Revealed (35 page)

He must have realized he’d been spotted, because the man—Phillippa’s stranger—took off like a bullet, disappearing behind the rise of the hill.

Marcus hesitated only a moment. Then he abandoned the stables to the crowd that had begun to gather and took off after the man.

A cry of “Wait for me!” echoed behind him, as Phillippa joined in the footrace.

Phillippa, when she put her mind to it, could move surprisingly fast. Marcus, however, was faster, and he was not about to obey her dictate and wait for her. His objective was to catch the man who moved with lightning speed across the paddocks and back toward the house.

Even in the dark, it was easy to keep his eyes on the man. He was the only one moving away from the stables; everyone else they passed was moving toward them. Marcus’s long legs ate up the ground with remarkable speed. Closing the distance between them, Marcus was within a few dozen feet of his quarry when the stranger took a sharp turn and disappeared into the Hampshires’ reknowned hedge maze.

“Damn it!” Marcus spat, as Phillippa came up behind him, gasping for breath. The maze had a twelve-foot wall of thick boxwood hedge and three other ways in and out; they couldn’t post a sentry at each entrance. The only way to keep track of the man was to follow him in. That was the best and perhaps the only chance they’d have to catch him. “Come on,” he said, grabbing Phillippa’s hand as they plunged into the maze’s dark recesses.

Marcus started to the left, as he had seen the stranger do. But from there, he could only follow his instincts. A right, a left, another left. He was certain they were within feet of the stranger; he followed the sound of shuffling feet and concentrated on the panicked puffs of breathing he could hear under the ongoing fireworks spectacular.

They passed a few other couples frolicking in the maze, playing hide-and-seek. Either they didn’t know about the disaster going on at the stables, or they used it to their advantage. But their giggles and breathless laughter floated eerily over the hedges and unfortunately masked the stranger’s movements, momentarily confusing Marcus. He pressed on, following, following . . .

But when he tried to take another corner, he was held by Phillippa, pulling him in the other direction.

“He went this way,” she said in a whisper.

“No, he went this way,” Marcus replied.

“We just came from over there; we went in a big circle. I recognize that hedge!”

“Its all the same hedge!” he argued. Then, “You’re sure?”

“Four lefts take us back to where we started,” she replied, exasperated. “If he’s trying to get out, he had to go this way.”

Marcus looked to the left, then the right. And for once, he allowed Phillippa to guide him.

She moved with certainty, cutting through the maze with the knowledge of one who’d mapped its secrets before, from previous weekend parties. She cut right, then another right, then led them down a straight path to what must have been near to the heart of the maze, when at the end of the row, Marcus saw the figure in the dark. And the glint of metal in his hand.

Marcus pulled Phillippa to him, threw her into the hedge, and covered her body with his own before the shot rang out. He felt her body freeze against his. And time held them there.

Have to move
.

Have to move
now
.

Together they reversed course, running as fast as they could back the way they came, before another shot could rend the air.

Sprinting, they turned the corner, then another, retraced their steps. Phillippa outran Marcus this time, fear lighting her movements and pain slowing his. But she never let go of his hand. Until, on another turn, she ran directly into someone else.

“Omph!” Phillippa cried, as she and the lady were both flattened to the ground.

“Hey!” came a familiar voice, and as she looked up, Marcus recognized that it belonged to Lady Jane Cummings.

Both ladies regained their feet, Lady Jane regarding Phillippa with a sneer. “What do you think you’re doing?” Lady Jane harrumphed. “How dare you assault me! And what are you doing with Mr. Worth? What kind of game—”

But her accusations were to go unspoken, for at that moment, another shot came from behind them.

“Jane, get down!” Phillippa cried, tackling her archenemy to the floor. Marcus ducked. The bullet whizzed over their heads, penetrating the hedge and landing there.

“Move!” Marcus cried, taking Phillippa’s hand and dragging both her and Lady Jane around the corner.

As they all regained their feet, Lady Jane cried, “Someone’s shooting at you!”

“We know!” Phillippa replied.

“Phillippa, who’s shooting at you?” Her voice was bordering on hysteria, and Marcus’s strength was sapping from him. They were someplace he didn’t recognize. Someplace . . . lost . . .

Phillippa took charge, grabbing Lady Jane’s arm and saying, “We need to get out of here. Do you know the way?”

Jane, pale and frightened, nodded immediately. “I found the way out three times already. We have to go . . . this way.” And as she moved briskly in that direction, Phillippa and Marcus followed.

Quick turns, panicked glances over their shoulders, Marcus was led along by the two women. From pursuer to pursued, they moved quickly to their destination, and finally he saw the lights from the house.

Marcus nearly cried in relief, for as they breached the exit of the hedge maze, finding themselves at the far end of Lady Hampshire’s fountain garden, they were greeted by the sight of crowds of people, watching either the fireworks burst into intricate shapes, or the haze of bright yellow light on the sky that was the stables.

Either way, their adversary could not fire into a crowd.

Phillippa and Lady Jane nodded to each other, assumed faces of composure that belied their mussed appearances, as they began to edge their way into the mass of people.

Marcus would have laughed, if he’d had the ability. But he didn’t. And as he, Phillippa, and conspicuously in front of them, Lady Jane, crossed the threshold from the gardens into the house, his knees gave out on him.

The bullet in his shoulder had finally sapped his strength.

“Marcus?” Phillippa whispered as he slumped against her shoulder. His weight leaned into her, and she brought her hand to his face, maneuvered him to meet her eyes. He was foggy, unfocused, but when he found her gaze, he locked on, as if his life depended on it.

Then she saw the blood.

Her hand had brushed against the dark wool covering his far shoulder, and when she drew it back, her once cream glove was smeared with a bright rusty red, wet and sticky.

“Marcus!” she cried, losing all sense of secrecy, examining his arm as his body fell against hers. The wool of his dark coat was punctured, a small hole dug deep into the back of his muscular right shoulder.

“Jane!” Phillippa called out, drawing her attention. Lady Jane turned, her face still schooled in an impassive mask. However, when she saw Phillippa’s distress, her eyes widened in shock.

Phillippa could only thank God for medium-scale disasters. For on an average day, Lady Jane Cummings coming to Mrs. Phillippa Benning’s aid would be gossiped about immediately. But since this was no ordinary day, it went largely unnoticed by those people headed out of the house to watch the various spectacles.

“He’s shot,” Phillippa said in a whisper, as Lady Jane went even paler.

“Oh my God! We have to tell Lord Hampshire. We have to call the magistrate!”

“No!” Phillippa ejaculated. “Jane, we can’t tell anyone! No one, do you understand?” When Jane nodded slowly, Phillippa continued. “Can you find his brother? He’ll know what to do.”

“Who?”

“His brother, Byrne. He’s got dark hair, pale complexion, a cane.”

Marcus lifted his head from Phillippa’s shoulder, fighting for consciousness, mumbling. “He was in the ballroom.”

“I’m going to take Marcus to his chamber; have Byrne meet us there,” Phillippa commanded, and then, before Lady Jane could turn and leave, “Jane, this is serious. No one can know.”

She nodded, then disappeared into the crowd, moving determinedly toward the ballroom.

Marcus’s long weight pushed against Phillippa’s side as he spoke into her ear. “Can you trust her?”

It was a risk, she knew. They were trusting her worst enemy with their biggest secret. But Jane had been so cool under pressure, getting them out of the maze. And a decade ago, Phillippa had trusted Jane with every secret and vice versa.

But, this was not ten years ago. She and Jane were different people now. How different, was the material question.

Refusing to acknowledge her mixed feelings, Phillippa simply blew out a breath and smiled encouragingly. “We’ll have to.” Then, once she saw him nod limply, she forced his eyes to her face.

“We have to move now,” she said.

There were fewer people coming out of the ballroom now, heading toward the garden, but they had been observed enough to raise a few eyebrows. The dark wool of Marcus’s coat camouflaged the most obvious clue to his injury, and most attendants of the party were too happily intoxicated or self-involved to pay him much mind.

But if he should fall to the floor unconscious, that would change, and quickly.

“Come on,” Phillippa urged, willing Marcus to take the next step. Slowly they crossed the hall and found the staircase leading up to the west wing. Phillippa held him up, but Marcus, resolute and determined as he was, still stumbled once when ascending the stairs.

“Too much wine,” Phillippa smiled as an excuse to Mrs. Biddington, as they passed her on the stairs. Mrs. Biddington was luckily so rarely in the company of the Incomparable Mrs. Benning that she willingly accepted this explanation, nodded blindly, and hurried down the stairs.

By the time they reached Marcus’s room, his complexion was beyond pale. But he kept moving forward, determined, taking the next step, and the next, and the next, until he was finally at his bedchamber.

She saw him hesitate at the door. “Come,” Phillippa murmured, “let’s get you to bed.”

But Marcus shook his head, the faintest particle of a smile crossing his face before resuming its stark, intense demeanor. “Check . . . check the room. I have to. Make sure—it’s safe.”

Marcus reached for the doorknob, but his hand shook so violently as he did, Phillippa squealed and stilled his hand with her own. “I’ll do it,” she said. “Wait here.”

He looked as if he might veto her, but Phillippa was brooking no arguments right now. Before he could stop her, she transferred Marcus’s weight from her side to the doorframe and slid inside.

The bedchamber was dark, neat. No disturbance had taken place there. Not knowing exactly the best way to check a room for potential enemies, Phillippa quickly searched the best hiding places. She threw open the wardrobe, checked under the bed, in the valet’s antechamber. Nothing.

Throwing open the bedchamber door, she found that Marcus, fighting the black sleep of unconsciousness, was not alone.

Byrne and Lady Jane had arrived.

“You left him in the hall?” Byrne whispered coldly as he wrapped his brother’s uninjured side around his shoulders, walking him into the room.

“Byrne, its all right,” Marcus said woozily.

“He . . . he told me to check the room,” Phillippa said defensively, as she guided them in.

“And?” Byrne shot back.

“And nothing; it’s safe.”

Byrne grunted in reply, easing Marcus onto the bed. Sitting seemed to help, as the extertion he had lent to walking could now be concentrated on breathing, color returning slightly to his cheeks. She sat down next to him on the bed, holding him up as Byrne inspected the hole in Marcus’s shoulder. “No exit wound. And the bullet’s deep.”

“I know,” Marcus said on a laugh, which quickly turned into a grimace of pain.

“Marcus,” Byrne said, his voice soaked in regret, “I should’ve—I’m sorry I didn’t—”

“We’ll do the ‘I told you so’ later,” Marcus gritted. “Right now, would you be so kind as to get the bullet out of my shoulder?”

“Should I call for a doctor?” Lady Jane said from the other side of the room.

“No!” Marcus, Phillippa, and Byrne cried together.

Marcus looked to Phillippa, cocked one eyebrow rakishly, nodded in Jane’s direction.

Phillippa got the message, and went to Lady Jane’s side. “Jane, can you help us? We’ll need, um, fresh water, and . . .” Unable to think of other necessary supplies, she turned to Marcus and Byrne.

“Linens, lots of them. Ointment, whatever you can find,” Marcus supplied.

“And brandy,” Byrne finished.

“Phillippa,” Jane said, pitching her voice low, “please let me call for a doctor. I can’t go scouring through a strange house looking for things like that, I’ll be caught.”

“Says the girl who single-handedly raided the kitchens of Mrs. Humphrey’s School to throw a tea party at midnight when we were ten.” Phillippa countered, earning a challenging smile from Lady Jane.