A Desperate Wager (18 page)

Sarah drew out of the passionate kiss. She was far too excited by it. Her fingers itched to pull Nathaniel’s shirt from his pantaloons and push her hand down the front of them. She wanted to feel his hard length glide through her palm again and know she was the reason for his groans of pleasure. He rested his head at the crook of her neck, still grasping the arm of her new chair.

“
Devil take it, Freckles, you are going to send me to Bedlam.” She chuckled and rested her cheek on the back of his head. It was good to be back on an even keel with her husband. This past week had been so difficult.

A knock on the door startled both of them
, and Nate stood and returned to his chair, the evidence of his arousal hidden once again beneath the desk as he called in the footman.

“
Ah, excellent. Put them over there.” The footman obeyed, bowed and left. “Well, Your Grace, much though I would very much desire to tumble you over my desk, we have work to do.” Sarah felt the heat in her cheeks. She had wondered if it was possible to do such a thing on a desk. After all, was a desk so different to the way he had tumbled her on their bed just after arriving at Kirkbourne. Her blood boiled at the thought of lying across the wood as he lifted her skirts and did scandalous things to her willing body with his tongue.

“
Yes, I really would like to get on.”

“
You seem rather hot and bothered, Freckles,” Nathaniel said as he rose, his voice dripping with fashionable ennui. The bulge in his pantaloons, however, told her there was not boredom in that part of his body.

“
Well, the weather is beginning to grow warm. Would you mind opening a window?”

Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed. She assumed he was considering if she truly did want the window open
, or if she was just trying to distract from the reactions his kisses drew from her. He nodded curtly and pulled up the window sash. She breathed deeply as the slight wind blew in, relieving the heat in her face.

“
So how do you propose we do this?”

“
If you bring my crutches over, I’ll practice just standing initially. I need to strengthen my legs.”

He walked over to her crutches and picked them up while her gaze raked down his strong, muscular thighs and the highly polished hessian boots. Could this really be the same man who had sobbed against her in a drunken stupor? He looked so strong and in command of himself. But if she was honest, he did only seem to have the one weakness
, and it was made worse by whatever had happened with this Crosby fellow.

“
What is it?” he asked as he returned holding the crutches. She had obviously been staring at him. He looked down at his pantaloons as if expecting to find a large stain or tear in the fabric. “I cannot help the effect you have on me at times,” he grumbled.

She giggled.
“I was not staring at you your err… impressive… umm…”

“
Cock?” he supplied. She threw her head back, this time with a hearty laugh.

“
Quite. I was not staring at your cock, impressive though it may be. Rather I was admiring your pantaloons and how form-fitting they are and I was considering just how much I like your form.”

“
You like my physique?” He arched an eyebrow.

“
Stop fishing for compliments, Kirkbourne.”

He stopped in front of her.

“You never call me Kirkbourne. You call me ‘Your Grace’ when you try to push me away, Nathaniel most of the time in an attempt to annoy me and Nate when you forget to try to annoy me. What do you mean by calling me Kirkbourne?”

She hadn’t meant anything by it. Perhaps she had wanted to draw a little distance between them so they could work. It was fine to flirt with him, but they both knew where flirting could lead and calling him ‘Your Grace’ had seemed too cold.

“It is your name… or your title at least. Come, let us see if I can stand. I fear you may have to help me up.”

Nathaniel approached and handed her the crutches. She grabbed one and then the other and ensured her feet were flat on the floor. Gritting her teeth, she pulled on the crutches, lifting her bottom an inch or two off the seat
. Her feet slid from under her and she ended up back on the seat. She tried again with the same result.

“
Damn!” she grunted.

“
If I may make a suggestion,” Nathaniel started.

“
You may.”

“
Perhaps we should build up your strength standing first rather than building up the muscles you use to get yourself into a standing position.”

She tilted her head, considering the suggestion. That would make more sense. If she could already achieve the final position, getting into it would be easier.

“That is an excellent idea.” He bent and pulled her up to her feet, one large hand on the small of her back, his foot in front of her toes, preventing her feet from slipping. She leaned into him, inhaling his musky scent.

As he moved carefully around her, her knees began to buckle, but he caught her under the arms and pulled her back against his front
. He pivoted her so she was side on to the window. The wind on her bare arm caused her to shiver.

“
I can close the window, but I would have to sit you down again.”

“
No, I am fine.”

“
Good. I am doing to step back and see if you can stand alone. Be careful. If you hurt yourself we shall not continue. It is too dangerous,” he growled.

His warm body moved
, and immediately her knees buckled as his hands moved from her sides. Time and time again the same thing happened. They must have tried it at least three dozen times and her thighs were beginning to ache.

“
Devil take it,” she growled, stomping her crutch on the floor in sheer temper.

“
Shh! No need to curse, my love. Tell me why you think this will work?”

“
I do not know that it will work, but I am hopeful. My father used to read Latin books to me when I first was injured.”

“
You know Latin?”

“
A little, though I really mean he would translate them to me. He graduated from Cambridge having studied Latin and Greek. He believed that translating it as he told me the stories kept his mind active. Anyway, he read a book about Twelve Roman Emperors, one of them being Claudius. Claudius had something wrong with his legs, they know not what the illness was. Anyway, he worked at the problem and through sheer determination he made his legs strong.”

“
But he did not break his back, did he?”

“
No, but it is worth the attempt, would you not agree? I know I shall never walk properly or with ease, but you would like me not to have to wear braces.”

“
I do not have an issue with your braces per se. I just believe the ones you have are unyielding and they could be made more comfortable, so they do not cause welts on your legs. Believe me, Freckles, your leg braces do not stop me being attracted to you or aroused almost constantly when I am in your company.”

She sighed as his grip tightened—one hand rising so he could rub her nipple with his forefinger, while the other forefinger pressed against the apex of her thighs
. Her muslin day dress and underskirt being no barrier to the heat of his hand, she gasped and he lowered his head, his cool, wet lips pressing onto the skin of her neck. Oh they were definitely going to have to use that desk.

And then—searing pain, the report of a pistol, horses hooves, Caesar barking somewhere in the house and her own scream. Nate swore, practically threw her onto her chair and ran out the door.

“Get Freckles!” he yelled as Sarah grabbed her upper arm, the part of her body where pain was screaming at her, consuming her, overtaking her senses. The fingers of her good hand met wetness. “The duchess. Help her!” Nate’s voice from outside the window. “Get me a horse, dammit.”

She watched, dazed, as Nate ran around the corner yelling something about not needing a saddle. He was gone
, and the pain was unbearable. It was as if she was not part of the scene. As if she was looking at a painting of herself. But she could not bear to look at the arm that was so painful she wanted someone to rip it out of her shoulder.

“
Oh good God, my poor love. Get bandages, hot water, laudanum.”

She looked from the window, aware of the horse’s hoof beats. Nate was leaving. He had left her in the care of the housekeeper, who was peeling away her good hand.
“Let me look at it, my lovie,” she said with the gentleness of a mother looking at a scraped knee.

“
I need Nate,” whispered Sarah. “Why has he left me?”

“
He has not left you, dearie. He has gone in pursuit of whoever has done this to you. He will be back. And I hope he has the blaggard around the neck.”

Sarah looked down at her good hand, the palm covered in blood.

“My hand. I need to wash it.”

“
I know. Let me stem the bleeding first though.” Sarah had been aware of a big bowl and pitcher of water being brought into the room, along with wads of linen bandages. Who were they for? God, if only the pain would stop. She looked back at her hand. It wasn’t bleeding.

Her gaze followed Mrs Jenkins’ hand as she lifted a big wad of cloth towards Sarah’s arm and as pain, worse than before, gripped her very soul, everything went black.

Nate threw himself on the unsaddled horse, the stable master giving him a final shove to ensure he was seated properly. The mare already had reins and was clearly about to go out for exercise. He dug his heels into the animal’s side, and the horse took off in pursuit.

She had been shot. He had not stopped to check how badly she was
hurt, but there was blood smeared on his hand. He had spotted it as he had grabbed the reins.

He urged the mare on. His Sarah could be dead and he would find the person who had killed her and he would avenge her death.

If only he had not opened that dashed window at her request. He followed horses hoof prints into the woods at the edge of the garden. There was no path here. No sign of the person who had shot his wife. He slowed the horse to a trot because the ground was uneven, tree roots hiding under last year’s moulding leaves. They entered the woods quietly, heading in the direction they had been travelling in towards the main road and the Trotter’s estate.

It was a dangerous path and he would not take the risk of injuring the horse. Perhaps Sarah was not dead. She had been alive as he had run out of the room. Her piercing scream had told him that.

They were now deep in the woods. He stopped the horse and listened. Nothing. No faint tattoo of horse hooves. No movement of the trees, save the slight wind. No hint as to where the potential murderer had gone. He had lost them.

Alive or dead, he had failed Sarah. He could not avenge her injury or death if he did not know who fired the pistol.

Sarah would need an apothecary or a surgeon. Damn, if they were in London there would have been plenty of surgeons around. There were always idiots like him fighting duels in Hyde Park. The nearest surgeon must be in Bath. He’d send his best rider out immediately.

He turned the horse, patting her neck, whispering soothing and apologetic words for having run her so fast. Looking back over his shoulder he made a silent vow.

He would find them, whoever they were and so help them, he would not rest until they had a noose around their neck.

The mare began the return journey, picking her way through the leaves and mud
. A few minutes later he came across a number of the servants from the stables, all on horseback.

“
We’ve come to help with the search, Your Grace,” said the stable master.

Nate waved a hand.
“I… um… I lost him. I do not even know if this is the direction in which he headed after entering the woods. I have to get back to my wife.”

“
Of course, sir. Would you mind if we continued searching? We may find some way to identify this blaggard.”

“
No, I do not mind. Whatever you think is best. Just… be careful. He has a pistol. Umm… excuse me.”

His mind was a jumble. The white hot rage that had consumed him had vanished. An urgent need to hold Sarah—
he prayed he wouldn’t have to hold a lifeless body—consumed him. As soon as he cleared the trees, he urged the mare back into a gallop. The beast threw back her head and snorted before heading back to the house at full speed.

The youngest stable hand stood off to the side of the front door, biting his lip and wringing his hands. Presumably d
eemed too young to join the manhunt, but told to await his master’s return. Nate had never seen the boy before. He slid off the horse’s back and handed the lad his reins.

“
She needs walked for a bit then she needs groomed. Do you understand?”

“
Yes, Your Grace,” the boy said, his eyes almost popping out of his head at being addressed by the duke himself. Nate nodded and took the front steps two at a time, entering the huge double doors in time to see a footman carrying Sarah out of the library. She was ghostly pale, her hand already blue. Good God.

“
She is dead!” His voice sounded hollow in his own ears.

“
Oh no, Your Grace. She swooned. I am not surprised. There was a lot of blood.”

“
She is alive?”

“
Yes, sir.” He now looked at his housekeeper and then at the footman carrying Sarah.

“
Here, let me carry her,” he said, raising his hands. The footman jerked away, and Nate saw red again. “Get your hands…”

“
Your Grace…” The housekeeper’s hand was on his sleeve. What was the world coming to? Footmen manhandling his wife, housekeepers manhandling him. He looked at the fingers resting on his coat. “Her Grace’s arm is very badly injured. It is bleeding heavily and it has a tourniquet on it. If you take her, her injured side will be against your body, possibly damaging the wound further. Let Danny carry her to her bedchamber to save her from being jostled too much.”

He looked from the hand on his sleeve to the concerned eyes of Mrs Jenkins, then to the worried gaze of the footman—and he nodded his consent.
It was after all his fault. Whoever it was must be after him. Who would want to harm Sarah? Had he not been drunk and taken that damned wager, the poor girl would be safe at home in her father’s townhouse.