Chapter 16
“Sweet heaven! What was that?” Harriet asked.
Bella’s head jerked to the nearest window. “It sounded like a gunshot.”
They had been searching the trunks they had brought from Plymouth in a spare bedchamber when the sound of the shot reverberated throughout the room.
Bella jumped to her feet. “Stay in the house until I return.”
“But what if it’s dangerous?”
Ignoring Harriet, Bella rushed to the top of the landing and down the front stairs. The front door stood open and she sped outside. The duke’s manservant, Coates, and two of the footmen were already sprinting across the lawn.
“What happened?” Bella shouted to Coates.
He barely looked her way. “In the stables!”
After a moment’s hesitation, she ran after him. As she approached the stable door, James stumbled out carrying Bobby, unconscious in his arms. The boy’s head hung to the side, revealing a bloodied face.
As James gingerly handed the boy over to a footman she saw the blood staining the duke’s white shirtfront.
The entire right side of his shirt was crimson.
Her breath caught.
What has gone on here?
She ran to his side. “What happened?”
Sapphire eyes held not only pain, but rage. “Bobby was knocked unconscious. I wrestled with his attacker, and I was shot.”
Bella’s hand fluttered to her breast.
Rupert. It was Rupert who had attacked Bobby and shot James. Air rushed in and out of her lungs like a bellows. She was vaguely aware of the rest of the household gathering around.
“Summon the physician,” James instructed another footman. “Bobby took a nasty hit to the head.”
Leaning on Coates, James made his way inside. Bella trailed after them, her mind a crazy whirl of fear and dread.
Once inside she found her voice. “The drawing room is closest,” she directed Coates. “Lay him on the settee.”
It was James who hesitated. “I’ll bloody it.”
“You’ve been shot! You think I care as to the state of the upholstery?” she asked incredulously.
He shot her a lopsided grin and sat. “It’s only a flesh wound.”
Coates helped him unbutton his shirt. Bella winced at the jagged oozing wound. She had seen a man’s naked torso, of course. But Roger had been older, and his fondness for sweets and liquor had turned him into a plump, paunchy man. He had been fair and his flesh pale.
But James’s chest ... oh my, it appeared to have been molded of bronze. He shrugged the shirt completely aside, and the fluid, rippling motion of the muscles in his wide shoulders and back fascinated her.
Coates probed the wound, and James hissed in pain.
“Careful! You’re hurting him,” she blurted.
Coates eyed her. “I need to make certain the ball passed through. Whiskey would help right now.”
She rushed to the sideboard and withdrew a crystal decanter and glass. She poured a good amount with a shaky hand and handed the glass to Coates.
Coates took both the glass and the decanter from her. He handed the glass to James, who downed the contents in one swallow. Coates then took the decanter and poured it on the wound.
James’s entire body went rigid. Gritting his teeth, he let forth a groan of pain.
“What did you do that for?” Bella asked.
“To kill any infection, of course.” Coates spoke as if she was a simpleton.
“I know alcohol kills infections. I meant to ask shouldn’t you wait for the local surgeon? The footman left to fetch the man.”
“Good,” James grunted. “He’ll need to clean the wound and put a few stitches in me.” His glare sharpened at her. “Then we’re going to talk about who was in the stables.”
Bella paced her bedchamber awaiting any news. The local surgeon, a man by the name of Dr. Muddleton, had arrived two hours ago and had marched straightaway to the duke’s bedchamber and firmly closed the door.
A cold shiver spread over Bella as she thought of James. The rose-hued walls and large window overlooking the rear gardens had always soothed her nerves in the past, but failed to ease the tight knot in her stomach now. She felt like a slashed rope, unraveling thread by thread.
The door opened and Harriet slipped inside. “The stable lad came to and the surgeon believes he’ll suffer no ill effects.”
“Thank goodness!” Bella said. “And the duke?”
“The surgeon continues to treat him as we speak.”
Bella bit her bottom lip until it throbbed like her pulse. “Rupert is the culprit. Both Bobby and the duke must have walked in on Rupert in the stables. It’s all my fault!”
“You must not blame yourself for Rupert’s foul deeds. You couldn’t have known.”
Guilt seared Bella’s chest. How could she not feel responsible? Her past had returned to harm those who’d had no hand in Roger and Rupert’s treason. The ball may have grazed James, but she had seen the gruesome wound with her own eyes. The flesh was torn and there had been so much blood.
Then there was the risk of infection.
Bella had a vivid memory of one of Roger’s tenants who had injured himself pitching hay. The man’s thigh had been punctured to the bone. Roger had dismissed the tenant’s injuries, saying they were merely superficial and had sent the surgeon away. A day later, the man had developed a raging fever; two days later, he had perished.
Could James suffer the same fate?
She would never recover, would never forgive herself.
A heaviness centered in her chest. At one time she had compared James to Roger. She had thought James selfish and depraved—but he had never exhibited Roger’s behavior. Yes, she had been furious that James had assumed she was just as susceptible and amenable to his charms as his prior conquests and would be delighted to become his mistress. He had arrogantly thought he had contrived the perfect solution to their dilemma over the property.
But the truth was he was just as much a victim of Sir Reeves’s criminal plot as she. And as for Roger—he would have ruthlessly dispensed of a widow occupying a home he believed rightfully belonged to him. If the woman refused to leave, Roger would not have hesitated to inflict grave harm.
James had never harmed her. The first day he had arrived in his ducal carriage, he had alluded to his base desires and had threatened to visit her bedchamber. She had been appalled and had replied in reckless anger. But she knew now he would never have carried through with the threat. For being raised as the bastard son of an aristocrat, James had more morals than most men of the
beau monde.
“I overheard Coates in the hall,” Harriet said. “They all believe it was a horse thief come to steal the duke’s big stallion.”
“Maximus? They believe Bobby and the duke walked in on a common horse thief?”
“Aye.”
Bella’s mind halted. “We must find that ledger.”
“They’ll search for the criminal. Surely Rupert must be panicked. Perhaps he’ll flee and leave us alone,” Harriet said.
Bella shook her head. “He wants the ledger too badly.”
A knock on the door startled the women.
Harriet opened the door, and Coates stood in the doorway. His expression was taut, his brow creased with worry.
“The duke is asking for you, Mrs. Sinclair.”
Bella opened the door of the master bedchamber and quietly stepped inside. The drapes were drawn and the room was dim, save for a handful of candles on the bedside table. The large four-poster was hung with a sheer silk, and Bella could make out Blackwood lying still against the pillows. A stout, middle-aged man was bent over the bed, his face set in deep thought as he tended his patient.
Bella closed the door, and the surgeon straightened at her approach. “I’m Dr. Muddleton. I assume you are Mrs. Sinclair. His Grace asked to speak with you.”
“How is he?” Bella asked.
“The ball tore up his side, but it passed through. He’s a lucky man as it missed his liver by a hairsbreadth.” Dr. Muddleton held up two fingers a hair apart to demonstrate just how close the ball had come to killing Blackwood.
There was a heavy feeling in her stomach, and she forced herself to breathe.
“I dosed him with laudanum before I stitched the wound, but he still would have had a good bit of pain. Strong as an ox, he is. He should be tired from the drug, understand? You must not visit long,” Dr. Muddleton instructed.
Bella gathered the courage to ask the question that had been concerning her. “Will His Grace fully recover?”
Although the surgeon wore thick spectacles, she had no trouble seeing the wariness in his eyes. “He’s at risk for infection. If he becomes fevered, I’ll bring the leeches.”
“Leeches?”
“I’ll need to bleed him.”
At her slight gasp, he said, “I’ll return tomorrow.” Snapping his black bag shut in a no-nonsense manner, he made for the door.
As soon as the surgeon departed, Bella approached the bed. James appeared to be sleeping. His eyes were closed and his chest rose in an even, rhythmic breathing. Yet his complexion was pale, not the healthy bronze she had grown accustomed to. The dark arch of his eyebrows and eyelashes stood out against the paleness. He was shirtless, a large bandage wrapped about his torso. A sheet covered him from the waist down. Even ill and drugged, she couldn’t help but admire his beautifully proportioned body, all lean muscle and sinew.
He took a deep breath, and she hesitated, not wanting to disturb him. She took a step back.
His eyes opened suddenly, and she froze.
“You asked for me, Your Grace,” she whispered.
“Come close, Bella. I’m not dead.”
She stepped forward, until her skirts brushed the side of the bed.
“Thank you for coming. I want to apologize,” he said.
“Apologize? Whatever for?”
“For causing you distress by suggesting a scandalous relationship. You are a true lady and deserve more from a man.”
Of all the things she had expected him to say, an apology was not one of them. Her bewildered thoughts veered like quicksilver. He had just had a ball rip into him—all because her brother-in-law was searching for a ledger that should have been destroyed long ago. And James was apologizing to
her?
She wanted to throw herself at his feet and beg for
his
forgiveness. She had unwittingly embroiled him in Rupert’s twisted plot to retrieve a treasonous document that her spouse had been arrogant enough to hide amongst her belongings. For this, he had almost been killed.
She swallowed hard and bit back tears. Reaching out, she clasped his hand. He looked at her, and she could see pain in the incredible blue depths of his eyes.
“There’s no need to apologize to me,” she said. “You should know that I briefly considered your salacious offer.”
He grinned. “Truly? I’m flattered by your honesty.”
There was so much more she wanted to confess, but she held her tongue. “The surgeon said I shouldn’t overstay my welcome. You must rest.”
She tried to pull her hand from his, but his grip tightened.
“Wait. Tell me what’s going on, Bella.”
At the sudden intensity in his gaze, a sliver of alarm raced down her spine. “What do you mean?”
“A man attacked Bobby, a servant who is little more than a lad. When I found Bobby face down in the straw, I had no warning before the criminal jumped me from behind. I spotted the pistol and we wrestled a good deal for control of the weapon before it discharged and I was shot.”
Struggling with her conscience, she spoke with as calm a voice as she could manage. “Harriet overheard from Coates that it was a horse thief.”
“Do you believe that?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“You had said you were being followed. Are you in danger, Bella?”
She chose her words carefully. “I was mistaken about being followed. I spoke hastily.”
“There is no need to lie to me. I can help you.”
“I thank you for your offer, but there truly is no need for any aid. Besides I thought you wished me gone from Wyndmoor Manor?” she said.
“Maybe I did, but that has nothing to do with your current safety. You must understand that I can help you.”
No one could help her. Not even a duke. Her future lay in her own hands. Rupert was not only Roger’s brother, but his twin.
Bad seed fallen from the same rotten tree.
“Please do not concern yourself with dangers that do not exist. The surgeon says you must rest to recover.”
“Perhaps you’re right. I’m feeling quite tired.” He released her hand, yet his eyes held a sheen of purpose that frightened her. “But be aware, Bella, that I expect to finish this discussion later.”