wound left no doubt it was fatal. Hadmore was clearly in agony, and God knew a knife to the gut was a miserable way to die. Yet it was difficult to dredge up sympathy for the man. Still, Michael removed his jacket, bunched it into a makeshift pillow, then slipped it beneath Hadmore's head.

Hadmore's pain-filled gaze focused on him. 'You,' he whispered. 'You bastard.'

Michael raised his brows. 'Actually, it appears that you are the bastard, Hadmore.' A humorless, disgusted sound pushed between his lips. 'These past few years you've been coming to my boxing emporium… who would have guessed we'd have more in common than a love of sport?'

Geoffrey's eyes narrowed to hate-filled slits. 'We have nothing in common.'

'I would have to agree. The man who fathered both of us was indeed nothing.' His gaze flicked down to the protruding knife hilt, then he asked with a sense of detached curiosity 'Why? Was this title truly worth your life?'

Geoffrey grimaced. 'It was my life,' he gasped. 'Everything I was… from the day I was born.' His eyes cleared briefly and burned with loathing. 'You're nothing but trash. You'll never live up to the title. You'll be… laughed out of Society.' His eyes slid closed, his breathing growing more labored.

Michael leaned closer to him and whispered, 'At least I'll be around to hear the laughter, which is more than you can say.'

'I hope… you rot… in hell.'

Michael shrugged. 'I may-someday. But you'll rot there first.'

A trickle of blood oozed from between Geoffrey's lips. A final breath rattled in his lungs, then his head slumped to the side and he was still.

Michael stared at him for several seconds. You died for something that means nothing to me. Something I don't want. Something I never would have taken from you.

Now all he could do was pray that Robert didn't lose his life as well.

********

Allie stood in front of the fire in the drawing room, staring at the dancing flames. How much longer? She glanced at the mantel clock. Three hours. Three endless hours that felt like an eternity. An eternity during which they'd stemmed the bleeding from Robert's wound enough for the duke and Mr. Evers-or rather, the new Lord Shelbourne-to carry Robert back to the house. An eternity since she'd assisted Elizabeth and the physician in treating his injury. The gunshot had only resulted in a flesh wound-a deep one, but it could have been so much worse. Still, there was a risk of infection. And he'd lost so much blood…

But most frightening was the fact that he had not yet regained consciousness. At first she'd been almost grateful, for at least he was oblivious to the pain and the number of stitches taken to close the wound. But as she'd wiped his face with a damp cloth, brushing back his hair from his temples, she'd discovered the lump on his head. Clearly he'd hit his head when he'd fallen to the ground.

Three endless hours. And he still had not awoken. A sob bubbled up in her throat, and she bit her lips to contain it. Surely God would not allow him to survive a gunshot only to die from the fall to the ground?

Robert had saved her life. She squeezed her eyes closed, reliving the image of him striding into that clearing, looking like an avenging angel, making himself a human shield between her and a madman. A madman he'd killed in order to protect her.

An image of his handsome face, so ashen and frighteningly still, flashed in her mind. Her stomach turned over, and she pushed the thought away. But she was instantly bombarded with other pictures of him: his blue eyes alight with mischief, his lips stretched in a teasing smile. Standing in the park with pigeons poised on his hat. Pounding out an off-key song on the pianoforte. Laughing with his niece and nephew. Desire and love burning in his eyes as he loomed over her, joining his body intimately with hers.

Dear God, she loved him.

Loved his kindness and strength. I lis compassion and bravery. He'd risked everything for her. He'd told her he loved her, but even if he'd never said the words, she would have known. His feelings were evident in his every action. He was nothing like David, and shame filled her at the great disservice she'd done Robert by ever believing they were alike. He'd given her everything a man could give a woman, and instead of embracing his love, thanking God for it, and giving him the love he deserved in return, she'd pushed him away. She'd thought she'd made mistakes before? A humorless laugh escaped her.

Refusing Robert's love, and refusing to acknowledge her own love for him, was the biggest mistake she'd ever made.

And it was one she intended to rectify.

She just prayed he would survive so she'd have the chance to do so.

She'd paced in the crowded corridor outside his bedchamber, praying along with the rest of the family for him to regain consciousness. Finally, however, she could not stand the cramped area another second. She needed air, space to move, quiet to think, so she'd escaped to the drawing room. But now it, too, felt like a prison.

'Allie.' At the sound of Elizabeth's voice behind her, she turned swiftly. Her gaze raked over Elizabeth 's face, noting the dark circles under her eyes.

'How is he?' she asked, barely pushing the words past the lump in her throat.

Elizabeth crossed the room, then reached out and clasped her hands. 'He's awake.'

Relief so intense it rendered her light-headed, rushed through her. He’s awake. A half-sob, half-laugh bubbled up inside her. There might have been two more wonderful words spoken at some point in the history of mankind, but God help her, she could not imagine what they could have been.