The Duke's Undoing (Three Rogues and Their Ladies) (18 page)

“I will not leave you.” She turned to the other gentleman who was wearing a black domino, like the duke’s. “Sir,” she pleaded, “this gentleman is the Duke of Ruisdell. Could you please find the Marquis of Somerset? I am certain he is in the card room. I have no idea how he is dressed. And please bring some other strong men. We must get the duke into a carriage.”

The gentleman made a cursory reply and hastened off at a run, back to the ballroom. The two women stood by. One, dressed as an opera dancer, asked, “Are you going to take that nasty thing out?”

“I don’t know what to do,” Elise confessed.

The other woman, a medieval princess, said, “I’m not sure, but I think it will bleed more if you take it out. I only hope it has not punctured a lung. It is too high for the heart, I think.”

Elise was frantic. She could not lose him. Not now. He was far too dear to her. Sending up a prayer, she tried to ask him what to do. “My love, my darling, hold on. Can you tell me how I should proceed?”

“Keep the damned thing in. Richards. A soldier. Will know what to do.”

Remembering that Richards was the duke’s valet, she began praying that the duke would live long enough to see him again. Then she felt his body go limp.

Oh, God in heaven! Don’t let him be dead!
She felt his neck for a pulse.

“He is unconscious,” she said to the princess, who was bending over to look at the wound. “But alive.”

“I think he must be bleeding internally. In spite of what he said, I think his chest cavity may be filling with blood. I think we should take the knife out,” the dancer said and gestured to the tulle of her skirt. “My skirts are only netting. Have you got linen petticoats under your dress?”

“Of course.” Elise’s mind started working again. “I cannot reach them with his head on my shoulder. Can you tear off the flounce?”

Pulling up the red brocade, the dancer and the princess grabbed separate flounces and began to tear them off. Quickly they folded them into squares.

Elise felt prompted to pull the stiletto out, believing the ballerina to be right. She wanted the blood to flow out of his body, so she could stop it with the makeshift bandage.

“One, two, three,” she said softly. Pulling out the stilletto, she quickly placed one of the makeshift pads over the wound and pressed down as hard as she could. It was instantly soaked with blood.

“Could I have the other one?” she asked her accidental assistants.

Just as she was applying it, the gravel announced more reinforcements. In a moment, the marquis was at her side, followed by four other men in costume.

“He asked for you before he fainted,” she told George. “It was Waterford.”

Somerset assumed command, sending one of his small army for a hackney. “We need another bandage. Here!” He had shed his domino and was pulling off his cravat. One of Elise’s female assistants formed another bandage.

“Westover,” Somerset commanded, “go for the sawbones. Have him meet us at Shearings.”

The man who had been chasing Robert returned. “Damn and blast! The man shed his domino. Streets are crowded with men in evening dress. I have no idea where he went.”

A shout came from the gate. “Hackney’s here.”

Another man offered his cravat, and Somerset used it to tie the pad to the duke’s shoulder. As the four men carefully raised Ruisdell and carried him off, Elise started to follow, but then remembered her aunt. Disheveled as she was, she had no desire to reenter the ballroom. “Would you mind going for my aunt?” she asked the opera dancer. “She’s sitting with the chaperones. Lady Clarice Manton, dressed as a shepherdess. Quite plump. I’ll go out the garden gate and try to summon our carriage.”

By the time she and Aunt Clarice finally arrived at Shearings, the doctor was just ahead of them. As though it were the most natural thing in the world, Elise and her aunt followed him into the house and then into the downstairs’ library. The duke lay on a leather sofa on his chest with his unconscious head turned to the side. Someone had removed his shirt, exposing his torso with its beautifully defined muscles. She remembered that he was a boxer.

For some reason, this memory tore at her, and now that his survival no longer demanded that she be stoic, tears began coursing down her cheeks as the doctor made his examination.

“It’s going to be a case of wait and see, after I stitch him up. It’s a good sign that there is no blood in his mouth or nose. That means the lung wasn’t nicked. What we’re dealing with is loss of blood. I have no way of knowing the extent of the internal bleeding. And, of course, there is the possibility of infection.” For a few moments no one said anything as he stitched the small wound shut.

Elise realized she was still clutching the stiletto.

“Here,” she said, dropping the knife on the coffee table. “This is what he was stabbed with.”

The doctor stood and took the knife into his hands. “Hmm, a wicked dagger. Antique. Italian, I think.”

“He was stabbed by the Earl of Waterford,” she told him. “He just returned from Italy.”

Walking behind the doctor, she knelt so her face was next to Peter’s. With everyone watching, she kissed him on the lips. “Darling, you’re going to make it. I’m going to see that you do.”

Apparently, her aunt heard her whispered words, for she said, “Come, Elise. I know you want to stay, but it is not proper. This is a gentleman’s house, and he is ill and not even dressed. We must go.”

She knew her aunt was right, but she refused to move. Finally, Lady Clarice enlisted the help of the marquis, who offered Elise his hand. “Come, Miss Edwards. I will see to him. Don’t you worry. He’s hardy.”

She allowed him to raise her, but numb resistance kept her standing there staring down at the man who was recently such a vital presence in her life. Moaning, she knelt again and threw her arm over his naked back. “Peter, you have got to pull through. You are a soldier. You know how to do this.” Elise kissed the furrows of muscle on his back, until her aunt said with an unwonted touch of severity, “Elise! We must go.”

Feeling as though she had no life away from the duke’s side, she left Shearings with great regret.

The following morning, Elise lay in bed, awakened by an urgency she did not at first understand. Then the events of the night before returned, and throwing her bedclothes aside, she fairly leapt from her bed and summoned Kitty.

“I’m sorry, miss,” Kitty apologized. “Lady Clarice asked that I let you sleep. She said how you had a bad time last night.”

“Yes.” Elise had few secrets from her maid. “The duke was stabbed by the Earl of Waterford right in front of my eyes. He was unconscious when I left him. I am most anxious to find how he fares this morning. Could you ask one of the footmen to go around to Shearings and see how he does? He has been so kind to me.”

But Kitty placed the
Morning Post
on the bed. “Lady Clarice says as how I was to give you this, miss, as soon as you woke up. She says to tell you that she has kept it away from Lady William. I will go find your aunt now and tell her you are awake. She is in a rare state, miss. I have never seen her so bothered.”

Elise had never known Kitty to be so loquacious. Not having a clue what to expect, she took up the newspaper and climbed back under the bedclothes.

Directly under her announcement concerning her engagement to the duke appeared, in the boldest of type: “Duke of Ruisdell Fatally Stabbed in Love Triangle.” Her heart lurched, and tears stung her eyes. Then blackness came crashing down.

When she came to herself, her aunt was holding
sal vitale
under her nose. Jerking away from it, Elise could not credit that she had actually fainted.

Her aunt’s voice was soothing. “Yes, dear one. I knew you would take it hard. It is a horrible tragedy. How much did you read?”

“Only the headline. That was enough.”

“Unfortunately, there is more. I’ll just tell you, shall I?”

“Yes, please. Is it very bad?”

“I’m sorry to say, I don’t think it could be worse. There is the whole tale of your three engagements to Waterford, Chessingden, and Ruisdell. You are portrayed as the veriest siren. The duke is said to have met his death at the hand of Waterford.”

“But it’s all true, Aunt.” She began to emit helpless sobs.

Her aunt held her close while she cried. Elise remembered the still warm back that she had embraced, the feel of the muscles she had kissed. Then she recalled his teasing. “Are you ready to find out if we can thrill each other to the tips of our toes?”

Knowing now she would never have that kiss, her sobs increased, and she buried herself in her pillows to muffle them. She was shattering into countless pieces. This time, she would never put herself together again.

“We must get you away, darling. This morning. You must pull yourself together.”

Elise tried to do as her aunt bade, but her sobs only lessened into helpless weeping.

“Perhaps I killed him by taking the knife out. I should have left it in like he said. I was afraid he would drown in his blood.”

“Do not think of it, Elise,” her aunt’s voice was more stern than she had ever heard it. “Now, listen to me. Stephen had a small estate in Yorkshire that was not included in the entail, so it came to me, along with this house. You and I are going to go there as soon as Kitty can get you packed. We will take the post chaise. No one but Sukey will know where we have gone. We will stay the remainder of the summer. Then, in the fall, I think we might venture to Bath in order to test the waters socially. We will know then what it is you are facing.”

“Ruin, most likely.” Elise did not even care. She kept seeing the stiletto in Peter’s back, wondering if her actions had caused his death. It did not seem possible, but the depth of the pain clenching her heart was comparable to what she had felt on learning of Joshua’s death. “I never want to come back to London, Aunt.”

“We will face that when it is time. Now we are going to Yorkshire. You must be very brave, my dear. Save your mourning until we have escaped town. We must bend all our efforts at this moment to accomplishing that goal.”

“And Mother? Are we just leaving her here?”

“Dearest Sukey is our brick. She will see to getting your mother packed off to Shropshire once we are out of the house. She has also engaged to deal with the scandal mongers. Thank goodness for her connection to the duke of Devonshire and her social standing as a daughter of a duke. We have agreed that she is to endeavor to present you in the best light possible. That you are so weighed down with grief will certainly be in our favor.”

“And you, Aunt? How does all of this reflect on you? And what can possibly occupy you for two months in deepest Yorkshire?”

“You are not to worry yourself about me. But we are wasting time. We simply must get away before Elspeth gets wind that we are going and why.”

“Yes, yes,” Elise agreed. The mere idea of her mother’s rage trumped every other emotion. She had rung for Kitty and was out of bed before her Aunt had left the room.

IN WHICH WE LEARN ABOUT EVENTS IN LONDON

My love. My darling
. Those were the words floating through Ruisdell’s mind when he at last regained consciousness. Where the devil was he? He was weak as a cat, the room, wherever it was, was dark as pitch, and the entire left side of his torso felt like it had been stabbed repeatedly. In addition, he was deuced thirsty and drenched in sweat.

Elise filled his mind with unexpected urgency.
My love. My darling.
Those were her words. From somewhere inside his soul, rejoicing grew until it filled him, overshadowing the weakness and pain in his body. It didn’t seem possible, but she loved him!

Why should he be so surprised? Had he not set out to make it so? Shame killed his rejoicing. He did not deserve her love. He was an unprincipled rake. But Elise Edwards had fallen in love with him, and he must have a heart somewhere, because even in his present condition, it made him deliriously happy that it was so. Was she here somewhere?

He struggled to say her name, but the only thing that emerged from his parched throat was a croak. Richards was at his side in a moment.

“Your Grace!” he said with uncustomary emotion. “We did not think you were going to survive!”

“Why? What’s wrong with me? Where am I?”

“You were stabbed, Your Grace. In the gardens at Reardon House. You lost a deal of blood, but what almost carried you away was fever. You’ve been delirious for four days. Judging by how wet your sheets are, I’d say that the fever has finally broken.”

As though reading his mind, the valet poured him a large glass of water from the pitcher somewhere behind his head. “Here, drink this.”

While Rusidell slaked his thirst, his eyes grew accustomed to the dimness. “The library?” he said. “What the devil? I was stabbed? Who stabbed me?”

“We brought you in here because it was the only place on the ground floor with a couch. You were allegedly stabbed by the Earl of Waterford, Your Grace, and though he is in custody, he denies it. However, he is being held on the kidnapping charge. His trial is next Monday in the House of Lords.”

“You must get me Somerset. I must have the latest news.”