The man nearly collapsed as Gibson helped him inside, wrapping a strong and steadying arm around the other man's shoulders. It was then that Gibson felt the multiple breaks in Drake's bones. His left arm was nearly shattered and his right shoulder drooped, indicating the young lord might have a broken collarbone among his other, more obvious injuries. For as much as Gibson disliked Drake, he was still a physician at heart, and this man's wounds, while not life-threatening, were still extremely disturbing.
"Who did this to you?" Gibson asked as he helped Drake onto a fainting couch, and then sent his houseboy out in a rush to locate Dr. Hastings at his practice a few houses away. There was a chance, assuming Drake's arm could be saved at all, that more than one pair of hands would be needed to set the splintered bones. Between the arm and the man's other injuries, Gibson knew he could not do the job alone.
Drake pushed impatiently at Gibson's hands as the doctor tried to examine him further. "She is in danger. You need to save her. Go. Now." His words sounded like those of a drunken man, made all the worse by the bloody lip the man was now sporting. Gibson could not imagine Marcus Cheltenham inflicting this kind of damage on a person for a slight against his sister, however vile, but then, the viscount had been gone from London for a very long time. Three years. That was long enough to inherently change a man, especially one who had suffered as much as Marcus had.
It was also tempting to think that Drake had injured his brain, but there was also a tinge of sincerity and urgency to his words that Gibson could not ignore. No, he was not suffering from an ailment of the brain. That meant further questioning was in order.
Shaking his head in confusion, Gibson gripped the door tightly for a moment to steady his own nerves before closing it softly, not wanting to further upset Drake or add to his obvious distress. "I don't understand. Who am I to save?"
"Lady Amy." For once, Drake did not slur his words. "Overton found her. He's always known who she was. But after last night, he can't wait any longer. He knows everything. Even about you."
So many events had occurred the previous evening that Gibson didn't know which one had forced Overton's hand. If Drake was even telling the truth. That remained to be seen. Still, a chill stole over the doctor, and he knew he had to hurry to get to the truth.
"He knew I was looking into her past and came to see me. Said I could have her when he was done with her, but that he wanted the fortune. Her fortune. All of it, down to the last pound." Drake cast his eyes to the side, despondent.
Then Drake surprised Gibson by reaching up to grasp the doctor's hand in a hard grip, grimacing through the pain, as if the young man wanted to make certain his next words were clearly understood. "I need her fortune as well, but I'm not a monster. I don't want to see her hurt. Or worse." Then his gaze flicked back to Gibson, fresh with new panic. "For what it's worth, it wasn't all a lie. I may not love her, but I do care about her. I do not wish to see her hurt."
Still suspicious, Gibson regarded the man thoughtfully for a moment, though his heart was urging him to charge out the door and to Amy's rescue. "Why me? Why come to me and not go straight to Breckenright if Lady Amy is, indeed, in danger? He is her brother after all and can better protect her than I."
"Can't." Drake shook his head, obviously growing restless because Gibson hadn't departed yet. "The man is in the house every day, especially the mornings. He would know. He has access. He knows things. All things." Then he waved a bruised and bloodied hand in the air, stifling a cry of anguish. "Besides, you love her. It's no secret. They all know. Even him. Especially him."
Gibson's mind was reeling with all of the information Lord Drake had just provided, but one thing stood out in his mind. Overton was in Amy's house every day. Especially the mornings. There was only one person it could be. "Who?" Gibson demanded of Drake, a fearful sense of urgency now sweeping over him, but needing to be certain, lest he accuse the wrong man. "Who is he?"
"Michaels. The steward." Drake looked up, awash now in misery and a fresh round of pain. "I forced his hand. If I would have just kept my mouth shut, she would have been safe, but last night...at the musicale. He heard. He said he had to move quickly now that her brother had returned to town."
"What does he want?" Gibson was already scribbling a note for Dr. Hastings and rummaging through his desk for whatever he might need. Not that he had much in the way of weaponry at his disposal.
"I told you. Her. Dead. Her fortune." Drake shook his head, his agitation growing by the moment. "I don't know for certain. Mostly he wants revenge for his brother. Says that she's a frigid bitch that needs to pay." He closed his eyes, and Gibson knew the other man was close to passing out from what had to be excruciating pain. There would be no more information forthcoming from him, not that Gibson needed it. "She is better than I deserved. Save her. Go."
Before Drake could say another word, Gibson was racing down the long front hall and out the back door of his home to the mews where he kept both his own horse, as well as the carriage and pair of matched grays that Prinny had provided for him. At one time, he had thought three horses and a carriage an extravagance, but no longer.
Breathless, he quickly saddled his mount, knowing that he probably had little time to waste, assuming that Michaels and Amy weren't already half way to Gretna Green by now. Then again, he had only left Mayfair a little over an hour ago. How far could they have possibly gotten, especially in the harsh light of day? Gibson doubted that Michaels would risk abducting Amy in the daylight, or at least at this early hour. There were still too many people about, too much risk of being seen. The steward was clever and would undoubtedly wait until fewer eyes were on him, possibly even until twilight. There was an excellent chance they were both still at Cheltenham House.
Gibson also gave instructions to his groom to take the carriage and ride for Bow Street immediately. There, he was to inform anyone who would listen that Lady Evanston and her family, including the recently returned Viscount Breckenright, were in danger. When that task was finished, the groom was to ride posthaste to Carlton House and give the guards at the gate a special coin and inform them of what was happening at Cheltenham House. The guards, Gibson assured the groom quickly, would know what to do from there.
As he took the precious coin from his pocket and handed it to his groom, Gibson expelled a deep breath. Prinny himself had given Gibson that coin the day he had been appointed as a royal physician. It was a voucher of sorts, good for one favor from the crown, something that Gibson desired more than life itself. He knew that others in his position had turned in their coins long ago, often asking for money or prestige in return for their services. Gibson had always known that he could do the same whenever he chose, and most likely would have been granted the boon he requested. He never had.
Truthfully, he had never felt worthy of the honor. What would he ask for anyway? The only thing he had ever wanted for himself was not within the power of the Prince Regent to give. It was Amy's heart that Gibson longed for, and only the lady in question could give it away. There was nothing else he wanted more. There never had been. Not even the restoration of his family's name and fortunes.
Last night, Amy had offered him that very heart he had so longed for, and he had turned her away, unable to say the words she had yearned to hear. Mostly out of fear. And cowardice. In that way, he was no better than his father had been, despite a lifetime of attempting to be otherwise.
Gibson had also lied to Amy. It was a lie of omission, but still a lie. He had not said that he loved her in return. More over, he had said that they needed to part, that they could no longer see each other. Over and over, he had pushed her away, usually each time she offered him a glimpse of paradise. As well as her love. He had meant those words and actions only to keep her safe. He hadn't meant to hurt her, yet he had done so all the same.
So now, he would call in his favor with the royal court, the one owed him for his service to the crown. Only he was not asking for himself. He was asking for Amy. And he pra
yed that he was not too late.
Once he was satisfied that all was in order, Gibson dug his boots into the side of his mount, a fiery and spirited chestnut gelding that had been his only extravagance in life, and took off, racing through the streets of London at a breakneck pace. He hoped and prayed that he would find all in order when he arrived at Amy's door, and that he would merely look like a besotted fool. However his gut instinct told him that he would not, and that made him ride all the harder. He loved Amy. He had admitted it both to himself and aloud. He would not lose her now. Not when he was so close to finding his own happiness with her by his side.
Chapter Fifteen
"Wife? Surely you are mistaken. It is known by all that I prefer to remain a spinster and therefore, unwed." Amy attempted to stare down Michaels, or rather Mark Overton, and did her best to keep calm. Panic would not help the situation, especially not when the man was brandishing a gun in their morning room.
"Wife," Overton repeated moving further into the room, the gun still clutched tightly in his fist. "And no, I do not believe that I am mistaken at all." He had a casual stance, but Amy knew well enough not to be fooled. She had seen Michaels shoot at her father's insistence during a house party at Heatherton Abby several years previous. The man was a crack shot and could take down birds in flight rather easily. She had no doubt that three people in a closed room with only one exit would be easy enough to dispatch. Especially when two of them had medical issues.
Rising as gracefully as she could while her legs shook with terror, Amy raised a hand to stay both her mother and Marcus, both of whom made moves to defend her. She would not risk either of them when Michaels quarrel was obviously with her. Amy knew that Marcus would defend her to the death, but she did not want him to make that sacrifice. Not to mention that his vision was poor, and she had no way of knowing precisely how much he could see. He could lunge for Michaels and miss. That would not be good for anyone.
She did not even want to contemplate the idea of her mother attempting to take on the crazed man.
"I see." Amy smoothed her hands down over her pale rose silk morning dress, noting with discomfort the way Michaels stared openly at her breasts. She almost thought, much to her disgust, that he was practically salivating as he gazed at her. As if he wanted to strip her naked where she stood and have his way with her. Just like his brother.
She had chosen the frock that morning because it reminded her of the scandalous garnet gown she had worn the previous evening when she had been with Gibson. She had wanted to keep that memory alive inside of her for just a little longer. Now, she thought that perhaps something that showed a little less décolletage might have been preferable. Then again, she had not expected to be accosted at her breakfast table by a man wielding a gun.
"And may I ask why you seek me as a wife? As I recall from a conversation not quite a fortnight ago, you said that you found me tedious and bothersome." Amy did her best to keep her voice even and low so as not to anger the man further, lest he start shooting.
She remembered very clearly the day she had overheard Michaels' conversation with Gibson when the two men were discussing who would escort her about town. It had been evident that the steward had little love for the upper classes, and even less regard for her in particular, but she hadn't taken much note of it. Perhaps she should have.
Michaels moved deeper into the room, the pistol in his hand shaking a bit, though from rage or fear, Amy wasn't certain. If she had to guess, she supposed rage. The man was angry, and it radiated from him like a beacon. "You killed my brother," he spat, and she noticed that his eyes were a bit glassy.
Michaels had been drinking. Marvelous. That made him twice as dangerous. Really, what was it about a man's mind that made them act so stupidly most of the time? What made them think that drink was the answer? Amy wished she knew. It really was becoming rather annoying. However, it also fueled her own anger and prevented her from cowering before the man, which was probably precisely what he was hoping she would do.
"You ruined Thomas' good name, and then you killed him." Michaels waved the gun wildly once more, and Amy prayed that it didn't accidentally go off. She had no idea how the safety mechanisms on those things worked.
"Your brother raped my daughter!" Thea rose on unsteady feet, unable to keep quiet any longer. Her words slurred all the more the angrier she became. "He ruined her and her future!"
"She seduced him!
"She was a child!"
The air was thick with tension as Michaels reached into his coat pocket and produced a worn piece of parchment that Amy recognized as having come from her father's study. Her old music master must have stolen it at some point when he was still working for the family. Before the incident, for there would not have been time after, not if he had taken time to pen that infernal note. Just how long had the man been taking advantage of them?
"I have it all here in my brother's own hand." Overton shook the letter so hard that Amy feared it might fall apart before their eyes. "He wrote to me in the hours before you tossed him out, said how his sprightly young pupil used her feminine wiles on him, how she made him crazed with lust for her. How she seduced him into taking her innocence with promises of great wealth and power." Michaels threw the letter on the breakfast table but no one reached out to take it, least of all Amy. She had a very good idea of what it said. "She promised him everything his heart desired, if only he would take her away from her controlling, manipulative family."
"Your brother was sick man." It was Marcus' turn to stand, keeping one hand on the table to steady himself. Amy had never seen him look so thunderous. Or ready to take someone's head off. Not even last night when he had faced down Drake. "He assaulted two of the maids and seduced Lady Amy's governess in the weeks leading up to that day. He attempted to seduce my mother that very same morning, but she rebuffed him and had him sacked. Before he could be removed from the home, he defiled my sister. Thomas Overton deserved precisely what he received in the end."
There was a cold, dark edge to the viscount's voice filled with bitter rage, one that Amy had never heard before. If that had not shocked her, his words certainly would have.
"Mama? Is it true?" Amy felt flashes of hot and cold all over her body, and her chest tightened painfully. "I didn't know." She thought Gibson had discovered everything. Obviously, he hadn't.
Thea drew in a deep breath as if to calm herself. "You were not meant to. We had hoped to keep you safe and protected for just a bit longer, in the hopes that you would never learn the true nature of a man you seemed to like and whom you learned from rather easily. You were young and innocent. You did not need to know men like Thomas Overton existed. His departure was to be quiet and gentlemanly, or at least as much as was possible given the circumstances. But Thomas was a sneaky, conniving man, and he managed to get away from the guard we had assigned to hold him until a magistrate could be brought to the house."
"He came to the music room where I was practicing," Amy said, recalling that hot and rainy afternoon more vividly than she had in years. Truthfully, she had never wanted to think of it again, so she had done her best to push it aside. "He was angry, and I asked him why, for I was concerned about him. He wouldn't answer me, just kept asking if I cared for him."
She looked at Michaels, finally able to see a bit of Thomas in the man she and her family had trusted for so long. "I did not understand what your brother was asking of me. When I did not give him the response he obviously wanted, he shoved me down on a nearby settee and loosened the placket on his breeches. He had my skirts up and was inside of me before I knew what he was about." She swallowed hard, finally allowing the horror of that day to surface so that she could deal with it once and for all. "He raped me, Mark, even though the act was not fully completed. It was not a seduction. I can assure you of that much."
"Lies," Michaels hissed, his eyes narrowing on Amy once more. In that moment, Michaels the steward was gone, replaced by the hard, unyielding Mark Overton, hell bent o
n revenge. "All of it is nothing but more lies."
Marcus stepped forward and the steward swung his pistol in the viscount's direction. "Your swine of a brother planned it. That made it all the worse." There was anger in Marcus' eyes that the years had not dulled. If anything, it was now worse. "After he eluded his guard, he stole into my father's study to write that note. He had an unsuspecting stable hand take it to post and then rushed to the music room where he knew my sister to be, all in an attempt to exact his revenge on an innocent child. I have no idea how he thought he would succeed. It was not logical, but then, madness rarely is."
Marcus started down his nose at the steward, every inch the haughty aristocrat he truly was, and Amy nearly blanched with fear. She could tell her brother was deliberately taunting the man, almost as if he wanted Michaels to shoot. Then she realized that if the crazed man did so, the weapon would be spent and there would be no time to reload before the sound of gunfire brought the staff running. Marcus might die, but Amy and her mother would live.
Well, if Amy had anything to say about it, they would all live to see a ripe old age. It was time that The Paragon took firm and complete control of her life. It was time to finally break free.
"You will take back those filthy words about my brother!" Michaels was sweating now, and Amy wondered if the man simply thought the three of them would give up easily and without a fight. After working for the Cheltenham family for so long, he should have known better. Then again, the steward was foxed, so anything was possible. "He was not mad! He was a good man dealt a grievous injustice."
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