by Lyn Stone
“Oh, I don’t know. I’ll think of something,” Trent said, winking at Neville. “Our lad here is somewhat green-eyed with jealousy, y’see.”
Neville smiled fondly at Caine. “This bride of yours must be quite a beauty.”
Caine merely shrugged. What could he say without disparaging Grace’s looks. And yet, he thought perhaps Neville should be set right about what to expect. He might, by surprised word or expression, offend Grace when he did meet her.
“Grace is lovely in her own quiet way,” Caine said at last, adding, “Quite unique.”
“She is that,” Trent agreed with a nod. “Well, we should be off.”
“I’ll send word when I learn anything from Mr. Cockerel,” Neville told Caine. He stepped aside and opened the door for them and offered a firm handshake to both. “Godspeed, cousin. And to you, Lord Trent.”
When they were settled in the carriage, Caine asked Trent what he thought of their second meeting with Neville.
“He seems sincere as the day is long,” Trent said, “But he still holds secrets that even my sources can’t unearth.”
“Yes, and I have to wonder why,” Caine muttered.
“So, will you actually go to Wildenhurst earlier than planned?” Trent asked.
“I don’t know yet.” Now that the idea of it had arisen, Caine began to feel an eagerness to see Grace again, to reassure her, even to argue with her. That anticipation boded well, didn’t it? He thought of the future with Grace and how knowing her had already kindled a certain excitement.
Whatever life had in store for him, he had the distinct feeling that it would never be dull and complacent with her for a wife.
Her apparent fragility had proved deceptive, and though he had not been particularly drawn to her physically at first glance, that had changed. What he felt was not a burning urge to possess her body, but to hold her, to comfort and protect. It was a subtle desire, an inner need, he decided, and something that would last much longer than the hot flame of passion.
Yes, he liked that idea. It made perfect sense and would make marriage a less consuming effort. More comfortable, certainly.
The carriage bumped along in the gathering darkness as Caine and Trent headed back to Hadley House. Fog had settled over the city and lent a decided chill to the air.
Trent seemed content with the silence between them. Caine wondered if perhaps he had reacted too strongly to Trent’s admiration of Grace. He didn’t want his best friend to think his loyalty was in question. He also didn’t like being labeled jealous.
“Would you do one of your portraits for me when you have time?” he asked, certain that a compliment to Trent’s talent would mend fences. “I’d like a picture of Grace.”
Trent sniffed. “I can recommend a good miniaturist. Does watercolor on ivory.”
Caine sighed. “I don’t want that. One of yours would mean something. You know Grace.”
“Well, if you really want me to,” Trent said, sounding somewhat mollified. “Perhaps she’d like one of you, too.”
“Settled then. Those would make an excellent wedding gift. You’ll stay for supper, won’t you?” Caine asked. “You might as well stay the night. That way we could be off to Wildenhurst at first light. I’ve decided to go.”
“Of course, if you’re certain you want me to come,” Trent said.
Caine grinned. “A week in the country will save you a fortune in gaming losses. And you can do the pictures then. What else have you got going on?”
“The investigation,” Trent reminded him.
“Neville will carry on. He said he would. We can continue it after the wedding, since I’ll have to come back to London anyway. Grace will come with me, of course. If she wants to.”
“What do you mean if she wants to?” Trent demanded. “Why wouldn’t she?”
“I promised her she could do as she prefers. She’s had no freedom in years, Trent. I decided it was a fair term to offer.”
“Damned fool!” Trent muttered under his breath. But Caine heard. And agreed.
When they arrived at Hadley House, Trent exited the carriage first. Shattering glass and a loud report greeted Caine as he followed. Both men instinctively dropped to the street as a second shot rang out.
“There!” Trent cried, scrambling to his feet at the sound of boots pounding the cobbles. Caine spied a figure dashing down the street at top speed. He jumped up and broke into a run.
“Caine, wait!” Trent called from a few steps behind. “Caine, you’ve been hit, man. Stop!”
Trent’s hand grasped his arm and pulled him to a halt. “You’re bleeding!”
Caine felt no pain, only red-hot rage. He yanked out of Trent’s grip. “He’s getting away!”
“Leave it, Caine! Look to your shoulder!”
Two of the Hadley footmen had caught up to them now, puffing with exertion. They looked at Caine with concern, as did Trent.
Then Caine felt the burn and looked down at his lapel where a round hole marred the wool. “Damn,” he cursed with a cough of disbelief.
“There’s an exit wound. Went straight through. Let’s get you to the house. You there, find his lordship’s doctor,” Trent ordered as he and the remaining footman tried to assist Caine.
“I can walk, damn you!” Caine insisted, and did so.
Only when the burst of outrage and excitement faded and he faced the stairs inside Hadley House did faintness threaten to overtake him. He staggered down the hall to the library and collapsed in a leather armchair. “Who was he? Did you see?”
“Another hireling, I’d guess. No, I didn’t see his face.”
“This changes things,” Caine gasped. “It’s not only Grace they’re after.”
“Brilliant observation,” Trent muttered as he began helping Caine remove his morning coat. “Bring linen, man. And hot water,” he ordered in an aside to the hovering footman. “Move!”
Caine allowed Trent to tend him until the physician arrived. Then he was helped upstairs to his room, undressed by his uncle’s valet and put to bed.
All the while, he ignored the increasing pain and focused on the possible reasons behind the shooting. His and Grace’s attacks were connected, of course. Who would want one or both of them dead?
“Preventing the marriage has to be the goal,” he said to Trent.
“Again, marks for the obvious,” Trent replied. “Now, leave off speculating and take the laudanum, Caine.”
There would be no trip to Wildenhurst for him come morning. That was Caine’s most worrisome thought as he felt the pain-numbing drug take effect. “Go on without me. Please keep her safe,” he ordered Trent. “And don’t like her…quite so much.”
“I shall camp outside her door,” Trent promised.
“Yes…outside,” Caine muttered, knowing he must trust.
*
The next morning when he awoke, Trent was still there by his bedside. Caine pushed up, wincing at the sharp, pulsing ache in his bandaged shoulder. “Why are you still here?” he demanded.
Trent stood and walked over to the bed. “I’ll be leaving as soon as I know you’re recovering. In the meantime, I’ve recruited three more able guards and they’re on their way.”
“Hurry after them!” Caine snapped. “How do you know they can be trusted?”
“Because we served with them, Caine. Smythe, Vickers and Tombs. Found them at the Whistlefish down on the docks last night after you slept. They’re loyal men, damn good shots and need the work.”
“Oh. Well, that’s good then,” Caine said, clenching his eyes shut, relieved that Trent had taken charge. “I still wish you’d go now.”
“Well ventilated. Where is Ackers? Did he say how soon can I travel?” Caine barked.
“He agreed to five days if you rally and show no sign of infection. Can you use the arm? He was worried about damage to the nerves, but I told him you seemed to move it naturally enough immediately after the shooting.”
Caine flexed his fist and gingerly moved his arm side to side. “Hurts like the devil.”
“There was that good half hour of digging out threads of fabric and another of stitching you up, but he says you should mend quickly if you could move it and if it doesn’t fester. How do you feel otherwise?”
“Groggy. It’s that vile dose. I won’t take any more.”
“Then lie back and go to sleep.” Trent reached for a tasseled cord and draped the tail of it over the head of the bed. “Here’s the bell pull if you need anything. There’s nothing you can do at present but heal and rest.”
Caine worried that someone would make another try at Grace, since they had failed to kill him. Of course, he could still die, he knew very well. Even in war, blood poisoning killed more soldiers than did actual wounds. “Gavin…if I don’t survive for whatever reason, promise you will look after Grace?”
Trent smiled down at him. “Ah. You only use my Christian name when you’re desperate for me to act like one. So I will. I promise if you die, old boy, I shall marry her myself.”
Caine shot him a go-to-hell look, even as he realized that was only Trent’s way of ensuring a speedy recovery.
Caine had to get to Wildenhurst soon, but he didn’t think he could make it today. Besides, he did not want Grace to see him in his current condition. Despite Trent’s teasing and his own unreasonable jealousy, Caine knew he could trust his best friend.
The day passed in a feverish haze of uneasy slumber and the interruption of it by periodic bloodletting and the application of stinking poultices. His shoulder ached abominably. He finally agreed to another very small dose of laudanum that would allow some relief.
A scratch on the door awakened him. Sun streamed through the east window. This must be his breakfast. He had little hunger for it.
A maid entered without waiting for his leave to do so. And she carried no tray. That was curious. Caine pushed himself to a sitting position with some effort.
The woman curtsied, head bowed so he could hardly see her face beneath the ruffle of her mobcap. “A posset, sir. From the doctor. Says you should drink it all to speed your wellness.”
Caine noted her attire, dark brown fustian half covered by a dingy white apron, its bib clumsily pinned to her bodice. The lowliest kitchen maids in Hadley House dressed better. He eyed the porringer she held out. Pewter. Not the silver always used to serve one of the family or guests. Suspicion shook him to full awareness.
“You brewed this yourself?” he asked conversationally.
“As the doctor directed,” she answered, sounding a bit breathless. Her posture, dress and attitude were all wrong for whom she professed to be.
“In the kitchens here?”
She nodded.
He doubted Cook would allow such a creature near her implements. He took the small bowl with two handles when she held it out. “Have I met you before?”
“No, sir. I don’t work here. I’ve come from the doctor.”
“Ah, I see. So Dr. Quentin sent you? You work for him.”
“Yes, sir. Could you drink it now so I can be returning?”
There was no Dr. Quentin. Caine reached for the bell pull that Trent had arranged so that he could call for assistance and gave it a sharp tug.
The maid edged toward the door.
“Stay here,” Caine ordered.
She turned and ran. Right into Trent, who grasped her upper arms.
“Bring her back in,” Caine said. “I think she was attempting to poison me.”
Trent turned her around and forced her back to the bedside while she struggled, shook her head and loudly proclaimed innocence.
Caine held out the porringer. “Fine. Then you drink it.”
She began to weep and thrash wildly against Trent’s grip on her.
Caine sighed and lay back, exhausted. “Take her below and confine her. Have someone locate a rat catcher and test the mixture on vermin. If it is poisoned, send for the authorities.” He looked meaningfully at Trent. “Question her before you turn her over and find out who sent her.”
When they had gone below, Caine made a decision. He would go to Wildenhurst and he would go today. If the would-be killer were this determined, there would be another attempt on either his life or Grace’s. They could better defend against that on one front as opposed to two.
He yanked on the cord again, and when a familiar maid came this time, he asked for Hadley’s valet to help him dress and pack.
The pain was nothing compared to his worry about arriving too late to save Grace if someone had already gone after her. Her guards there might never suspect a woman like the one who had tried to finish him off.
Chapter Eleven
Grace sat curled on the chaise beside the window in her bedchamber and hurriedly stitched the final inches of hem on the rose silk pelisse. She snipped the last thread. There.
They were behind schedule on her wardrobe and she feared they might have to seek more assistance if they were to complete her new wardrobe before the ceremony.
She laid the pelisse aside and looked up as the maid entered. “Yes, what is it, Jane?”
“Mr. Neville Morleigh awaits your pleasure in the morning room, ma’am,” the maid announced.
Caine’s cousin, the one next in line for the title and Morleigh fortune! The man had no reason to be here now unless it was to get rid of her.
She could not risk a confrontation, so she made a quick decision. “Hurry, Jane, summon Mr. Harrell. Tell him to have several of the strongest men apprehend and lock Mr. Morleigh away until we can notify Captain Morleigh that he’s here.”
Jane’s eyes rounded. “But, my lady, Mr. Neville is—”
“I know very well who he is, Jane! Do as I say and make haste!” She watched Jane bob a curtsy and rush to obey.
Grace went immediately to her writing desk and dashed off a quick missive to Caine, informing him of his cousin’s presence.
Perhaps this would end all the worry. If the ne’er-do-well cousin were the culprit and had come here himself to kill her, Caine would know what to do with him. If he had come for another reason—though, she could not imagine what that would be—then there would be no harm done other than to the man’s dignity.
Hurriedly, she took the back stairs and ran to the stables herself. “Josh?” she gasped, approaching one of the grooms.
“Aye, ma’am. You’d be wanting to ride out again? Not sure that’s safe without—”
“No. I need a messenger to hie to London straightaway and give this letter to Captain Morleigh.”
She waited until he summoned a man for the task and handed him the letter. “Go armed and with all speed and if the captain decides to come here, stay and accompany him. Keep a close watch out.”
That accomplished, Grace returned to the house. Mr. Harrell met her as she entered. “Mr. Morleigh is secured, ma’am. We locked him in the root cellar and posted a guard. I think you’re right he came to cause mischief. He was a wild one as a boy and still is. Took three of us to subdue him.”
Grace nodded. “I couldn’t think why else he would come. The captain did tell me he was suspect in arranging the attack, so I thought caution the most p
rudent course. I’ve sent a messenger to London. So you spoke with Mr. Morleigh as he was locked away?”
“He was right heated up, ma’am, fighting, threatening me and my men and blathering on about how he’d come to offer you protection. Said someone shot the captain last evening.”
“Shot him?”
When Grace gasped in fear, he shook his head. “Had suchlike happened, ma’am, the captain or his lordship would have sent for you without delay, or at the very least let you know. This cousin likely made up the tale so we’d let him near you. We should wait for the captain’s orders. No doubt, he’ll come post haste and take care of matters.”
“Thank you, Mr. Harrell. That will be all,” Grace muttered, distracted by the possibility that this Neville person spoke the truth. But neither the earl nor Trent would have sent him to break such news to her. Caine had told her of his uncle’s low opinion of Neville Morleigh.
In any event, she would soon know one way or the other after her message reached London. All she could do at present was wait. And sew. And hope the cousin lied and there would be a wedding after all.
As the day wore on, she grew more fearful that something had happened to Caine. She almost had Jane pack her valise so that she could head for Town, but convinced herself finally that she should not risk it. Perhaps the cousin intended to have her do precisely that in response to his tale of Caine’s being wounded. He could have someone waiting to accost her on the road.
Just as she sat down to tea that afternoon, Mr. Harrell appeared. “Ma’am, his lordship’s carriage is coming down the road at breakneck speed!”
“It’s too soon for an answer from the captain! Our rider would have only just arrived there!”
She hurried past the steward to the front entrance to await the approaching conveyance. The weather was fair, a perfect day for riding. Caine would have come by horseback as he had before. The sense of forboding that had increased since Neville Morleigh’s arrival hit her full force. Something terrible had happened. She could feel it in her bones.