William and Amy both ran toward the window, but no one was visible by the time they looked out into the darkness. William clambered out and ran in the only direction the escapee could have gone. In the pale moonlight, William saw the shadow of someone as he rounded the corner of the house.
The offender turned to look back at William and stumbled, dropping the ledger. Leaving the book there, the thief raced away, disappearing into the woods behind the house. Aside from William’s heavy breathing, the only sound in the night was the echo of small branches cracking as feet pounded across the ground.
As it was too dark to attempt to follow whoever had absconded, William stopped in front of the ledger and bent over, resting his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. After a minute or so, he picked up the book the mysterious person had dropped and turned to join Amy.
By the time he reached the house, she was outside, clutching the infernal animal in her arms, moving her head back and forth, peering in the dark, trying to see him. “Did you catch whoever that was?”
“No. But the thief stumbled and dropped the ledger.” William waved the book in the air. He moved toward her, grabbed her arm, and tugged her forward. “Let’s get out of here.”
Just as they made it to the carriage, a shot rang out. Then a second one. William pushed Amy into the carriage and climbed in after her. “Move!” he shouted at the driver.
William slammed the door as the carriage took off to the sounds of another shot being fired.
“Someone is shooting at us!” Amy yelled.
William shoved her to the ground and jumped on top of her. “Stay low until we’re back on the road.”
The carriage swayed as the driver urged the horses faster. William closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He looked down at Amy before moving onto the seat, pulling her up next to him. “Are you all right?”
She dusted off her coat and had the nerve to glare at him. “I told you we should bring a gun.”
CHAPTER 17
“No guns. We would only have ended up in a gun battle, and someone would have been hurt. Or killed.” William moved his hand to his upper arm and winced. “I believe I’ve been shot.”
“Shot!” Amy shifted on the seat and fumbled to light the oil lamp anchored to the wall of the carriage next to the window. “Let me see.”
He shrugged out of his greatcoat and jacket and turned his arm toward her. She leaned in very close, then looked up at him with wide eyes. “You’ve been shot!”
After she composed herself, she said, “Take off your shirt so I can see how bad it is.”
William complied by removing his cravat and his waistcoat. “You need to help me pull the shirt off.”
Amy tugged the shirt out of his trousers and gingerly removed it over his head. She got up, holding onto the sides of the carriage, and moved to his other side.
Kneeling close to him, she said, “It looks like the bullet grazed you. But there is a lot of blood. Do you have a handkerchief?”
“Yes. In my right-hand trouser pocket.”
Amy reached in and withdrew the handkerchief. She pressed it against the injury.
“Ouch.” He sucked in a deep breath.
“My apologies, but we need to stop the bleeding.”
“What the bloody hell—excuse my language—am I going to do about this? I can’t show up at my house with a bullet wound. Mother would pass out and then demand to know how I got shot.”
Amy shook her head. “We can’t go to my house either, since it’s close to dawn, and no one even knows I’m gone. If Papa wakes up, well …”
They remained silent for a few minutes, and then Amy said, “I know. We shall go to Eloise’s house. I can throw stones at her bedchamber window to wake her. She can let us in and get you fixed up. We did that for years when we were younger.”
“Why am I not surprised? I think your father made a miscalculation in allowing Lady Margaret to raise you.”
“I beg your pardon? Aunt Margaret is a wonderful aunt and companion.”
“Yes. She certainly is, but I don’t think she was as diligent as she should have been at keeping you in hand.” William leaned his head against the squab and closed his eyes. The pain was not unbearable, but damn, the thing hurt.
“You had better tell your driver where to take us.” Amy watched him carefully, no doubt afraid he might pass out on her.
He had no plans of swooning like an overwrought debutante. He reached the opening in the roof of the carriage and slid the door open. “John, do not take us to Lady Amy’s house or my house. We will go to Miss Spencer’s home. Do you know where that is?”
“Yes, my lord,” came the answer.
Amy narrowed her eyes at him. “I will not ask you why your driver knows where Eloise lives.” She raised her chin. “It is not my business.”
Despite the pain, William grinned at her obvious suspicion. “Do not fear, my dear; you may recall that we have both traveled to her home on the way back from our book club meetings once or twice.”
Amy smoothed out her skirt. “I knew that.”
“I think I could use the blanket underneath the seat across from us. Can you get it for me?” He had begun to feel chilly and knew it was probably from the shock as well as being bare chested. Soon he would be shivering.
Amy helped him back into his shirt and then wrapped him in the warm blanket and sat close to him, most likely to share her
