A Gentleman Never Surrenders

by Lauren Smith

  “I was a medic, Owen. I couldn’t save enough men, and I killed so many others…I’m not fit to draw breath.” There was an awful finality to his tone that made Owen’s blood run cold.

  Jack raised the pistol toward his head.

  Owen reacted. Years of living softly in London had not dulled his instincts. He lunged for Jack just as the barrel of the pistol reached his head. Their bodies collided and the gun dropped down to the ground next to them as they crashed to the floor.

  “Let me die,” Jack moaned as his fingers closed around the gun. Owen clamped a hand around his wrist, their eyes meeting.

  “You never left me behind. I’m not about to leave you.”

  Tears stung Jack’s eyes as he continued to struggle, kicking Owen hard in the stomach. Air rushed out of his lungs as he grabbed at the gun between them—

  Bang!

  * * *

  Milly was halfway down the stairs when the loud bang of a gunshot froze her dead in her tracks, one foot raised, one hand still holding her skirts up.

  A gunshot. The sound finally registered and she screamed. Jumping into motion, she spun and fled back up the stairs, racing for Jack’s rooms. The door was ajar. The sight that met her eyes would haunt her for the rest of her life.

  Owen lay on the floor, one hand over his stomach, bleeding, gasping softly, his eyes wide and dazed. Jack sat against one bedpost, holding the gun and staring in horror at his friend.

  “Owen!” Milly ran to her husband and knelt by his side as he struggled for breath. When she jerked her head toward Jack, her eyes blurred with tears. Panic crashed in around her but she struggled to stay afloat. She had to be strong for Owen.

  “Jack what happened?”

  “I was trying to end my life…The fool tried to stop me. Damn you, Owen, damn you!” Jack shouted, tears streaming down her face.

  Owen clutched Milly’s hand, gasping and whispering her name.

  “Milly…”

  “Shh…” She tried to calm him down before she looked at Jack again. “Weren’t you a medic during the war? Can’t you do something? Anything?”

  Suddenly Jack’s panicked expression hardened and he nodded curtly, dropping the gun on the floor with a thunk as he suddenly straightened.

  “Yes, yes, I can!” He rushed over to his suitcase and pulled out a small medical bag. While he sorted through items, laying them out on the bed, Milly turned her attention back to Owen.

  “Milly.” The one name was so soft she barely heard it. He could die. Her husband. How could he do that to her? Not after she was foolish enough to go and fall in love with him.

  I love him…

  “Owen.” She cupped his face between her hands, and his eyes focused on her as she bent over him. “Owen, I love you. Do you hear me? I love you and if you…” Fear and anguish squeezed her throat closed for a moment and she couldn’t breathe.

  “Please, Owen, fight to stay with me.” There was still pain in every syllable, but she felt her own strength, too. She would fight to keep him and he needed to fight to stay with her.

  He swallowed hard, his breath short. “You were the best thing…in my life.” He seemed to struggle hard to get the words out. Once he’d said them, his head dropped to the ground and his eyes closed.

  “No!” she screamed. “Don’t you dare leave me!” Tears pooled so thick in her eyes she couldn’t see.

  “Jack, he’s…”

  Jack knelt beside her, his gray eyes sharp and clear. “Put pressure on his stomach. Can you do that?” The cloud of depression and listlessness was gone from him.

  “Yes.” Milly did not like the sight of blood, but she could do this for Owen. She pressed the heels of her palms on the wound.

  “Good.” Jack lifted several tools up. “I’m going to lift him and see if the bullet lodged in his back or if it passed through.” He lifted one edge of Owen’s shoulder and pressed a hand beneath him, then frowned.

  “What is it?” Milly demanded.

  “Didn’t pass through. I’ll have to dig the bullet out.”

  “What?” Milly’s stomach rolled violently.

  “Go fetch some brandy or scotch. Any type of stiff alcohol will do.”

  Milly stood and rushed from the room. Mr. Boyd, Mrs. Nelson, and the entire house were gathered outside.

  “Owen’s been shot. We need someone to go to the village and fetch a doctor immediately. And we need alcohol and clean cloths.”

  “What about hot water?” Mrs. Nelson suggested as Mr. Boyd issued further orders.

  “Yes!” Milly nodded before rushing back into the room.

  Jack had stropped Owen’s shirt off in the minute she’d been in the hallway and he was heating his scalpels in the fire.

  “Sterilization,” he hastily explained. Milly didn’t care. She dropped down beside Owen, clasped one of his hands, and brought it to her lips, kissing his palm, his knuckle, anything to give him comfort, even though she knew he probably couldn’t feel it.

  Mrs. Nelson entered and handed Jack a bottle of gin. He dosed several cloths with it and handed them to Milly.

  “Wash his wounds and then I’ll dig out the bullet.”

  Milly wiped at the blood, clearing the red, inflamed wound. Once that was done, Jack cut into her husband’s stomach with the scalpel, digging; the sound of blood and flesh shifting made Milly wince and fight back more tears. And then she saw it, the dull gleam of the lead ball as Jack worked it up to the surface. He deftly removed the ball and dropped it in a small metal tin Milly hadn’t even noticed he’d put next to his supplies.

  “Clean the wound again,” Jack instructed. She did as he told her, and then she kept hold of Owen’s hand as Jack used a metal needle and thick dark thread. He stitched the wound, but Milly couldn’t watch that. She stroked bits of Owen’s dark hair out of his face and held her breath.

  “Will he make it, Mr. Watson?” Mrs. Nelson asked. She clutched the bottle of gin to her bosom, her eyes wide and anxiety creating tense lines around her mouth.

  Jack placed two fingers on Owen’s bare wrist and pulled out a silver pocket watch. For a full minute he studied the watch and held Owen’s wrist.

  “His pulse is steady. A little weak, but I think he stands a good chance. Stomach wounds are usually fatal but sometimes the bullet passes through a spot that misses all vital organs. From what I could tell, we’re damned lucky it’s the latter. It’s blood loss and infection we need to watch for now.” Jack glanced around, then called out, “Mr. Boyd, get a few strong lads to help me lift him onto the bed. We’ll clean the wound once more and bandage him up.” Jack wiped his hands off on a spare cloth and turned to Milly, gently prying her grip off Owen’s hands.

  “Let them get him all settled.” Jack’s voice was soothing, doctorly, and she nodded, letting go of Owen’s hand. She clenched her hands together as she watched the men lift Owen and put him on the bed. Mrs. Nelson volunteered to clean the wound and helped Jack bandage him up. Once she had gotten it all cleaned, Milly perched on the bed beside Owen and clasped his hand once they had tucked him beneath the covers. Jack remained with her, sitting in a chair opposite the bed, his eyes still sharp and clear. Silence lay thick between them and she almost thought he wouldn’t say anything.

  “I’m so sorry I’ve done this to you, Milly. To you and Owen.”

  She blinked and wiped at her eyes. “Owen told me some of what it was like during the war. I cannot begin to know how hard that must be to live with.” She paused and raised her gaze to his. “But you owe it to yourself not to take the coward’s way out. There are people here to help you. Owen, the Earl of Hampton, me. You have friends who love you enough to fight you for a gun. You owe it to them, too, to fight every day for happiness.” Like I have. She realized as she spoke that in the few weeks since she and Owen had married, they had struggled and successfully won some measure of happiness together.

  “It wasn’t the war that made me lose myself.” Jack dragged a hand through his hair and his eyes drifted
to the window, as though seeing something she could not.

  “You mean Scarlett and the baby.” She didn’t make it a question.

  Jack shrugged one shoulder, but the quiet grief in his eyes tore at her heart as she finally nodded.

  “Would you take my advice, Jack?” They’d been through so much in the last hour she knew they were beyond the formality of last names.

  “I’m listening.” He focused on her again.

  “You still have a chance to live a life, possibly with Ms. Brandon. She begged Owen to release her from their engagement well after you’d gone. And it had nothing to do with the baby. She is still holding her heart for you. Trust my feminine instincts.”

  A glimmer of hope, a tiny one, flickered in his eyes.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” He stood and glanced at the door. “I’ll go have a word with Mrs. Nelson and have her send some food up for you while I wait for the town doctor.”

  Milly nodded and watched him leave. The burden on her heart eased slightly. After a few minutes, Owen’s hands suddenly tightened around hers, and his eyes opened.

  “Milly?” He choked out her name in a soft gasp.

  She leaned closer, trying to put her face in his line of sight.

  “I’m here.” She brushed an unruly lock of hair back from his eyes. “I’m here, Owen.”

  He smiled and nodded. “I’m not dead.” He chuckled and then winced. “Must have passed out from blood loss and pain.” He attempted to sit up, but Milly pressured a hand on his shoulder.

  “Stay down, you stubborn man,” she huffed. “You were shot.”

  “I’m not likely to forget that.” He reached over and touched her hand, covering it with his. When their gazes locked, she was swept away by the tide of emotions.

  “I meant what I said.” His tone was soft, but each word was clear and firm, her heart skipping a painful beat.

  “Meant what?” she finally dared to ask.

  “That you were the best thing in my life. You are,” he amended, smiling.

  The bashful expression on a naturally seductive man stirred deep, confusing feelings in her. She was so used to his wicked smiles, ones intended to make her want to strip out of her clothes and climb into bed with him, but this smile…it was so much more…It was a smile of love, not seduction.

  She hadn’t forgotten what she’d told him as she thought he was dying. I love you. She couldn’t deny it, but accepting it was terrifying. What if he didn’t love her back?

  She couldn’t—

  “Milly.” Owen sighed wearily and was pushing himself up into a sitting position before she could stop him. He swayed, cursed softly, and favored his stomach before he met her gaze.

  “What?” she replied, trying to hide that she was hurting inside as much as he seemed to be on the outside.

  “I can see you thinking too hard.” He grasped her hands and brought them to his lips, kissing them. “If you haven’t realized how completely I’ve fallen for you, then you aren’t as bright a woman as I thought you were.” One corner of his sensual lips slid into a crooked grin that made her squirm inside in shock and delight. Fresh tears stung her eyes and burned the tip of her nose.

  “You love me?” Please, just let me hear him say yes. She sent the prayer into the wide world on silent wings of hope.

  His hazel eyes focused on her lips as he brushed a fingertip over them.

  “How could I not love you? You’re bright, beautiful, and compassionate. An equal partner in all things. A man like me could never be luckier to have a woman like you in my life, in my bed,” he added with a roguish wink, before he turned serious again. “You’re in my heart, so deep I cannot get you out. My love for you is a part of my soul now.” He cupped her cheek and closed the distance between them, sealing his life-altering words with a kiss. One that stole her breath, her heart; every part of her fell that much deeper in love with Owen. He nibbled her lips gently, sweetly, before the kiss deepened. Their tongues playfully danced and his good arm curled around her waist. Only when Owen winced did their mouths part.

  “I’m so sorry,” she gasped, hurting to see him in pain.

  He chuckled. “It will heal.”

  “Yes,” she echoed. “It had better.”

  Owen shook his head, eyes glinting with barely suppressed mirth. “Oh, how I love your commanding spirit, dear wife.”

  She knew now he was teasing her. It was his way, always had been, of saying three little words. I love you.

  Leaning into his good shoulder, she rested her head there, playing with their fingers, lacing them together.

  “I command you to be happy, dear husband,” she teased him back.

  “As you wish. Only so long as you are with me. Always.” His voice was still rough with emotion and she couldn’t resist stealing one more kiss.”

  He surrendered his heart and she had done the same. For love, for each other, they would do anything.

  About the Author

  Lauren Smith was born and raised in Tulsa. She attended Oklahoma State University, where she earned a BA in both history and political science. Drawn to paintings and museums, Lauren is obsessed with antiques and satisfies her fascination with history by writing and exploring exotic, ancient lands.

  Please see the next page for a preview of A Scottish Lord for Christmas

  Rowena Pepperwirth dashed along the lawn of the winter-browned grass of the Hampton House gardens. A gust of wind wrenched her hat from her head but she didn’t stop running to chase it. Terror gripped her heart and blood pounded a violent tempo in her ears.

  There was only one thing that mattered. The little girl in a blue dress and white pinafore who could not be older than three was climbing onto a stone fountain edge. A very slick edge that the child now leaned too far over…The icy water inside was thickly dotted with lily pads. If the child fell, she could drown as she scrambled to get free of the watery vegetation.

  Please don’t fall, please…She prayed she could reach the little girl in time.

  Leaning forward, Rowena pushed her legs until her thighs stung as she sprinted toward the child. She slid straight into the stone base, her knees smarting from the impact, but she ignored it as she grasped the child by the back of her dress. The little girl with golden curls in fine gossamer ringlets bounced and squealed, clapping her chubby little hands together as she leaned over the fountain.

  She was safe.

  Rowena tugged the little girl back into her arms, curling herself around the child protectively. Her hands shook and she had trouble breathing. It was all right. She’d gotten there in time. Shutting her eyes, she held the girl close, never more thankful she was fast on her feet.

  “Fishes!” The little girl jabbed a delicate little finger at the water.

  Rowena smiled and nuzzled the girl’s cheek before kissing her. “Indeed, there are fish when it’s warmer, but we mustn’t catch them. You might fall in and then what would happen to you?” She feathered her fingers through the girl’s curls, marveling at the way the light played upon the perfect strands like spun gold.

  “No fishes?” the child queried solemnly, looking now at Rowena in a knowing way.

  “No fishes.”

  “Thank ’eavens, miss!” A middle-aged nurse trundled around the corner of the nearest hedgerow, her face red and her breath uneven as she struggled to speak. “Wee bairn escaped me, she did.” The woman’s Scottish accent caught Rowena by surprise. Scots were common enough in London but in the countryside it was rare. She knew that one of the guests at the Earl of Hampton’s house party was Scottish, but she hadn’t realized he’d brought a nurse with him or that he’d had a child. Then again, mentioning one’s children in the midst of a house party wasn’t done. Babes stayed in the distant nurseries, which saddened Rowena. She adored children.

  “It’s quite all right. I have her. She’s safe.” Rowena curled an arm around the child’s waist, smiling as the little girl bounced excitedly and pointed at the few solitary fish that had so f
ar survived the increasingly cold weather. Their sleek silver bodies ducked and dove in the murky depths of the fountain and the little girl watched them in fascination and single-minded determination.

  “Papa!” the babe pronounced excitedly, and jabbed a little index finger toward the house.

  “Is your papa here, little one? I’m sure he’d be worried to know you ran off without him. Fathers worry about their daughters. You must take care not to frighten him.” The child’s eyes, a soft dove gray, fixed on Rowena as though considering seriously what she’d said, and then the girl dropped onto her bottom on Rowena’s lap, content to simply watch.

  The nurse eased down onto the lip of the fountain base beside them, her face still flushed. “The wee one has fast little legs, just like her father did when he was a bairn. Could never catch that child. Wee tyke.” The nurse’s face was gentle with tenderness as she said this.

  “Who is her father?” Rowena queried.

  Was it the man she’d met at dinner the previous night? The quiet, well-spoken, and all-too-handsome Earl of Forres had been the subject of quite a few stolen glances from the ladies over the various courses at dinner the previous night. Rowena, only eighteen, wasn’t sure if it was proper for so many women to be sneaking looks at a man far down the table from them. But as this was her first official house party since her come-out in London a few weeks before, she wasn’t quite sure of the social rules. Naturally that meant she’d been glancing at him, too. It was impossible not to. He had been incredibly handsome, with intense eyes and a soft smile that did strange things to her body whenever he’d met her gaze. And the way he moved—in that graceful yet powerful way—had drawn every female eye to him over and over again.

  “The wee one belongs to Lord Forres.” The nurse chucked the little girl under the chin and the girl giggled.

  Rowena held her breath as she stared down at the child. So it was Lord Forres’s child. The little girl shared her father’s serious gray eyes, but her light blond hair was a contrast to her father’s dark brown locks. Did she take after her mother, then? Rowena didn’t know much of Forres except that he was twenty-eight and well inlaid when it came to property and money. That did not matter so much to her. This was her first season out in society and she was learning how it was in the game of love and marriage. Men and women often chased money rather than love when pursuing a match. Rowena’s family was well-off and titled. A hefty dowry was waiting for whatever man Rowena chose to marry, so she had no need to look for a wealthy man. This left her free to enjoy meeting the gentleman she might marry. She focused on the men themselves and not the social positions she could gain. She wanted a man to view her equally, as a partner, not a subordinate. Even though society still kept women beneath men, some men seemed more intelligent than the rest of society in this regard.