by Jaimey Grant
Then he was beside her and looking down at the duke. He cursed.
Leandra ignored him, dropping to her knees beside her husband. She gently smoothed the hair from his face. He was breathing, she was relieved to note, but the blood didn’t seem to be stopping. Rather, it flowed faster. With no thought for modesty, she ripped a large strip from her generous nightclothes. Pressing the cloth firmly to Derringer’s shoulder, she threw an anxious glance at the man standing above them.
“You must be Merri,” he said in a voice much like the duke’s. He knelt down and ran his one hand over Derringer’s ribcage. “Cracked,” he muttered to himself. He pressed his hand hard against the wound in the duke’s shoulder, cursing under his breath the whole time. He glanced into Leandra’s worried face and said soothingly, “He’ll survive. He’s lived through worse, you know. And he’s merely fainted.”
The pounding of feet heralded the arrival of Lord Greville, Lady Greville not far behind.
“What happened?” inquired that lady as she, too, knelt down. Her fingers traced a line over Derringer’s forehead, feather-light. Her worried turquoise eyes flashed to Leandra’s hazel ones.
“I don’t know,” Leandra admitted. Stark came flying from the servants’ rooms in the attic. “He was standing on the landing, bleeding all over, and then he looked down, and he... fell.”
Martin made his appearance, distress creasing his pale brow. He saw the duke lying on the floor, swiveled his gaze slightly… and saw his brother. “Oh, bloody hell! You’re supposed to be dead!”
“I’ve missed you, too,” replied Gabriel, voice thick with sarcasm. “Perhaps someone could take Hart back to his bed? Hughes,” he called, gesturing to the deaf footman, “ride for the doctor.” Hughes carefully watched Gabriel’s lips, nodded, and took off at a run.
Greville motioned everyone out of the way and lifted his tall friend with seeming little effort. He carried him back to the master chamber.
Leandra walked ahead of him, lighting candles all over the room. She gasped when she turned and saw the wreck of the room. “What happened?” Her voice trembled on the words.
Aurora put her arm around her, giving her a gentle squeeze. “We will find out, my dear. And he will be all right. He always is, you know.”
Leandra sat down in the chair that Greville placed beside her husband’s bed. She stared at Derringer’s face, the loss of blood giving him an unnatural pallor, and struggled again with the strange puzzle of who would actually want to hurt him.
Greville stood a little to the side, staring at her. She could feel his eyes, boring into her. What was he thinking? Did it matter? She struggled to hold onto her composure, struggled to hold the tears at bay. Confusion was hard enough to endure. But the fear—the fear was unbearable.
Greville gave his head a brisk shake, his eyes falling away from her. Leandra witnessed the movement, her curiosity piqued.
“Is something wrong, my lord—Levi?”
He smiled, no doubt at her slip of the tongue. “No, Leandra, I was just thinking.” He pulled a second chair up next to hers. “I was thinking perhaps I should call on an old… friend, of Hart’s and invite him for a stay. Would you mind?”
She shook her head. “I have no objection. Will he be able to help find out who would want to harm Hart?”
Greville nodded but Leandra saw something in his dark eyes that put the lie to his claim. This friend may not be able to help, but at this point, it mattered little. Any help would be appreciated.
She stared into his eyes, searching for more reassurance, her own worry growing as she contemplated the very real threat to her husband’s life. He’d been attacked in his own home.
Her companion’s eyes widened, something giving him a bit of a shock. Unsure what to say, or do, she glanced away.
“Amazing,” he murmured, dragging Leandra’s attention back.
“What is amazing?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow at her companion.
“The fact that you seem to have caught the untruth in what I just told you.”
“It was something in the way you did not answer my question verbally. Then you wouldn’t look at me. You showed several signs that you were being less than honest.”
“Were you this open and honest with Hart the first time you met him?”
“Of course,” she replied in a tone that implied it would have been ludicrous to do otherwise.
Silence stretched. Leandra’s attention returned to her ailing husband. He breathed steadily, the bleeding stanched for the moment. Her gaze focused on his face, roaming over the hard, angular features that lost little of their rigidity even in repose. Would he ever be at ease? Or did his life warrant such tension even while he slept?
A sigh bubbled up but she stifled it. He shouldn’t matter so much to her, not already. She barely knew him and what she did know wasn’t good. He was to blame for many of his own problems, she was sure. But for someone to want him dead... For someone to attack him in his own home... It pained her to contemplate the implications of such an action. It pained her more to realize he meant far more to her than was wise.
“I have it!” Greville declared, making Leandra nearly jump from her skin. He glanced at the still figure in the bed and lowered his voice. “My cousin’s husband, Sir Adam Prestwich, is a bit of a sleuth, if you will. He may be able to shed some light on this mystery.”
“Would he be willing to, do you think?”
“If I ask him, I have no doubt. He doesn’t care much for Hart socially speaking, but he would be willing to aid in the search for the person that wishes him dead.”
“Dead?” she whispered, finding it very difficult to hear the word said aloud.
“Blast! I shouldn’t have said that, Leandra, I’m sorry. Hart would have my head for telling you. But I have the feeling that you will find out anyway.”
He paused and Leandra willed him to continue, despite her natural desire to pretend none of this was happening. Releasing Derringer’s hand, she removed her spectacles, retrieved her handkerchief from her sleeve, and set about polishing the glass lenses. All the better to see Greville’s tells. She settled them back on her nose and then settled her gaze back on Lord Greville.
He sighed. “Where do I start?”
“At the beginning,” suggested Leandra firmly. “I want to know everything about this man and I want to know who is such a threat.”
“I can’t tell you who the threat is, Leandra. No one knows. Hart has been trying for years to discover the identity of the villain but to no avail.”
“I see.” She was right. Having her fears confirmed was not helpful.
The door opened and Gabriel walked in, leaning heavily on Hughes’s arm. Leandra reflected that the man seemed to have taken the deaf footman for his own personal servant. If it made Hughes feel useful, all the better.
“Any change?” he asked.
Leandra shook her head. “He is as still as death.” Her whispered words seemed to echo in the darkness of the chamber. It rebounded in her head until she wanted to scream. He couldn’t die. Not now. Not when she…
“It can’t be true,” she murmured to herself. It was not possible to fall in love with someone one barely knew. Especially someone who had proven on more that one occasion that he was heartless, rude, and completely uncaring of others’ feelings. He was a beast and she loved him.
“No, I don’t.”
“You don’t… what?” Gabriel asked, his head cocked to one side in a way that reminded her painfully of her husband.
“Nothing,” she muttered. She felt embarrassed heat climbing her neck and willed it away.
“He’s not going to die, Leandra,” insisted Greville gently. “Hart won’t die until he finds out who is responsible for this. He is too stubborn and too ruthless to let the bastard just get away with it.”
“Why does everyone use that word to describe someone who is evil and use it also to describe someone whose parents were not bound in wedlock?” queried Leandra, feeling a deceptive calm stea
l over her.
Gabriel laughed softly. “Does it matter?”
Leandra turned flashing green eyes on her husband’s cousin. “It matters very much to one who is baseborn, sir. It matters very much when that person cannot help that her parents did not marry, or could not marry. It matters very much to me!”
Gabriel stared at her. Greville stared at her. Unbeknownst to her or the gentlemen, her husband stared at her. She jumped when long fingers curled around her wrist.
“Calm, Merri, calm. He meant nothing by it. He didn’t know,” murmured the duke. He coughed and found a glass of water thrust at him. He sipped at it gratefully, watching his wife the whole time. “I didn’t tell him and I haven’t spoken to Vi in nearly two years.”
He shifted uncomfortably against the pillows, releasing Leandra’s hand as he did so. “Now, could you all get the hell out of my room?” he grumbled.
Leandra shrank back as if struck. How could the man be so very rude to those trying to help him? “Very well, your grace,” she told him in a carefully neutral tone. She stood to leave.
Her emphasis on his title informed him he’d managed to annoy her. Part of him rejoiced in this accomplishment. Annoyed was better than scared. He didn’t like to see her scared.
Gabriel, escorted by Hughes, exited the room. Greville led Leandra to the door, whispered something to her and then remained behind.
Derringer’s eyes narrowed. “Secrets with my wife, Vi? I’m surprised at you.”
“Don’t take that tone with me, Hart,” replied his friend indifferently. “I have no secrets with her that I am not about to tell you.”
The duke glared at him. The admission that he did, in fact, have secrets with his Merri made him want to tear Levi’s heart out—even if the man was willing to share them with him.
“I have decided to ask Adam and Bri to visit and I discussed it with your wife. She is willing to allow it.”
“And since Merri is master here, that is all the permission you need,” retorted the duke. “You’ve told me, now you can get out.”
“You are a bloody irritating patient, Hart,” Greville told him with fond contempt. “You need help finding the bas… um, villain responsible for this.” He gestured toward the duke’s bandaged shoulder and ribs. “You do not seem to be progressing well in that.”
“And how the devil can I when my time is spent searching for a cousin who has spent his time evading me and getting married to save a fortune that was mine in the first place? I haven’t exactly had the time to search for someone wanting to kill me. Besides, don’t you think society would rejoice to be rid of me?”
“Self-pity, Hart? Shocking.”
“It is not self-pity, dammit! It is reality. I am not beloved in society, Vi. Everyone knows that. To a man they would love to see me dead. My father was not popular and King George himself hated my grandfather. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the king that ordered my grandfather’s death. Would you?”
“The walls have ears,” Greville warned.
Derringer snorted. “So let them listen. I care not.”
“Adam can help, Hart. You know he can.”
“Oh, yes, that stuffed shirt proved quite useful when you lost your daughter,” retorted the duke maliciously.
Greville just barely reigned in his temper. “Because you are injured, I will let you live,” he told him sharply. “Any more and I will thrash you to within an inch of your life.”
“Cut line, Greville. I have no use for your threats or scolds. If you want to call in Adam, fine. If you call in Tiny, my wife will be worried unnecessarily and I’ll have your head for that.”
“How did you…?” asked Greville in stunned disbelief.
“I know you, Vi. You worry too much about me. Ask Aurora. She’ll tell you what a cad I am and that you should cease wasting your time over me.”
The earl snorted. “The devil she would. Aurora would have my head if I let you die, mark my words. Since you restored Rhiannon to her, she has nothing but praise for you.”
“Bloody hell,” muttered Derringer. “Tell her to stop, please.” He tried very hard not to grin but failed. “She’ll ruin my reputation.”
Greville watched the duke thoughtfully. “I wonder what Adam would say to being called a stuffed shirt?” he mused aloud.
20
It was said one who listened at doors never heard good of themselves. Leandra knew the truth of that statement having had the habit of doing just that when she was a child. This time it was an accident and one she regretted. It shouldn’t hurt but it did.
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t already known, she told herself sternly. The duke never lied about his reason for marrying her. She’d only hoped that he had at least come to care for her a little. Apparently, she was just an added burden when he had more important things to worry about.
Such as who was trying to kill him.
The thought made her tremble. Whether it was rage or fear, she didn’t know. It was probably both. She was afraid the villain might succeed and she was furious that anyone would contemplate hurting her husband.
And she felt unutterably helpless. She clenched her hands and tried to compose her mind for sleep. It was early morning and the feeble light of dawn was creeping between the part in her bedroom drapes. It only made sleep far more difficult to achieve.
She must have slept at some point. Sunlight streaked across the room, straight to her bed and over her eyes. She blinked, turning her head away. She encountered two large blue eyes gazing at her in wonder. Pasting on a bright smile that she didn’t really feel, she greeted Rhiannon Greville and tried to wake up.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
Rhiannon smiled slightly. “Papa Levi bought me a new dolly,” was the child’s reply.
The response was effective in restoring much of Leandra’s calm and natural joy, despite the events of the night just past. She struggled up against the pillows, popping her spectacles onto her face.
“Can I see?” she asked, smiling at the simple joy on the adorable child’s piquant features. How she wished for a child of her own!
The little girl held up a very pretty doll with blond hair and blue eyes the same shade as Rhiannon’s.
“What is her name?”
“I call her Moppet cause that’s what Papa calls me.”
“I see. Does she have another name as well?”
Rhiannon’s brow puckered adorably as she thought about that. “Mama says her name is Lucy.”
“That’s a very pretty name,” observed Leandra. “Where is your nurse?”
Her brow puckered again. Then she grinned. “In the nursery.”
“And why are you not in the nursery as well?” Leandra couldn’t resist asking.
“I wanted to show you my new dolly,” explained Rhiannon as if the answer were quite plain to even the simplest of souls.
“Well, thank you for showing me, my dear. Now I must be up and about if I am to prevent the household from falling down about our ears.”
She swung her feet from the bed and moved toward her dressing room. The clock informed her it was nearly four hours past her accustomed time to rise.
“Will the house really fall?” asked a tiny, fearful voice at her side.
Leandra paused to stare down at the little girl. She wasn’t really surprised that she hadn’t left. Who would want to stay cooped up in the nursery on such a mild autumn day? Perhaps she could take all the children out later to take advantage of the pleasant weather.
“No, I was speaking metaphorically,” she told her now, keeping the idea of an outing to herself for the moment. She’d have to get permission from all the parents before doing anything and she didn’t want to raise Rhiannon’s hopes unnecessarily.
The child appeared to ponder her words carefully. Leandra used the opportunity to ring for her maid. Where was Liza anyway? She’d come and gone, that much was clear. The open drapes allowed in the sun that woke her and a pitcher of tepid water waited on her dressin
g table.
“What’s metaphorically?” inquired Rhiannon, carefully enunciating the large word.
“Not literal.”
Rhiannon thought about this while the duchess searched for a particular gown in her armoire. She finally found it and took it out, shaking out the wrinkles.
“What’s literal?”
Leandra smiled. “Literal means true, I suppose.”
An arrested expression crossed the child’s tiny features. “Then you lied,” she pronounced in accents of shock.
Puzzled over the little girl’s strange reaction, Leandra opened her mouth to explain that it wasn’t a lie, merely an exaggeration, but Liza chose that very moment to enter the room. Rhiannon sent the duchess one last look of reproach and darted from the room.
Liza glanced at the fleeing child then back at Leandra. “What was that all about, your grace?”
“She wanted to show me her doll.” Leandra shot her maid a puzzled look. “Do you know much about children, Liza?”
“A little,” replied the little maid with an air of curiosity. “My mama had ten, me being the oldest. Seven of us survived. Is this the dress you were wanting to wear today?” she asked, pointing to the wool gown draped over a chair.
“Yes,” said the duchess. She sat down at her dressing table and allowed Liza to brush out her hair and style it in a simple chignon with a few loose curls framing her face. “I wonder why Rhiannon was so upset when she thought I was lying?” wondered Leandra aloud.
“Is that what had the girl in such a pother? I do suppose it were the fact that her mama lied so much to her husband.”
Leandra turned in her chair, eyeing her maid severely. “What are you talking about?”
Liza took a nervous step back. “Lady Greville’s maid did say as how her ladyship had that little girl out of wedlock and then married his lordship and did never tell him. He didn’t know until the child were kidnapped by her real papa.”
Leandra’s mind raced. Aurora had admitted Rhiannon was her daughter but Leandra had simply assumed the child was Lord Greville’s as well—it was a natural assumption. Apparently, she was not. It was equally apparent that the earl had already drilled into his stepdaughter how wrong it was to lie.