“Dear God. How badly are you hurt? Can you make it up the stairs? I want to have a look, see how—”
He wrapped his hand around her neck, surprisingly strong, holding her near. “If I’m to die,” he rasped, “let me do so…with the taste of you upon my lips.”
Without his usual finesse he planted his mouth over hers. She told herself that he couldn’t be mortally wounded if his hand still held such strength and his mouth such passion.
A strange fluke of fate that he’d jerked her attacker off her just as she was plunging a knife toward his midsection. Greystone, with his heroics, was now spilling his blood over himself and her. So damned much blood.
She pushed against him. “You fool. You’re going to bleed to death.”
“It’s a mere scratch.”
“Then you’re an even bigger fool for making me worry. Have you the strength to climb the stairs?”
“Yes.”
She snaked her arm around his back, while his landed hard on her shoulders. They staggered toward the stairs, the weight of him increasing with each step as though he were losing strength along with the blood. It wasn’t a mere scratch. A mere scratch wouldn’t drench her hand in blood. They were halfway up the stairs when he dropped to his knees.
“Seems I misjudged,” he said.
“It would be undignified for you to die here.”
He chuckled low. “I’m nothing if I’m not dignified.”
“I’m glad you find this humorous.”
“Not in the least.”
Grabbing onto the railing, he pulled himself up. They lurched up the steps. Anyone seeing them might have thought they were drunk. When they reached the top, he leaned against the wall while she dug the key out of her pocket. Once she opened the door, she led him into the apartment.
Like her office, it was sparsely furnished. She considered the sofa, but decided on the bed. It was far more comfortable and he might need to lie down. He sat on the edge of it while she gathered some towels. She came around and knelt in front of him. His clothing was soaked. So damned much blood. That’s all Frannie could think as she tried to staunch the flow of blood. “This doesn’t look good.”
“I think it’s just a gash. Hurts like bloody hell, though. Remind me…to never try to rescue you again.”
“I can’t believe the timing, that you stepped in just when I was thrusting. I didn’t see you.”
“I didn’t see the knife, so we’re even.”
Hardly. “May I…may I unbutton your waistcoat and lift your shirt?”
He nodded. He was growing paler by the minute. She was gentle but as quick as she could be. The gash was horrible. Long and deep, it ran up his side. Thank goodness nothing was spilling out except blood.
“Lie down. I’m going to send someone to fetch Bill.”
“Bill?” He was taking short breaths as though anything more was painful. With a low groan he stretched out on her bed.
“William Graves. He’s a physician.”
“Right. He looked after Catherine.”
“Yes. Just wait here. I’m going to fetch him.”
He gave her a crooked, endearing smile, as though her order made him want to laugh, because he couldn’t go anywhere if he wanted.
She took a step to leave, then turned back to him. “What were you doing here?”
“Came for my watch. Thought your…taking it was an invitation.”
She’d forgotten all about that. Reaching into her pocket where she’d been carrying it all day, she removed it, placed it in his hand, and folded his fingers around it. “It was,” she whispered quietly, before brushing a kiss over his forehead. But it certainly hadn’t been an invitation for this.
After sending someone to fetch Bill, she found Jim and Jack in Jack’s office. They came with her as she returned to Greystone’s side. Pressing towels against his wound, she watched in horror as the blood soaked through them, little by little.
He was still having difficulty breathing, grimacing and taking shallow breaths. His jaw was clenched so tightly she feared he’d break a tooth. It would be so much easier to endure the guilt if he didn’t keep his eyes on her. They were such a lovely blue, but filled with such pain.
“I’m so sorry,” Frannie said.
“What are you sorry for?” Jack asked, standing at the foot of the bed, arms crossed. “You were trying to protect yourself. It’s not your fault he got in the way.”
A corner of Greystone’s mouth twitched and she wondered if he wanted to laugh. She was fairly certain this was an incident that he wouldn’t laugh about in later years—if he survived to have later years.
“Would you rather I hold cloth to his wound?” Jim asked.
Greystone, watching her so intently, clutched her wrist and held her hand in place, as though to signal that he wanted her to stay. He needn’t have worried. She had no plans to leave. She shook her head. “No. I’m responsible here. I should see to him.”
She wanted to run her hands through his hair, cradle his face, press her forehead to his, and apologize again. But she didn’t want him to survive this only to be set upon by Jack and Jim. “Where’s Bill?”
As though her words summoned him, he strode through her door. “What’s going on? I got word that Frannie was hurt.”
“Not Frannie,” Jack said, then, “Good God, are you hurt, Frannie? Didn’t even think to ask.”
“I’m fine.” Except for some bruises and scrapes, but she held her silence because she didn’t want any attention taken away from Greystone. He was the one in need of immediate assistance. She twisted around slightly to look at Bill and explain what had happened. Her movement jostled the bed, and Greystone groaned, sounding as though he was strangling trying to hold back the evidence of his pain.
Bill came around to stand beside her. “Let me see, Frannie.”
“There’s so much blood.”
“Sometimes the shallowest of wounds gives the appearance of a great wound. Let me have a look here, all right?”
With a nod, she eased back, her pressure on the wound easing. As she stood to give Bill more room, she felt arms come around her and she buried her face in Jim’s shoulder, grateful for the comfort he gave. He urged her away from the bed. As much as she wanted to go with him, she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Greystone to suffer alone.
“No, I’m staying near,” she said, suddenly breaking free and walking back to the bed. “Do you need more light, Bill?”
“Yes, please.”
She lifted the lamp from the bedside table and held it aloft over Greystone so Bill could have a better look. “Oh, it’s ghastly.”
“I don’t think it’s as bad as all that.” Bill pressed against the duke’s chest and Greystone sucked in air through his clenched teeth. “Did that hurt, Your Grace?”
The duke glared at him.
“Yes, I suppose it did. Silly of me to ask. May have bruised your ribs a bit. You must have smashed him pretty hard, Frannie.”
“I was trying to kill him.” She grimaced. “Well, not Greystone. The man who attacked me.”
“And who was that?” Jack asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? You know every man who comes in the club.”
“He wasn’t one of our customers.”
“What did he want?”
“What does any man want who throws a woman up against a wall?”
“Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”
Now she was the one glaring, glaring at Jack. “Can’t we wait for this inquisition?”
“The sooner we go looking for him, the more likely we’ll find him and have an opportunity to deal with him.”
She looked at Jim. He was with Scotland Yard. He should be asking the questions.
“Doesn’t matter when we get the questions answered,” Jim said quietly. “I’ll find him. I’ll take care of him.”
“Don’t do anything foolish,” she said.
“Just try to rememb
er what he looked like.”
“It was dark. I couldn’t see and I had survival on my mind.”
“Maybe the duke saw him.”
“No, too dark and shadowy,” Greystone ground out, then hissed at whatever Bill was doing to him.
“Try to stay still, Your Grace,” Bill said. “I’m going to remove some of your clothes here, then stitch you up and bind those ribs.”
Greystone gave a quick nod.
With Jim’s help, Bill removed Greystone’s finely tailored jacket, waistcoat, and shirt. She supposed she should have been embarrassed at the sight of a man’s bare chest, but she was too concerned about his wound to give it much thought—except for the passing realization that he was as finely made as his clothing.
“What the devil is that?” Jack asked.
Frannie eased around to see what Jack was staring at. Greystone’s back bore a painting of an unusual creature with fire coming out of its mouth and wings spread wide.
“Tattoo,” Greystone ground out, as he moved to lie back down.
“Never seen anything like that.”
“Go to Japan.” He arched a brow as though Jack wouldn’t know where Japan was. “Far side of the world.”
“Bring the light a little closer, Frannie,” Bill said, snapping everyone’s attention back to the matter at hand.
“Oh, yes, sorry.”
She knelt beside the bed, holding the lamp so it provided adequate illumination for Bill to properly handle his task, but her stomach went all squeamish at the sight of him working. She averted her gaze and found herself staring into Greystone’s pain-filled eyes. She wanted to apologize again, but apologies after a while became irritants. She wanted to take his hand, but she’d have to move around Bill or go to the other side of the bed, and with Jim and Jack both watching, she was suddenly very self-conscious, wondering what she might be giving away. She couldn’t overlook the fact that he was a duke. She’d not wanted to marry Luke because he was an earl, and a duke was so much more. Greystone especially, because he’d been bred and led toward the position. The manner in which he held himself. His every stance, movement, his complete bearing spoke of noble blood. Even now, he bore his pain with an occasional grimace but nothing more.
“All right, Your Grace, let’s try to sit you up. I want to wrap your ribs, simply as a precaution,” Bill said.
Frannie veered slightly away so he could swing his legs over. Her bed seemed so small with him in it. As soon as he was situated, his gaze came back to hers, as though she had the power to ease his suffering.
When Bill was finished, he gave Greystone some laudanum. “I’m sure you’re experiencing a great deal of discomfort. This should ease your pain on the journey home.”
“Are you saying he’s fit to leave?” Frannie asked.
“I’m sure he has a well-sprung coach. The journey shouldn’t be too unbearable.”
“I’d rather he stay here so I can look after him.”
“He’s not in danger of dying. Granted, the wound could get infected, but—”
“It’s my doing. I should tend to him, at least for a few hours.”
“I’ve no objections,” Greystone said, and Frannie nearly leaped out of her skin. His deep voice still harbored an undercurrent of pain.
“Then it’s settled,” she said.
“I’m not certain that’s a good idea,” Jim said. “Your reputation—”
“Dear God, my reputation? Are you going to run about London spreading rumors?”
“No, but, Frannie—”
“Oh, God, Jim, not now,” Frannie said. “Help me change the bedding.”
When they were finished, Greystone lay back down and closed his eyes. His breathing wasn’t as harsh, but he was still pale. It took a bit of arguing, persuading, and insisting, but she finally convinced Jack and Bill to leave. They were worried about her and she appreciated it, but she didn’t need them hovering around like mother hens. Jim was a bit more hardheaded.
“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” he asked, his gaze running the length of her.
Looking down, she realized her dress sported almost as much blood as Greystone’s clothes. “I’m going to freshen up. Keep an eye on him.”
She wasn’t at all uncomfortable with the notion of going behind her screen in order to change into clean clothes after washing away the blood with Jim near. They’d slept in the same room, taken their yearly bath in the same tub. And Greystone was asleep.
Sterling didn’t remember drifting off to sleep, but when he opened his eyes, he didn’t see any of the men about and was certain they were gone, because what he did see was a silhouette of Frannie behind a screen. She raised an arm high over her head and stroked her other hand along it. She was washing up, he deduced. He could see only the shadow of her, but it was enough for him to realize she no longer wore a dress. His body tightened painfully—nowhere in the vicinity of his wound—as her hands moved along her shoulders, lowered—
“I’d close those eyes again if I were you.”
Sterling jerked his head to the side to discover his worst nightmare sitting there. Swindler’s gaze bore into him.
“It would be unfortunate if Graves misjudged the seriousness of your injury, and you were to suddenly expire on the spot. Frannie would be terribly disappointed,” Swindler said.
“And you don’t like to see her disappointed.”
“It’s the only reason you’re still breathing.”
“For someone who is supposed to uphold the law, you threaten an inordinate amount.”
“When it comes to matters involving Frannie, I have my own laws.”
“As I’ve mentioned before, I have no intentions of harming her. Tonight I might have very well saved her life. I’d expect a bit of appreciation for that.”
“That’s the difference between us, Your Grace. If I’d saved her life, I’d have expected no thanks whatsoever. Wouldn’t have even wanted them.”
Sterling shook his head in frustration. “Doesn’t matter what I do, Swindler, you’ll find fault with it. Rot in hell.”
Swindler chuckled low. “I’ll be taking you with me.”
“I’m already there, man.”
Swindler seemed taken aback by that, his eyes narrowing. “I didn’t think the wound was that serious.”
“This”—he glanced at the bandages wrapped around his chest—“is nothing. You flatter yourself into thinking the devil only visits the impoverished and destitute. Quite honestly, Inspector, you’re beginning to bore me with your self-righteous view that only you can know what hell truly is.”
Whatever retort Swindler may have wanted to make went unsaid as Frannie walked out from behind the screen in a black dress, as though Sterling was already dead and she was preparing to go to the funeral. He wanted her in the green gown or nothing at all. Yes, nothing at all was preferable.
“You’re awake,” she said.
“Barely.”
She smiled at Swindler. “Thank you for seeing after him while I tidied up. I think you can go now.”
“Frannie, I don’t think it’s wise to leave you alone—”
“Jim, I retrieved my dagger.” She patted her side. “He’s aware I know well how to use it. Besides, he put himself in harm’s way earlier. I think he deserves a bit of trust.”
Swindler gave Sterling one last glare, designed to kill a lesser man, before pushing himself to his feet. Heading for the door, he stopped momentarily to touch Frannie’s cheek. “Just watch yourself.”
Frannie followed him to the door, gave him a reassuring smile and a gentle nudge onto the stoop. After closing the door, she turned the lock. Sykes’s man might have run off, but nothing prevented him from returning at his leisure.
With a weary sigh, she walked toward the bed, coming up short when she saw that Greystone was watching her with those cobalt-blue eyes.
“That inspector…he’s in love with you,” Greystone said quietly.
“All of Feagan’s lads are.” Brushing off h
is words, she walked to the chair and sat.
“Not like he is.”
“We’re friends, nothing more.”
“Why did you lie to them?” Greystone asked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and pushing himself up to a sitting position. “You did know who attacked you and you knew what he wanted.”
“I didn’t know who he was. And they would just worry.”
“I wasn’t close enough to hear everything, but I did catch the name Sykes. Has this anything to do with the boy?”
“Possibly. He ran away. I spent much of today in the rookeries searching for him. I came away with four children but none of them were Jimmy. I’m assuming Sykes was outside your residence last night and probably saw us taking the lad to the orphanage. He may have seen me going into your residence, recognized me. I don’t know. Perhaps the boy told him.”
“Why didn’t you explain all this to Swindler? He could arrest this Sykes fellow—”
“For what? It’s not against the law to threaten.”
“He sent someone to hurt you.”
“What proof do I have that he was behind it? I didn’t get a good look at the fellow, so there’s no one to testify. And even if I did know who attacked me and Jim located him”—she shook her head—“Sykes is not someone anyone would testify against. He is the devil incarnate.”
She didn’t appreciate the way he was scrutinizing her, as though he could read her thoughts. “You didn’t tell them what you knew because you knew they’d try to take care of it.”
“I thought they might get hurt trying to take care of it. And because…” Her voice trailed off.
“Because?” he prodded.
She gazed at him intently. “How many of them have threatened you?”
A muscle in his jaw jumped. Men. So damned proud. They wanted to handle their own affairs, not show any weakness, not ask for help. Why couldn’t they understand that sometimes a woman felt the need for the same considerations?
“All of them,” she said with conviction.
“No,” he responded quickly.
She nodded thoughtfully. “Bill didn’t. He wouldn’t. That’s because he’s a healer. He can’t stand to see anyone suffering. But the others…I love the lads. I’ve always loved them, but sometimes I feel as though they’re suffocating me.”
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