Let It Snow (32 page)

“Sir,” she called as she went over to her savior. “Sir, are you able to move?”

A long groan was his response.

“I must get you to my house. Can you lift up?”

“Bloody hell.”

Violet ignored that. He groaned and was able to move, but he looked almost as bad as the dead man on the ground. Blood stained his chest and there was a big gash on his head. It was hard to tell how badly he was injured because she couldn’t be sure how much blood was his and how much blood was from his attacker.

Gingerly, she placed her arm under his and tried to brace him and lift him up. He weighed as much as a horse, so she stumbled as he started to fall back. She managed to catch him before he hit the ground.

“I’m going to need your help if we’re going to get you into the carriage.”

“Just lurve mer.” The words were barely intelligible.

He must be delusional if he thought she would abandon him on the side of the road after he’d saved her life. “No. I will not leave you here.” She smacked him lightly on the side of the face. “Soldier, you are not dying on this field today. Get up and do your duty, by God.” It was something she’d said before and the old habit came back to her now.

It seemed to work though, for she could feel him bracing his weight on her as he struggled to stand. Together, they stumbled their way to the curricle. Her driver had finally made it up the road. His eyes widened when he saw the bloody and beaten gentleman in her arms.

“My lady!”

“Hinkley, help me!”

The driver rushed forward to help her, taking brunt of the gentleman’s weight as they carried him to the carriage.

“What the hell happened?”

Violet gave him a pointed look, but she chose not to reprimand him for his foul language. It
had
been one hell of an afternoon.

“Begging forgiveness, ma’am.”

Together they hoisted the gentleman into the seat and made sure he was still conscious.

“As soon as we make it home, you are to go and fetch Dr. Littleton at once.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Violet looked at the gentleman, whose name she still did not know, and prayed to God that he would survive this night. Fearing he might slip away at any moment, she gripped his hand tightly.

He looked too pained to speak, so she refrained from saying anything more than necessary. But her hand held fast to his and his pulse throbbed, assuring her that for now, at least, he was alive.

* * * *

Kit had been on the long road toward Yorkshire when he’d come upon thieves threatening a lady. He’d managed to take down one man, but the other had stolen the carriage before he could reload his pistol.

In all his life, he had never seen a woman such as this one. She fought off thieves armed with only a basket, and she’d pushed a man out of a moving carriage. Her dress, speech, and the well-kept horses identified her as a lady, but she was totally unlike the meek and demure young misses who followed him around town. Girls like that eventually ran from him because he was no gentleman.

He boxed, he gambled, he kept the company of courtesans. He was worse than a rake. Yet he could not stand the thought of that wretch robbing and raping a woman in the middle of the road. The man was after money, but who would pass up such a beauty?

So he’d jumped in to save her.

Now they were scrambling on the ground, kicking and gouging and punching one another. The man was little, but wiry, and his fists were thick.

Kit let loose the rage burning inside him. The rage against the injustice of his life, the rage against his family, the rage against this idiot who would dare to assault a lady.

It didn’t matter that his body ached and he was sure he’d come away battered purple and blue. It didn’t matter that the battle with his family was futile. What mattered was that in this moment, he could choose to fight, he could be his own man, and he could protect this woman from a fate she should never know.

Kit slammed his fist into the other man’s jaw even as his enemy scored his nails down his back, slicing the skin. Shifting his weight onto the other man, he sent them rolling again, which forced the thief to release his grip on Kit’s back.

They’d been on the ground for what seemed like hours, though it was likely only minutes. Kit needed to get to his gun or this battle would keep going until one of them passed out.

To his surprise, the man loosened his left arm, giving Kit the freedom to reach over for the gun, which had fallen to the ground in the scuffle. The muscles in his abdomen burned as he stretched his arm as far as he could. The handle was so close. He leaned left as his assailant pressed right.

Which one of them would make it first?

Kit’s fingers scraped the gun as the woman screamed. The thief lifted up, holding a large rock in his hand. Kit cocked the hammer and fired as the rock smashed into his head. Searing pain blinded him. His skull felt torn asunder.

The other man fell backward and Kit rolled, huddling in agony. Amidst the loud pounding in his ears, he could hear the voice of the woman. She wanted him to move.

“Damnation.” His chest burned. A fragment of the bullet must have hit him in the chest or perhaps he’d broken a rib. She tried to lift him, but she wasn’t strong enough to carry him. Dimly, he could smell the scent of lavender in her thick, black hair, which had come loose during the ordeal.

Her warm body cushioned his and all he could think of was how awful his luck was that he should be this close to her, but be unable to do anything about it.

He did his best to walk to her carriage, but he would’ve collapsed if her driver hadn’t come to help.

Incoherent moans were the only sounds he could make as the pain overtook him again.
Christ, what a hellish day
. And if the pain was any indication, it was only going to get worse.

He tried to lift his shirt to his head to stop the bleeding, but he could barely move. When he opened his mouth, no words came out. Just more incoherencies. She took his hand firmly in hers and he held on to it as if it would save him from the blackness he knew was coming.

His eyelids were heavy and other than her hand on his, his entire body felt as if it were burning in the everlasting flames of hell. The devil called to him, demanding his due.

His grip on her hand faltered and Violet knew she was losing him. She tapped his hand, hoping that would alert him. He did not move. But they were close to home now.

“Hinkley, hurry!”

Gently, Violet slapped the man’s face. She couldn’t let him fall asleep. If he did, she worried he might not wake up.

He coughed, but did not open his eyes. Well, that was something, at least.

“We are almost home, sir.”

Slowly, he lifted his lids and she could see his dark eyes. Their gazes held and she became very aware of the fact that her lips were inches from his and she could feel the heat of his leg against hers. She didn’t even know his name.

“You must try to stay awake for me,” she told him.

“Sleep. Good,” he mumbled.

“No. You must stay awake until the doctor comes.”

She was tempted to stroke his face. Even though his skin paled and blood ran down his temples, he was a striking man. Who was he? Did he have a wife? Violet bit her lip. That was a foolish thought considering he was wounded and likely to die if she couldn’t get a physician soon.

What if he didn’t survive the night? She’d be responsible for his death. If she’d left before dusk or if they’d had a pistol, perhaps this whole mess might have been avoided.

But then she wouldn’t have met him. Why that should matter, she wasn’t sure. Maybe she was feeling particularly sensitive after her ordeal. It wasn’t every day that a woman was rescued from bandits by a handsome gentleman. Naturally, she would feel some affinity for her savior.

They rounded a curve lined with birch trees.
Almost there
. In the distance, she could see the stone manor peeking above the copse. They were home—now the question was how quickly could they get help? She squeezed her companion’s arm, pressing firmly.

“We are nearly at Welbury Park, sir. You will stay the night here while we assess your injuries and get help.”

A soft grunt was the only response. At least he was awake.

“Can you tell me your name?” she asked. “Should I send for your family?”

His eyes widened for a moment and he shook his head as he muttered unintelligibly. There was plenty of time to find out his identity later. What mattered was keeping him alive.

“We will worry about that tomorrow,” she said. “For now, you are safe and we will get you upstairs as quickly as possible.”

The carriage came to a stop and two of the footman came out to assist her. “We need help. Get the others.”

She’d barely checked the injured man’s forehead when four men rushed out to the carriage. “Adam, I need you to see to the gentleman’s horse while Hinkley goes to the village and fetch the doctor. The rest of you help us get into the house.”

Her men took him by the arms and braced him as they walked into the house. He stumbled at the stairs, but managed to get inside. She wasn’t sure if they should carry him, but she preferred to spare him that indignity. When her husband had caught a terrible fever a few years ago, he’d hated to be coddled. It had been a battle most of the time to get him to stay in bed.

“Take him to one of the guest rooms upstairs. Be careful not to press on his injuries.”

While her footmen situated him, Violet went to find the man suitable clothes to wear. It had been three years since she’d touched any of the trunks with her husband’s things.

It had pained her to see them, so she’d moved them to the nursery. She never went into that room as it was a reminder of what she might never have. But tonight, a man’s life teetered on a precipice and she could not afford the luxuries of nostalgia and regret.

So she took a deep breath and opened the door, not sure of what she’d find. Everything was neat and tidy and the furniture looked polished. Mrs. Norris had ensured the room was well kept, despite Violet’s neglect.

She saw the trunks, neatly arranged behind a dressing screen and one under the narrow bed. She opened one of the trunks on top, hoping to find a night shirt or tunic and dressing gown.

The scent of pine mixed with leather and something else. She lifted a jacket and realized that it still smelled of him. Even after he’d been gone for three and a half years, the essence of John remained, here in this room.

Looking at his things, Violet wanted to feel hurt; she wanted to feel angry. But those emotions were as dead as her husband. Only a hint of sadness remained. Not for herself, but for the life John would never complete.

The first trunk was filled with jackets, waistcoats and trousers. She opened the next one and she was prepared when the scent of John again permeated the air. This time she found what she was looking for. She grabbed a tunic, dressing gown, stockings, and a few other necessaries.

As she stepped over the threshold into the hall, Mrs. Norris spotted her. “My lady. Do you need Miriam or Sally to go gather anything for you? I am sorry that I did not realize you were here. We will take care of everything.”

Violet smiled at her. Mrs. Norris and the butler knew everything about
everything
at Welbury Park. The housekeeper probably sought to spare her from the discomfort of going through her husband’s belongings.

While she could have sent a chambermaid to the nursery, Violet hadn’t even thought about it. Her first instinct was to see to her guest’s needs. She had two able hands and she doubted the gentleman would want her watching as they laid him in bed and stripped his clothes.

A blush crept up her cheek and she placed the back of her hand against her hot skin. When was the last time she’d blushed over a man? She could barely remember. But obviously she’d been so long without the company of a fine gentleman that she now resorted to thinking about the first handsome stranger to come to her rescue since John had died.

“Are you well, Mrs. Laurens?” the housekeeper asked. “Were you injured? Do you need me to draw up a bath or turn down your bed?”

That only served to inflame her cheeks even more. Lord help her, she was addled in the head. The word ‘bed’ sent her imagination galloping into dangerous territory.

She cleared her throat and forced herself to look Mrs. Norris in the eye. “I suffered a fright, but I am well. It is the gentleman who needs assistance. The doctor should be coming, but in the meantime, we’ll need some fresh water, towels, and any clean cloths that can be used for bandages.”

“Right away, my lady.”

Violet carried the clothes down the hall toward several servants bustling in an out of the guest room.

She stopped Sally, a blonde girl in her late teens, who was tall and gaunt, despite Mrs. Norris’ attempts to fatten her up.

“Is the gentleman safely abed? May I enter?”

“They took off his bloody things. The jacket and waistcoat are ruined, but I will try to wash the rest as best I can. Avery asked me to fetch some warm water. The gentleman is breathing and covered well enough for my lady to go in.”

Charles Avery, the butler, was the most capable man Violet had ever met. They’d taken him on when they’d returned from the war and though he was deemed unfit for the service of His Majesty, he’d served her unfailingly, even after John had died. Especially after he had died.

Violet peeked into the room and saw a maid adjusting the pillows and blankets while Avery cut strips of cloth, which she assumed were for bandages. The gentleman needed a bath, but hopefully a towel bath would do.

“Does my lady wish to stand outside and observe or does she wish to enter?” Avery asked, not looking up, but continuing to cut bandages.

Violet smiled as she walked inside. She wasn’t sure why she was trepidacious. They’d been in the same situation before, both with her husband’s illness and in the war. But something about this felt different for her.

“How is he?” she asked. “Were you able to assess his injuries?”

“The injury to his head is significant. His body is bruised, there is a small gash on his torso and the doctor will need to double check that his ribs aren’t cracked.”