Realm 06 - A Touch of Love (47 page)

Kerrington encouraged, “Charleton, Mrs. Warren, and I will see to the baron. You must finish this, Lowery. Close out the investigation, which could assure you of your future with the Home Office, and settle this feud forever.”

Mrs. Warren laid her hand gently upon Carter’s arm, and the customarily unsettling tension sparked between them. “Much of what I have overheard makes little sense,” she began. “But Lord Worthing is correct: You are the answer to all this chaos. I promise my best care for Baron Blakehell, and I charge you to offer the same for Lady Arabella.”

He would dance through fire for this woman. “Of course, we all have our duties,” he said regrettably. All Carter wanted was a few minutes alone with Lucinda Warren before she slipped from his life forever. Reluctantly, he instructed his brother, “Assist me with hoisting Woodstone onto a horse, Law. I suppose Ransing has retreated to his property in Dove Dale.”

Godown appeared with the wagon’s horses. “Beauchamp, likely has a broken leg, but your steward managed to follow his escaped prisoners. He and Lexford have everything in hand.”

“Then we have use of your special skills,” Carter said knowingly. “We have another lady to rescue. I will explain as we ride.”

Godown smirked, “I am beginning to think you see me as being cut from the same cloth as Thornhill.”

Lucinda handed Carter the reins for the horse upon which they had tied Woodstone. “You are to return safely to your father, Sir,” she said softly.

Carter leaned down to speak to her ears only. “Promise me you will remain at Blake’s Run until we can speak privately.”

“I am at the earl’s disposal,” she protested. “I can offer no such promises.” The lady looked to where Charleton fed Blakehell small sips of brandy. “Lord Charleton means for me to know a home. It has been six years since I have experienced such devotion.”

Carter knew her correct: When thrust into the worst of circumstances, Lucinda Warren had responded with courage and resolve. She deserved time to be pampered by a doting uncle. He nodded curtly to release her. “My father is not much of a drinker: The baron abstains beyond what is served with his meals,” he cautioned. He would act the role of gentleman. Carter would withdraw; he would accept the impossible: He would move on with his life.

“Then I should return to the baron’s side,” she said dutifully. “Know care, Sir Carter.”

“And you, as well, Mrs. Warren.” With that, he kicked his horse’s flanks. He did look back to see her hand rise in a final farewell. Deep in the pit of Carter’s stomach was the sinking feeling of dread: He had just ridden away again from the woman he loved. Surprisingly, the realization he loved Lucinda Warren did not scare him half as much as what he thought it might. In reality, the idea felt “right”–more right than anything else he had ever known. However, his future was named: He would continue to concentrate on his goals within the Home Office and forget his aspirations of calling Lucinda Warren “wife.”

Lucinda reluctantly returned to Baron Blakehell’s side. Raw and unadulterated grief filled her heart: There had been no time for her to express her gratitude to Sir Carter for risking everything to save her. She still held no idea of how Sir
Carter had come to ride with Lord Hellsman and the earl. It seemed whenever she knew trouble, the baronet appeared in her life.

“I am quite capable when it comes to gunshot wounds,” Lord Worthing announced. He returned her gaze. “It comes from many years in service to England while on foreign shores.”

Lucinda assured, “I am glad for the assistance.” She rinsed her bands in a bit of the brandy before using her fingertips to probe the opening more thoroughly. “It appears the volley has passed through the baron’s shoulder and out his upper arm.” She touched a particularly sensitive spot, and Blakehell grimaced. “A sliver of shrapnel is lodged against the collar bone. Where is the closest village where we might find a surgeon?”

Kerrington shook off her unspoken suggestion. “The closest surgeon, to my knowledge, is in Hayfield.”

“I fear for infection if the metal is not removed efficiently,” Lucinda whispered.

Lord Worthing asked in concern, “Do we have the means to remove it?”

Lucinda glanced about them. “The conditions are not ideal. If we had a fire where we might heat water…”

Worthing assured, “Sir Carter would not have left his father in your care if he did not believe in your ability to persevere.”

“There was the need to rescue Lady Arabella.”

“Sir Carter holds the reputation for thwarting the baron’s plans,” Worthing confided. Lucinda wondered why she had not previously recognized the source of the pain so often found in Sir Carter’s voice. In his eyes, there was always the mask to disguise the agony of guilt–that is unless he looked upon her. They held a great passion in those few stolen moments, and such a thought brought a flood of exquisite yearning to Lucinda’s heart.

She accepted Viscount Worthing’s explanation without comment. “Then we should not disappoint the baronet.”

Within minutes, she cut the skin of the baron’s shoulder, opening the wound further and permitting it to bleed again. The blood would assist in cleansing the injury. It was not exceptionally deep, and, thankfully, Mr. Woodstone had not been an accurate shot, but Lucinda recognized the seriousness of the situation. She had witnessed many men die from lesser wounds, and the conditions were far from ideal. In addition, Baron Blakehell
had passed the prime of his life. “I can see the tip,” she announced. “I will require your assistance, Lord Worthing.”

The viscount adjusted his position, keeping Blakehell’s upper arm braced under his leg. “Tell me what you require.”

“Dip your knife in the brandy and then use it to flay open the skin while I cut around the metal to loosen it.” She glanced to the pain contracting the baron’s countenance. “We must work quickly.”

“I am at your disposal, Ma’am.” Lord Worthing followed her instructions perfectly, and Lucinda wondered if he should not have been the one cutting into Blakehell’s flesh.

Slowly and meticulously, she cut the exposed tissue to free the piece of metal. Finally, she caught the tip between her index finger and thumb. Gently lifting upward, Lucinda released the shrapnel from the skin. Holding it tightly in her grasp, she slipped it into a pocket in her day dress. “Hand me the bandages,” she instructed. Her uncle passed the rolled strips of muslin to her. Lucinda cut a section from the end of one roll and folded it several times to pack the opening and to staunch the blood flow. Next, she drizzled more of the brandy over the wound. “Permit me to wrap the baron’s shoulder so he cannot move it, and then we should set a course for Blake’s Run.”

“I will see to the horses and the wagon,” Kerrington announced as he stood. Lucinda thought it miraculous Sir Carter’s associates–all men of the aristocracy–possessed skills of the common man. She had seen more than one aristocratic military officer without even the ability to mount his steed unless his batman gave him a boost.

“Thank you, Ma’am,” the baron said through dry lips.

Lucinda nodded her acceptance. “Rest now, Baron. We shall return you to the baroness’s care as quickly as possible.” Lucinda stood and rotated her shoulders. Every muscle in her body ached. “I mean to find a private setting,” she whispered to the earl.

“Not too far, my Dear,” he warned.

Lucinda smiled easily at the man–her natural father. He was truly a good man. She had lost everyone for whom she cared, and it was wonderful to discover Lord Charleton would risk everything for her. “Just a moment to compose my emotions,” she said lamely. She squeezed the earl’s hand and wandered off into the wood line. Dutifully, Lucinda tended to her personal needs and
straightened her clothing. It had been nearly four and twenty hours since she had agreed to share the colonel’s papers with her uncle. In that short time, her life had taken another drastic turn.

She reluctantly admitted in hindsight, Matthew Warren’s selfish nature had thickened into a carapace, no longer easily disguised. Her late husband had taken what he wanted with no consideration for others. Captain Warren was not half the man Sir Carter Lowery was. “Even when he was nothing more than a young Lieutenant Lowery, the baronet walked with confidence. He is a natural leader. Even his older, titled associates bow to the baronet’s wishes.” And despite her best efforts, Lucinda had come to adore the man’s customarily mocking smile.

“The baronet is a dangerous man,” she whispered a chastisement. “Dangerous to any woman’s heart.” She was too aware of him, and Lucinda feared one day she would succumb to his charms. “And then where shall I be? Sir Carter can never choose me. Even with Lord Charleton’s approval, I am steeped in scandal. It is best for me to accept my ‘uncle’s’ kindness and carve out a life of caring for the earl and possibly for Simon. It shall be enough–more than for which I could have hoped when I departed Brussels.” Yet, her acknowledgement of the truth did little to allay her despair. What Lucinda feared most was how her heart would burst from no longer knowing the baronet.

From the Peaks to Dove Dale was another long, exhausting ride, and Carter could no longer feel his legs. Numbness had invaded every pore of his being. It had been a very silent journey. Law’s desire to secure his wife’s safety had driven Carter’s brother to distraction.

“It is the way of men,” the marquis had said sagely. “I would have ridden from one shore to another if in doing so it would have returned Grace to me. A man’s physical comforts are nothing without a woman to share them.” In January, the marquis had foolishly driven his wife from his home in a jealous rage, and Lord Godown had spent nearly three months searching for the former Grace Nelson. It had been quite the humiliation. The infamous Marquis of Godown had married the destitute sister of Baron Nelson, a man on the brink of bankruptcy.

“What if a woman’s reputation is so riddled with scandal she becomes an encumbrance?” Carter had asked tentatively.

The marquis scowled–a rueful grimace. “You must recall how I tormented myself and all those within earshot over what I righteously believed to be Lady Godown’s betrayal. Yet, even as I openly listed Grace’s supposed faults, I knew I would never know happiness without her. A bit of outrage will die away with time, but there will never be another Grace. She is my other half.”

Carter paused, marshalling his thoughts of Lucinda Warren into articulate images. “Then you hold no regrets?”

Godown shook his head in amusement. “Do you know with a simple smile, my wife can drive away my most foul mood? That Lady Godown can turn that simple smile into a seductive proposal? I have no means of knowing how she has the ability to dispel gloom and fill my house with cheer, but she does. My only regret is Grace will sleep alone in our bed this night and my son will not know his father’s nightly kiss for the first time in his short life. Everything I require in life can be found at Gossling Hill.”

Law joined them as they dismounted. “What should we do with Woodstone?”

“Tie him to a tree, and keep the gag on him. We do not want him sounding an alarm.”

Godown said, “I will see to our prisoner. It will give you time to develop a plan, Lowery.”

Carter nodded his appreciation. He and Law watched the manor for movement. “Assuming Woodstone has not led us on a fool’s task, we must discover where Ransing holds Arabella,” he whispered.

Law confessed coldly, “I hope Woodstone speaks with two tongues for if not, I mean to kill Viscount Ransing this evening.”

Carter had never heard his brother speak with such icy tones. They studied the drive. It wound its way through the woodland. “We must devise a plan to tease Ransing and his men from the house,” he thought aloud. “A rider-less horse, perhaps. Or a fire in the stable.”

“How would a rider-less horse draw the viscount from the manor?” Law asked with a touch of impatience.

“If we remove the saddle, it will appear the horse has lost its way and simply seeks a stall and hay. As a horseman, I think Ransing will respond. In addition, the ploy will provide us with a better idea of how many men we face.”

“What of Lord Godown?” Law remarked sourly.