by Laura Landon
Vanessa tried to console her, and so did Lady Claire. But Isobel knew Lady Claire was as worried about her brother as Isobel was. So was the major.
He made rounds of the house as he’d done before, but each time he entered the room where they waited, he walked to his wife’s side and reached for her hand. Or wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a supportive hug. Lady Claire would always smile at him, but that smile faded as soon as her husband released her. The color that drained from her face when Lord Barnaby arrived, and they realized that Alex had walked into a trap, was still absent from her features.
Something was wrong, and Lady Claire knew it as well as Isobel did.
A painful knot of guilt wedged inside Isobel. She knew with a certainty that tightened around her heart that if something had happened to Alex, her father was responsible for it. One stabbing of guilt after another slashed through her. She’d brought this on. She was as responsible as her father because she’d put Alex in her father’s line of fire.
Isobel paced the room again and stopped to look out the window. She didn’t think she could stand not knowing if he was safe or not for much longer. She feared she might go mad from the voices of terror that screamed inside her head.
She pushed back the drapery and looked down both sides of the street. Nothing from the east. Nothing from the west. She clasped her hands against her mouth to stifle a scream that wanted to escape, then cast a final look out the window. The scream she’d tried to stifle escaped as a muffled cry.
A wagon drew to a stop outside the house. One of the Halverston footmen jumped to the ground, then ran to the back of the wagon. The major, as well as Channing, and two footmen from inside the house raced to help Lord Barnaby lift a body from the bed of the wagon.
Isobel knew the limp form the men cradled in their arms was Alex. A terror unlike anything she’d ever experienced engulfed her. Alex was hurt, and it was her fault.
She wanted to run to him, and ordered her feet to move, but at first they refused. What if Alex wasn’t alive? What if they were carrying his lifeless body home?
She urged her feet to carry her forward, and they did, but her legs trembled so violently she staggered with each step she took.
Vanessa rushed to her and steadied her as she took one step after another from the room, down the hall, then around the corner toward the stairs where the men were slowly, carefully carrying Alex’s body to his room.
“The doctor is here,” the major said.
“Good,” Lord Barnaby answered. “We’ll need plenty of hot water and bandages, Channing. See to it.”
“Yes, my lord,” the butler answered, then ran past her as he rushed down the stairs to get what the doctor would need.
Isobel stumbled several times as she attempted each step, and she wouldn’t have made it had Vanessa not been there to help her. The men carrying Alex walked slowly, so as to not do any more harm to Lord Halverston, and were only a few feet in front of her. That’s when she got her first glimpse of what had been done to him.
His pain-ravaged face was devoid of all color. Someone had already removed his jacket, probably Lord Barnaby to check the extent of his injuries. And they were severe. Belle could tell by the amount of blood that soaked his shirt.
A heavy weight settled inside her breast and squeezed her heart until she thought it might never beat again. She stifled the cry lodged in her throat, then reached for the banister until she could catch her breath.
“Sit here, Isobel,” Vanessa said, leading her to a fashionable armchair that decorated the hall.
“No,” Isobel said, pushing herself toward Alex’s room. The room where she’d gone every night to be with him so he wouldn’t suffer from the nightmares that haunted him. The room where they’d held each other, where they’d made love.
Isobel forced herself to enter the room that held such special memories. She wound her way through the men who were frantically working to keep Alex alive.
“I need more light,” the doctor ordered, and several servants rushed to bring in more lamps. In no time, the room was lit as bright as day.
“Hold him down now,” the doctor said. “I need to dig the bullet out of his side.”
Lord Barnaby and the major stood on either side of the bed and placed their hands on Alex’s shoulders. When the doctor nodded, they pressed down.
“Hold him,” the doctor bellowed. “Someone hold his feet.”
Two servants rushed forward and held Alex’s legs. And the torture began.
The doctor dug a bullet out of Alex’s side, then one out of his shoulder, and a third from his arm. Alex struggled against the pain, arching on the bed each time the doctor inserted the metal instrument to dig out the bullet. Time and again he cried out in pain, then thankfully, he lost consciousness.
Isobel huddled on the floor near the bed. She remained at a distance so she wasn’t in the way but close enough that she could see Alex’s face. Close enough so she could watch his chest to make sure it rose up and down with each labored breath.
She didn’t think the torture would ever end, but finally, after what seemed an eternity, the doctor stepped back and rose to his full height. He rolled his shoulders then looked at Lord Barnaby. “I’ve done all I can,” he said, then turned to wash his blood-stained hands in the basin of water the staff replaced continuously. “But it may not be enough.”
Every ounce of strength rushed from Isobel’s body, and she clenched her arms around her waist to keep from folding in on herself. More tears streamed down her cheeks, but she no longer cared to wipe them away. The doctor was warning them that Alex would probably not survive. And it was her fault.
The doctor left, and she was alone in the room with Lord Barnaby, Lady Claire, and the major. She slowly lifted herself to her knees, then rose to her feet and bent over the bed. She reached out her trembling hand and brushed a strand of hair from Alex’s forehead, then rinsed a cloth in the clear water of a basin beside the bed and wiped the blood from his face. And his arms. And his body.
She didn’t dare lift her gaze. She couldn’t bear to see the condemnation on the faces of Alex’s family. She couldn’t survive if they told her to leave. Wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she weren’t with him when he died.
She rinsed the cloth again and again, cleaning the blood from his body. Her fingers trembled and the tears refused to cease, but she was desperate to do everything she could to make him more comfortable. To ease his pain as much as she could.
She tried to make herself as invisible as possible. She knew they hated her. How could they not? What happened to Alex was her fault. She’d brought this on. Her father had done this. She knew he had.
She tried to rinse the cloth again, but her hands trembled so violently that the water splashed from the basin. She quickly dabbed at the spilled water before they noticed. She couldn’t risk that they’d ask her to leave.
“Isobel.”
She shook her head and pulled into herself as she concentrated on helping Alex.
“Isobel.”
“No,” she said. She refused to look at them. She knew she’d see their hatred for her and their disgust.
“Isobel,” Lord Barnaby said again. This time he clasped her upper arms and brought her to her feet.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled as the tears streamed down her face. “Please don’t send me away. Please don’t make me leave him. Please.”
Strong arms wrapped around her and held her. “We’re not going to send you away.”
Another pair of arms wrapped around her, and Lady Claire’s soothing voice whispered in her ear. “Of course we’re not going to send you away.”
“I should have known he’d make Alex pay for what I did. This is all my fault,” she stuttered through the tears. “I shouldn’t have allowed Alex to get involved. I knew what Father was capable of. I should have made Alex stay behind.”
“Shh,” Lady Claire whispered. “What happened isn’t your fault.”
&nb
sp; “No,” Lord Barnaby assured her. “You couldn’t have forced Alex to stay behind. Anyone who knows him knows he wouldn’t have let you face your father without him.”
Isobel lifted her gaze and looked into Lady Claire’s tear-filled eyes and Lord Barnaby’s worried expression. Then she focused on Alex’s raw and flesh-torn body. “I can’t lose him,” she whispered as she returned to care for Alex.
“We won’t lose him. He’s strong,” Lord Barnaby said. “And he has a lot to live for.”
Isobel rinsed her cloth and placed it on Alex’s warm flesh. She knew the biggest concern was fever. She knew the most efficient method of keeping a fever at bay was making sure they kept Alex’s body as cool as possible.
“I’ll send someone up with fresh water and more cloths,” Lady Claire said. “Then I’ll return to help you care for Alex.”
Isobel nodded even though she knew she wouldn’t need anyone’s help. She would care for Alex herself. He possessed her heart, and she couldn’t survive if he wasn’t a part of her life.
The door closed, and she was alone with Alex. She leaned over the bed and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Don’t you dare leave me, Alex. Do you hear me? I love you too much to live my life without you.”
He didn’t react to her words, but of course she didn’t expect him to. She kissed his cheek one more time, then rose when one of the staff entered the room with fresh water.
When the servant left, Isobel continued to place cool cloths on Alex’s face and body.
Alex had been shot three times by her father’s orders. Enough that he should already be dead. His flesh was torn, his body bruised, his face pale from the blood he’d lost as he lay in the street. And Isobel knew who was to blame for every wound on his body—her father.
As she cared for Alex, she vowed that her father would pay for what he’d done. Her father would regret the day he’d given the order to kill Alex.
. . .
Barnaby stood on one side of the bed and the major on the other. It demanded every bit of their strength to hold Alex down and keep him from tearing open his wounds.
Isobel had nursed him for two days, placing cool cloths on his forehead and his chest and his arms and his legs. She’d done everything she could to keep a fever away, but it hadn’t been enough.
During the night, a raging fever consumed him. He thrashed from one side of the bed to the other, and his arms swung through the air in wild arcs.
Before Isobel could ease his heated flesh with iced cloths, his body was racked with violent chills.
By morning, he was so ill she needed help to keep him from doing damage to what the doctor had done. His brother and the major came, as well as Lady Claire, and refused to leave his side. It was as if they knew what might happen next. As if they realized that it was unlikely he would survive. The grief-stricken expression on Lady Claire’s face confirmed that she thought it was only a matter of time until Alex breathed his last breath.
Isobel worked more frantically to keep his body cool when the fever attacked him and to cover his body with a mountain of blankets when he shivered with chills. She repeatedly reminded him that she wouldn’t allow him to leave her. That she wouldn’t allow him to die.
For two days she stayed at his bedside, fearing that each breath he took might be his last. For two days she ordered him to fight to get well. For two days she demanded that he get better, because she refused to remain in this world without him.
Then, for hour after agonizing hour, she comforted him when the nightmares returned. Held him when he relived what had happened to him when he’d been held captive.
Finally, on the fifth day after Barnaby had brought him home more dead than alive, his fever broke, and he slept.
And Isobel devised a plan that would make her father pay for what he’d done.
Chapter 26
Alex struggled several times to open his eyes before he was successful in seeing something other than the throbbing darkness behind his eyelids. He fought to remember what had occurred to cause such overwhelming pain. Struggled to figure out what had happened to him to cause every spot on his body to ache so relentlessly he didn’t think he could tolerate the pain.
He attempted to move, but shards of shooting pain knifed through him. He tried to endure the stabbing torture, but an agonizing moan shattered the silence.
“Don’t move, Alex. Just lie still.”
He pried his eyes open, just slits, then closed them again.
Warm sunshine streamed through the window and bathed him in comforting softness. He didn’t know how it was possible for the outside to seem so peaceful and serene, yet for his body to ache in violent anguish.
“Belle?” he whispered.
“I’m right here, Alex. You’re safe now.”
“I—” A fit of coughing stopped his words.
“Shh. Don’t try to talk. Just rest.”
He struggled to open his eyes again, and this time he managed to keep them open long enough to find Belle and focus on her face. “Are you . . . crying?”
“No, Alex.” She paused. “Now, close your eyes and rest. We can talk later.”
Alex wanted to argue. He wanted to stay awake long enough for Belle to tell him what had happened to him, but he was so tired he couldn’t. He closed his eyes for a moment and slept.
. . .
It was easier to open his eyes the next time he woke. The pain was still excruciating, but if he didn’t move, he could manage to keep his eyes open longer. This time when he searched for Belle, he was able to keep his gaze focused on her. This time he was able to look at her long enough to realize how exhausted she appeared. How pale her face seemed. How dark the rings were around her eyes.
She knelt at his bedside and reached for his hand.
“How long have I . . . slept?”
“Six days.”
“Have you been here . . . the whole . . . time?”
“I’m fine,” she answered.
He took in the worried expression on her face. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I think I would have . . . gone to sleep and . . . never woken up if you hadn’t . . . told me I couldn’t . . . die.”
Tears filled her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. “I meant it. I couldn’t have survived without you, Alex.”
“Nor I . . . without . . . you.”
She leaned close to him and kissed him. “Sleep now,” she whispered. “I’ll be here when you wake.”
He closed his eyes and slept.
. . .
Alex opened his eyes. It had been a week since he’d been shot. A week since Gilchrist had tried to kill him.
He turned his head but knew before he looked that he’d find Belle in the chair next to the bed. It was where he found her each time he woke. He doubted that she’d spent one night in her bed but had slept in the chair beside his bed each of the seven nights since he’d been shot. From her pale expression, he knew his assumption was correct and vowed that he would make sure that tonight she slept in a comfortable bed and that no one woke her.
He watched her for several minutes, and as if she realized he was awake, she opened her eyes and looked at him.
“Good morning.” She pushed the cover from over her and rose to her feet. She reached for a glass from the bedside table and filled it, then brought it to his mouth. “Do you need something for the pain?”
He shook his head. The pain was less each day. Later in the day he’d no doubt need some of the laudanum the doctor left for the pain, but for now though, he could manage without any.
“Have Barnaby and Sam returned?”
Barnaby had received information that Lord Partmoore was being held at a small Gilchrist holding north of London. He and the major had gone to investigate. If Partmoore was there, it was possible that they could free him and bring him back with them.
She shook her head. “Lady Claire arrived a few minutes ago. She’s certain that when the major returns to London, he’ll come here first. She wants to be here when he
arrives.” Belle sat beside him. “She went to the kitchen to have Cook prepare a tray for you. She should be up shortly.”
“What about your sister? Is she all right?”
“Yes. She’s been watching since first light for Lord Barnaby and the major to return. She’s certain they’ll be successful in their attempt to find Lord Partmoore and bring him back.”
“Then what has you so worried?” he asked as she brought the glass of water to his lips. He gratefully accepted another drink of water, then waited for her answer.
She placed the glass on the bedside table. “Vanessa’s so certain that when Lord Partmoore returns, his feelings for her will be the same as before Father kidnapped him. But . . . what if he can’t overlook what Father did?” Isobel locked her gaze with his. “What if he no longer loves her?”
Alex tried to reach for her hand but stopped when a stabbing shard of pain shot through him. Isobel noticed and moved her hand until her fingers twined with his.
“Would your feelings for me have changed if you were in Partmoore’s shoes?”
“Of course not. I love you. Nothing will change that.”
“If Partmoore loves your sister as she believes he does, then nothing can change that. And if he doesn’t, then you’ll be with her to help her accept that his feelings for her have altered.” Alex paused a moment. This was the longest he’d stayed awake since he’d been shot, and the pain was almost more than he could tolerate.
“You’re right, of course. Vanessa’s strong. She’ll manage. But from the look on your face, you won’t manage much longer without something for the pain.”
“You’re a very observant nurse, my lady.”
“I have to be,” she said, adding a few drops of laudanum to some wine. “You’re a terrible patient and would try to go longer than necessary if I didn’t keep an eye on you.” She lifted his head and held the glass to his mouth. He drank greedily, knowing the pain would ease in a short while.
“I don’t know what I would have done without you, Belle. I owe you my life.”
She turned away from him, and he took a moment to study her. Something was wrong. “What is it, Belle? And don’t pretend there’s nothing wrong? It’s obvious that there is.”