Leslie caught sight of the blood oozing from a gash just above his right temple—and his left side where his coat had torn, she realized with horror. Blood leaked too quickly from the wound. She pushed to her feet and yanked off her inner petticoat. She knelt again, folded and pressed the petticoat against the wound. The wound needed to be bound. How could she bind it without him bleeding to death?
At the pounding of boots, she looked up. Mr. Drucker and Lord Robert raced toward her. A need to cry rushed to the surface. Thank God. Lord Henry galloped toward them down the road. The men would be able to help bind the wound and get him to the mansion.
The men reached her side and Mr. Drucker dropped to one knee beside her.
“We must bind the wound,” Leslie said. Blood had seeped through the petticoat to her hand.
The pounding of hooves yanked her gaze in the direction of the approaching horse. Lord Henry neared them. She caught sight of another horse racing toward them from the direction of the mansion.
“The damned petticoat is nigh well soaked with blood,” Mr. Drucker muttered. “Robert, give me your coat.”
The younger man whipped off his coat and handed it to Mr. Drucker. “Have you another petticoat, my lady?” he asked as Lord Henry arrived.
“Aye.” Leslie stood.
Lord Henry leapt from the saddle. “How is he?”
“Alive,” Mr. Drucker said, and pressed Lord Robert’s coat against the wound.
Leslie stepped around Ares and slipped off her second petticoat. She hurried around Ares, the petticoat in hand.
“Lord Henry, tear the petticoat so I can bind the wound, if you will,” Mr. Drucker said.
Lord Henry took the petticoat and tore it into one long strip, then handed it to Mr. Drucker. The rider came into better view and Leslie recognized Sir Stirling.
Lord Henry went down on one knee. “I’ll lift him while you wrap the petticoat around him.”
Sir Stirling reached them and jumped from his horse. “What happened?”
“He fell from his horse and his foot caught in the stirrup.” She refrained from saying that the idiot had cracked his reins across her horse’s rump and, in the process, had fallen from his horse.
She’d known he hated losing, but she hadn’t guessed that he would go so far as to put his life in danger to keep from losing.
Chapter Six
Evan helped Leslie up onto her horse, then swung into the saddle of his mount and they rode side by side behind the wagon carrying Barnton. What the bloody hell had happened? He didn’t believe for an instant that Barnton simply fell from his horse. For all his faults, he was a superb horseman. In truth, while Evan had wanted Leslie to beat the earl, he hadn’t been sure she could. He glanced at her. She kept her gaze on the wagon, her mouth a tight, thin line. What had her so worried?
They reached the stables.
The baroness hurried toward them. “Take him to the house,” she ordered. “The side entrance.”
They continued to the house with everyone following at a fast walk. At the side door, Evan leapt from the saddle. Leslie dismounted before he reached her.
Sir Stirling reached the cart. “Lads, grab his shoulders.” Stirling grasped his legs while the driver and the footman grasped his head.
They lifted him from the wagon. Evan hurried ahead of them and opened the door. They entered a hallway and Evan took Barnton’s left leg from Stirling.
The baroness reached them, and said, “Take the stairs to the left. We will put him in his room. Louisa,” she called, “have Angus fetch the doctor right away.”
They took the stairs and Baroness Trent directed them to the first guestroom on the right. She pulled clothes from a drawer. A maid appeared in the doorway.
“Brenda, bring hot water right away,” the baroness said.
“Stirling, we had better get that bandage off him,” Drucker said.
Stirling nodded “Aye.”
They quickly replaced the makeshift bandage with a clean one. When the doctor arrived, Evan slipped away in search of Leslie. He found her in the Gold parlor, staring out the window that overlooked the east lawn. Clouds had moved in; thin sunlight lit the room.
She turned when he entered. “How is he?”
Evan nodded toward the divan to the left of the window. They sat, her with her hands clasped in her lap, and he said, “The doctor has arrived, so he is in good hands.”
Relief washed over her face.
He covered her hands with his and squeezed. “Are you unharmed?”
She nodded. “Only a little shaken.”
She looked more than a little shaken and he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and assure her all was well. Instead, he released her hands and stretched an arm across the divan’s back.
“What happened?”
She released a breath. “I do not know. I had passed him. I heard him cry out, then his horse raced passed, dragging him.”
“Barnton is an expert horseman,” Evan said. “Did he become ill?”
“He looked perfectly fine when I passed him.”
“You passed him, you say?” Evan said.
She nodded.
“Do you believe you would have won the race?”
Leslie frowned. “What difference does that make?”
Evan studied her. “I wonder if he believed you were going to win.”
“I imagine he feared I would win,” she replied.
“Feared it enough to do something about it?”
She narrowed her eyes. “What are you saying, Mr. MacLaren?”
So, it was Mr. MacLaren now, was it? “Lord Barnton lost the last race to you.”
She arched a brow but said nothing.
“Did he cheat this time as he did last time?”
Her expression remained neutral. “How can I know that?”
“I find it interesting that he has an excuse for losing a second race with you,” Evan said.
“That is interesting, isn’t it?” she murmured.
“There was not the slightest clue as to how he ended up being dragged by his horse?”
Something flickered in her eyes.
“What happened?” he asked.
“A lady doesn’t make accusations against an earl.”
There it was.
“What sort of accusations?” Evan asked.
“That he tried to dismount me.”
His gut tightened in anger. “How might one do that?”
“By snapping his reins against my horse’s rump.”
“What the bloody hell?” he blurted.
“I cannot be certain,” she said.
“Why not?” he demanded. “It seems a straightforward matter.”
She shrugged. “It is possible he was snapping his reins against Apollo and simply got too close to Ares.”
Evan snorted. “You do not believe that any more than I do.”
“Perhaps,” she said. “However, as I said, a lady does not accuse an earl of cheating.”
“I would say that this accident has taught him a lesson, but I doubt Barnton is capable of learning.”
“In that we can agree,” she said.
Voices in the hallway floated their way.
“I believe we have company,” Evan murmured.
“Alice, I imagine,” Leslie said.
A moment later, Lady Langley entered with Lady Flora and half a dozen other guests.
“There you are, darling.” Lady Langley crossed the room and the others followed. She reached the divan and Evan stood, as did Leslie. Lady Langley kissed her cheek, then nodded to Evan. “Sir.”
“My lady.” He bowed.
She pulled Leslie down onto the divan. “Are you well?”
“Me? I am fine. It is Lord Barnton who is hurt.”
Lady Flora sat to Leslie’s left, and Evan stepped away from the divan. “Miss Ross,” he said to the young woman standing opposite him.
“Thank you, sir,” she replied, and took the last space on the diva
n.
The other men took nearby seats while Evan remained standing.
“Is there any further word on his lordship?” Leslie asked.
“The baroness has ordered broth to be prepared in readiness for when he awakens,” Lord Henry said.
“What happened?” Miss Ross asked.
Leslie shook her head. “I am not entirely sure. The earl cried out and his horse sped past me, dragging him.”
Lady Flora shuddered. “How very harrowing for you.”
“Now nearly as harrowing as things were for Lord Barnton,” Leslie said, but Evan suspected that wasn’t true.
She had been terribly frightened at the prospect of the earl dying. The sentiment was more than the bastard deserved. She was made of tougher stuff than most women, particularly women like Lady Flora. Still, she was a woman, and women shied away from violence and death. He recalled her treatment of Isabel. Isabel had intended violence. Not only had Leslie avoided that violence, she had diffused the viscount’s temper.
“You didn’t see what happened?” Lady Langley asked.
Leslie shook her head. “Nae.”
A knowing glint shone in Lady Langley’s eyes. “You were winning, weren’t you?”
“We hadn’t gotten close enough to the finish line for me to be able to make that claim,” Leslie replied. “But I had passed him.”
“How interesting that he has another mishap when he was about to lose a second race to you.”
“We do not know that I would have won. You know how quickly a race like that can change.”
“So true,” Lady Flora said with gravity.
“A skilled horseman will not spend his animal early in the race,” Lord Mason said. “I have had the pleasure of seeing the earl race at Clarefield. He won that race by a full length.”
“Perhaps,” Lady Langley said. “But Leslie is a skilled rider.” Her eyes twinkled. “She has yet to lose a race to Lord Barnton.”
“What matters is that his lordship recovers,” Leslie said, and Evan was certain she meant the words.
“Perhaps he will want to reschedule the race for another day,” Lady Langley said.
Leslie’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “Luck has not been with he and I when we have raced. It is probably better we do not tempt fate.”
“Tempt fate?” Mr. Drucker entered with Lord Robert close behind.
All eyes turned on them as they approached. They stopped near the men.
“A man who races Lady Carr does, indeed, tempt fate,” Drucker said. His eyes settled on Leslie. “Lord Barnton—how did you put it?— ‘fell from his horse?’”
Something in the man’s tone gave Evan pause. What was he up to?
“That is correct, sir,” Leslie said. “That is the assumption, considering when he passed me, his horse was dragging him.”
Drucker’s gaze bore into her. “Lord Barnton has awoken and informed us that you rammed him with your horse when he was passing you.”
A murmur swept through the room in unison with Leslie’s, “Indeed?”
“Leslie, cheat?” Lady Langley laughed. “So, I was correct when I pointed out how interesting it was that Lord Barnton had a mishap when he was about to lose a second race to you. Now he is going so far as to accuse you of cheating. His lordship isn’t a gentleman, is he?”
Drucker shot her a thin-lipped look, then returned his attention to Leslie. “Do you deny the allegation, Lady Carr?”
“Mr. Drucker—” Lord Robert began.
Evan shoved to his feet. “Everyone knows Barnton feigned an injury to his horse the last time they raced. Lady Carr had the lead. He didn’t want to be made a fool a second time.”
“Mr. MacLaren—” Leslie began.
Drucker scoffed. “Is that what she told you?”
“Told me?” Evan said, his voice cold. “Are you calling Lady Carr a liar?”
“You are calling Lord Barnton a liar,” Drucker said.
“Mr. MacLaren.” Leslie rose. “There is no need to get excited.”
Evan caught the glance Lady Flora sent Leslie’s way. He recognized that look. It was the same one he’d seen when he’d escorted Leslie from the ballroom last night: jealousy—mean spirited jealousy. Word would reach town by tonight that Leslie had cheated in the race.
“You may recall that I saved Lord Barnton’s life,” Leslie said. “You and Lord Robert were there.” Her gaze sharpened. “You two gentlemen tried to stop Lord Barton’s horse when he was dragging the earl. You must have seen what happened.”
“I wish we had seen what happened,” Drucker said.
Lord Robert’s eyes riveted onto Leslie. She glanced at Evan, and he read in her eyes the same thing the was thinking: Lord Robert did see something.
“Just what did you see—what happened?” Alice asked. “Lord Robert,” she quickly added when Mr. Drucker opened his mouth to reply.
“We saw you racing after his lordship.”
“Nothing more?” Lady Langley said. “What a shame.”
Leslie’s gaze shifted to Drucker, “I might like to win, but as a woman, there would be no shame if I lost to a skilled horseman like Lord Barnton. On the other hand, if his lordship lost to me…” She shrugged. “Well, he did not fare well when we last raced and he claimed his horse injured his leg.”
“You would further besmirch his name?” Drucker demanded.
She looked at him as if he were a child. “Sir, he has accused me of cheating. It is the earl who has insulted me.”
“She does have a point,” Lady Langley said.
“May I ask what your interest is in this matter, Mr. Drucker?” Leslie asked.
“I would see justice done.”
“Justice,” Lady Langley cut in. “Lord, Leslie, this man would put you on trial.”
“So I see,” Leslie said. “I believe I will have a word with Lord Barnton.”
“That is unacceptable,” Drucker snapped.
She arched a brow. “Forgive me, sir, but contrary to your sense of self-importance, you hold no sway in this matter.” She angled her head and swept her gaze across the room, said, “If you will excuse me,” then quit the room.
Drucker, for all his blustering, watched her go without a word. When she disappeared from view, he said, “I believe I will go to Lord Barnton’s room, as well.” He started forward.
Evan seized his arm. “I think not.”
Drucker looked at him as if Evan were a snake that had bitten him. “Unhand me, sir.”
“What is your interest in this matter, Drucker? Pray, do not repeat that drivel that you want to see justice done.”
“What other reason could I possibly have?”
“I cannot imagine,” Evan said.
Drucker yanked free of his hold. “It does not surprise me that a man like you cannot grasp the concept of justice.”
“I understand that an insult to a lady cannot go unanswered.”
Miss Ross gasped, and Lady Flora whispered, “Good Lord.”
Drucker frowned. “What the devil are you talking about?”
“I believe he is challenging you to a duel,” Lady Langley said.
Drucker’s eyes widened. “What? That is ridiculous. No one duels anymore.”
Alice laughed. “I have had two duels fought in my honor in the last year alone.”
“That is not a recommendation, madam,” Drucker replied.
For the first time since he’d met the woman, Lady Langley’s expression clouded. “My, but you are in want of a set down,” she said. “Mr. MacLaren, I hope you thrash him good.”
“I do not duel,” Drucker said.
“Then everyone here will know you are a coward,” Evan said. It was a childish tactic, but one he felt sure Drucker would fall prey to.
Drucker glanced at the onlookers, who stared with open interest.
“Do you intend to duel tomorrow morning at dawn?” Lady Langley asked, and Evan realized she had no intention of allowing Drucker to ignore the challenge.
Her eyes gleamed. “I wonder what Leslie will think of a duel fought in her honor.”
Evan glanced at the group. “I suppose it is too much to ask that she not be told of the duel?”
“I do not engage in gossip,” said Mr. Harris.
A general murmur of agreement went up.
Lady Langley lifted a brow. “I will be surprised if she hasn’t learned of the duel within the hour.”
“Does that mean you will tell her?” Evan asked.
“Not I, darling. You know that news as juicy as this simply cannot be controlled.”
“Indeed.” He looked at Drucker.” Choose your seconds, sir. I assume pistols will do?”
Drucker looked helplessly around the room.
“Swords, then?” Evan asked.
“Swords?” Drucker repeated. Anger tightened his features. “Who uses swords anymore?”
“I do,” Evan replied in a soft voice.
Drucker’s eyes widened. “Pistols,” he said hurriedly.
Evan nodded. “I wager Baroness Trent has a pair of pistols we can use.”
“I know just who to choose as your second,” Lady Langley said.
“Who?”
She grinned. “Sir Stirling.”
Chapter Seven
Leslie turned the corner in the third floor hallway to find Sir Stirling and Baroness Trent waiting outside Lord Barnton’s room.
“Lord, never say that fool told you of Lord Barton’s accusations,” the baroness said when Leslie neared them.
“I think he could not help himself.” Leslie stopped in front of them.
“You look fatigued, my lady,” Sir Stirling said. “Perhaps you should sit.” He indicated a chair to the left of the door.”
She shook her head. “Thank you. I am well and prefer to stand.” Truthfully, she would prefer a bath, then a good book in bed, but that was not to be.
“I do not understand why Mr. Drucker cannot mind his own business,” Baroness Trent said.
“Mr. Drucker strikes me as a man harboring a grudge,” Sir Stirling said.
Leslie lifted a brow. “You are too perceptive, sir.”
He chuckled. “I have been told that. I assume you spurned him at some point in the past?”
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