Spencer snorted and waved him to a chair. “You don’t seem overly put out by the fall of the cards. But Jenkins said something about Kit’s being hurt. What’s happened?”
Jack drew an armchair to the table and sat, using the moments to assemble the essential elements of his tale. “Kit and I have been meeting by night at the old fishing cottage on the north boundary of my land.”
Spencer nodded. “Aye. I know it. Used to go fishing with your father from there.”
“I was on my way there tonight when I heard a commotion. Shots and horsemen. I went to investigate. From the cliffs I saw a chase on the sands-the Revenue following a horseman. Only the horseman was Kit.”
“
“She’s all right,” Jack hastened to reassure him. “The bullet’s lodged in her left shoulder but too high to be fatal. I’ve sent for Thrushborne. He’ll dig it out, and she should be fine.” Jack prayed that was true.
“I’ll have their hides! I’ll see them swing from their own gibbets! I’ll…” Spencer ground to a halt, his face purpling with rage.
“I rather think we should tread warily, sir.” Jack’s quiet tone had the desired effect. Spencer turned on him.
“D’ye mean to say you’ll let the bastards get away with putting a damned hole in your future wife?” Spencer’s wild eyes dared him to confess to such weakness.
“Ah-but you see, that’s just the point.” Jack held Spencer’s gaze. “They don’t know they shot my future wife.”
The silence that followed was broken by a creak as Spencer sank back in his chair.
Jack examined his hands. “All in all, I’d rather the authorities were not made aware that my future wife rides wild through the night dressed for all the world as a man.”
Eventually, Spencer sighed deeply. “Very well. Handle it your way. God knows, I’ve never been much good at hauling on Kit’s reins. Perchance you’ll have more success.”
Recalling that he’d not succeeded in retiring Young Kit as he’d planned, Jack wasn’t overly confident on that point. “There’s a complication.” Spencer’s head came up, reminding Jack forcibly of an old bull about to charge. “Tonkin, the sergeant at Hunstanton, saw Kit without the hat and muffler she uses to conceal her face. He got a good look at her before I deprived him of his wits. When he comes to his senses, he’ll be around here as fast as he can.”
The look on Spencer’s face suggested he’d like to lock Tonkin in a dungeon and be done with it. Grudgingly, he asked: “So what do we do?”
“He’ll come asking questions, wanting to see Kit. The last person he’ll expect to see will be me. He needs my permission to go any farther than questions. The story we’ll tell is that I had dinner here this evening, with you and your granddaughter-a very private celebration of our betrothal. I remained until quite late, discussing the arrangements with Kit and you. Your health is uncertain, so the wedding will be a small affair, to be held as soon as possible.”
Spencer’s expression turned grim, but he said nothing. Jack continued: “Tomorrow morning, I’ll call early to see you alone, to discuss the settlements. That’s my reason for being here when Tonkin arrives.”
“What if he insists on seeing Kit?”
“I doubt he’ll insist, not if I’m here. But if he does, Kit will have gone to visit the Greshams, to tell her friend Amy the news.”
Spencer nodded slowly, mulling over the plan.
The door opened and Jenkins entered. “Dr. Thrushborne’s arrived, m’lord. He’s asking for Lord Hendon.”
Jack rose. Spencer started to rise with obvious difficulty; Jack waved him back. “Kit’s unconscious at the moment-there’s nothing you can do.” As Spencer sank back, softly wheezing, Jack added: “I’ll come and tell you what Thrushborne says.”
His face pale, his lips pinched, Spencer nodded. Jack returned the nod, then strode back to Kit’s chamber.
Telling Spencer had been bad enough; he shared some part of the blame for Kit’s wildness. But Jack couldn’t excuse his own behavior; he should have acted earlier, more decisively, more effectively. He should have taken better care of her. At least Thrushborne was here. He had been treating Hendons and Cranmers for decades. He could be relied on not to talk. So far, so good. But there was a long way to go before they were out of the woods.
Jack entered Kit’s room without knocking. A small black whirlwind descended on him.
“Out!
“Elmina, do stop that. I asked Lord Hendon to come.” Dr. Thrushborne’s mild tones halted Elmina in mid-stride. Jack sidestepped about her. Thrushborne was wiping his hands on a clean towel. Beyond him, his intruments were laid out on a table drawn up by the bed.
Thrushborne regarded Jack. He waved at Kit’s still form and raised an inquiring brow. “I gather you know this lady rather well?”
Jack didn’t bother answering. “Will she live?” It was the only question he was interested in.
Thrushborne’s brows rose. “Oh, yes. I should think so. She’s a healthy young woman, as you doubtless know. She’ll do well enough, once we get that lump of metal out of her.”
Jack suspected Thrushborne was enjoying himself. It wasn’t often he had a Hendon at his mercy. But Jack couldn’t drag his gaze from the still figure on the bed. He didn’t care about anything-anyone-else.
Thrushborne cleared his throat. “I’ll need you to hold her while I pull the bullet out. She’s barely unconscious, but I don’t want to give her a sedative yet.”
Jack nodded, steeling his nerves for the coming ordeal. He obeyed Thrushborne’s orders implicitly, trying not to bruise Kit as he held her right shoulder and leaned on her left arm to immobilize her. When the doctor’s forceps probed deep, she gasped and struggled, furiously trying to pull away. Her whimpers shredded Jack’s nerves. When tears welled beneath her closed lids and a choked sob escaped her, his stomach clenched. Gritting his teeth, Jack mentally ran through every curse he’d ever learned-and concentrated on obeying orders. Elmina hovered, murmuring soothingly, holding Kit’s head through the worst, bathing her forehead with lavender water. As far as Jack could tell, Kit was oblivious to all but the pain.
Finally, Thrushborne straightened, flourishing his forceps. “Got it!” He beamed, then, dropping the forceps in a basin, gave his attention to staunching the blood, flowing freely again.
By the time Kit was bandaged and dosed with laudanum, Jack felt dizzy and weak.
About to leave, Thrushborne turned to him. “I take it I haven’t seen anything at all of Miss Kathryn?”
Gathering his wits, Jack shook his head. “No. You were called to see Spencer.”
The doctor frowned. “My housekeeper saw your servant come for me-why was that?”
“I was here when Spencer was taken badly and sent Matthew, rather than one of the Cranmer staff.”
Thrushborne nodded briskly. “I’ll call again in the morning-to see Spencer.”
With a weary but grateful half smile, Jack shook hands. Thrushborne departed; Elmina followed, taking the bloody rags to be burned. Alone with Kit, Jack stretched, easing his aching back. He’d have to see Spencer and make sure the servants, both here and at Castle Hendon, understood their story sufficiently well to play their parts. He didn’t doubt they’d do it. The Hendons and Cranmers were served by locals whose families lived and worked on the estates; all would rally to the cause. Tonkin was thoroughly disliked by all who knew him; the Revenue in general were favorites with no one. With care and forethought, all would be well. With a long-drawn sigh, Jack turned to the bed.
Kit lay stretched out primly, not wantonly asprawl as he was used to seeing her. It would be some time before he saw her like that again. How long? Three weeks, maybe four? Jack contemplated the wait, by dint of sheer determination holding back the thought that he might never see her like that again. She would live-she had to. He couldn’t live without her. The space beside her looked inviting, but Spencer was waiting, and Elmina would soon be back. With a wrenching sigh, Jack gazed down at the silent beauty. Her chest rose and fell beneath the sheet, her breathing shallow but steady. Jack put out a hand to brush a silky curl from her smooth brow, then bent to gently kiss her pale lips.
He dragged himself away. Elmina had said she’d watch Kit for what was left of the night, and Spencer was still waiting.
“Sergeant Tonkin, my lord.” Jenkins held the library door wide, an expression of supercilious condescension on
