he raised his arm again-faint light glinted along a blade.
“Hold!” Charles shouted, muscles tensing to race in.
The man looked up, and changed his hold on the knife.
Penny moved behind Charles, peering past his shoulder.
Charles swore, and flung himself back.
The man threw the knife.
Pushing Penny out of the double doorway, Charles flattened her against the hall wall beside the door. Her “
He was back through the doorway as the tinkling died.
The room was a mass of shadows. He searched, then saw the man frantically climbing through the long window at the end of the room. His face was black-a scarf or mask; a hat was pulled low over his forehead.
The knife from Charles’s boot was in his hand before he’d even thought. It was a long throw; he took an instant to gauge it, then sent the knife streaking down the room.
It thudded into the window frame where the man had been standing a bare second before, pinning his coat. Charles raced forward. He heard a curse, then material ripped and the man, already outside, was gone.
Glass crunched beneath Charles’s boots; he called back, “There’s broken glass-be careful!” He hurdled the slumped figure and finally reached the window; wrenching aside the billowing curtains, he looked out.
The man was briefly visible, a denser shadow pelting toward the dark mass of the shrubbery. Charles watched, itching to pursue but restrained by experience. The man would reach the shrubbery long before he could catch him; once amid the high hedges, the man could wait for him to venture in, then slip past him and return to the house to finish what he’d started.
Swallowing an oath, Charles turned and headed back to where Penny had picked her way to the slumped form and was now crouched by its side.
She glanced up as he neared. “Nicholas.”
No surprise there.
“He’s been stabbed, I think twice.”
A curse slipped out. “The
Penny rose and went to do as he’d asked. Nicholas was unconscious; grasping his shoulders, Charles rolled him fully onto his back. As the wick flared, then steadied, he saw two wounds, one in each shoulder.
The pattern spoke volumes. The next strike would have gone just above the heart, fully incapacitating, potentially fatal. The last strike would have been a quick jab between the ribs, directly into the heart. Always fatal.
If they’d been a few seconds slower, Nicholas would have died.
Both shoulder wounds were bleeding, but not as much as the next wound would have. Loosening, then dragging free Nicholas’s cravat, Charles ripped the muslin in two, folded each piece, and firmly pressed one to each wound.
He looked up at Penny. She was as white as a sheet, but a long way from fainting. “He’s not going to die.” Her gaze lifted from Nicholas’s deathly pale face to his. He nodded to the bellpull. “Wake the household. We’ll need help with him, and we need to set a guard.”
The next hour went in organized chaos. Already on edge, every member of the staff turned out in response to the jangling bell. Explanations had to be given; reassurances made. Maids had to be calmed, then some were sent to boil water while Figgs ordered the younger ones back to bed.
Figgs herself took charge of Nicholas. Working with Charles, she packed the wounds, then organized two footmen to carry Nicholas upstairs, back to his bed.
“Not even slept in!” Bustling ahead of the laboring footmen, Figgs hurried to turn down the covers. “Lay him there, gently now.”
Charles sank into the armchair by the bed. Penny sat on its arm and leaned against his shoulder. Together, they watched as Figgs sent maids for water, clean linen for bandages, and ointment from the stillroom. While they scurried to obey, with brisk efficiency Figgs stripped Nicholas’s ruined coat and shirt away. Once they’d delivered all she’d requested, Figgs shooed the maids off to bed; carrying the bowl to the bedside, she carefully lifted their improvised bandages and washed away the blood.
Patting the wounds dry, Figgs glanced at Charles. “Can’t say I’ve much experience of stab wounds, but these don’t look all that bad.”
“They’re not.” Charles leaned forward and looked more closely. “At least they’re clean-one benefit of being attacked by a professional.” The last comment was uttered
She leaned more firmly against his shoulder. “Has he lost a lot of blood?”
“Not that much-his faint is most likely due to shock.”
“Aye.” Figgs looked decidedly grim.
“My lord?”
Charles looked up to see Norris in the doorway. He was carrying a lit candelabra; he glanced at the figure on the bed, then looked at Charles. “A guard, do you think, my lord?”
“Indeed.” Charles rose, lightly squeezed Penny’s shoulder. “Wait here-I’ll be back. I need to speak to him when he comes around.”
Penny nodded. She’d belted her robe tightly about her and was glad of its warmth, especially now Charles had moved away. She’d stopped by her room and put on her slippers, but even warm toes didn’t alleviate her chill.
When Figgs started to smear on the ointment and lay gauze over the raw wounds, she shook herself, rose, and went to help. Working together, they secured bandages around Nicholas. Figgs had used warm water to wash away the blood, but Nicholas’s skin felt icy.
Figgs noticed her concern. “It’s the shock, like Lord Charles said. There.” Pulling up the covers, she patted them down around Nicholas. “He’s as comfortable as can be.”
Piling her cloths in the basin, she hefted it. She glanced again at Nicholas. “I’ll send up a footman with some hot bricks. That’ll warm up the bed and bring him to himself.”
“Thank you, Figgs.” Penny sank into the armchair, her gaze fixed on Nicholas’s effigy-like face.
Figgs humphed. “Em brews a tisane as calms the nerves something wonderful. I’ll have some sent up for you all. After all this fuss, you’ll be needing it, no doubt.”
Penny smiled. “Thank you.”
Figgs bobbed and left.
Charles walked back in as Figgs neared the door. He held it, then closed it behind her and crossed the room to Penny.
She raised her brows at him.
“Shutting the door after the horse has bolted, but…” With a light shrug, he sat on the arm of the chair. “If it was me, I’d come straight back in. Better safe than sorry.”
“What have you organized?”
He told her of the orders he’d given, two men in each patrol, with two patrols circling the corridors, passing in sequence from one wing to the next. “One man alone, this villain will kill him, but he won’t use a pistol-too much noise-and unless he’s a wizard, he won’t try to take on two men at once.”
Penny nodded. Everything seemed so unreal. This was her home, yet patrols of footmen were now required to keep a murderous intruder at bay.
“I’d send you to bed, only I’d rather you remained in the same room as me.”
She blinked, looked up at Charles. “I’ve no intention of returning to my bed. I want to be here when Nicholas awakes-I want to hear what he says.”
He smiled, wry, resigned, and said no more.
Em’s tisane arrived, and they each drank a cup; a pot under a knitted warmer sat waiting for Nicholas. Footmen came with the bricks wrapped in felt; Charles oversaw their disposition. Another footman stoked the fire into a roaring blaze. Penny thanked him and dismissed him. Then she and Charles settled to wait.
The clock on the mantelpiece ticked on.
