An Unexpected Gift (16 page)

“Son of a bitch,” Will muttered and set Olivia away from him. He strode across the room and opened the door just enough to speak to Patrick without letting the young man see into the room. “Tell Muldoon and Banner to meet me on the dock.”

He closed the door and scooped his shirt from the floor where he’d dropped it earlier. “I have to go.”

“I know.” Olivia twisted her hair into a knot at the back of her head and began gathering her pins, putting them in her hair as she found them. “Shall I stay in case Harry needs medical attention?”

“I think it would be best if you leave.” Will shoved his arms into his shirt. “I don’t know what Hammond is up to, and I don’t want you caught up in it. I know you fear Patrick, but I have no one else to see you home.”

“Do not worry about me. Go. I know you need to.”

Will nodded and headed for the door, fastening his shirt as he went.

“Please send for me if you need me…to care for anyone.”

At her words, Will moved back to where she stood. “Thank you.” He gave her a hard kiss on the mouth and left the room.

Chapter Twelve

Olivia picked up her medical case from the chair by the door and looked around the room. Though Will wished her to go home, she found herself wanting to stay, to wait until he returned and know that he was all right. She sighed and tucked her hair behind her ear. Without all of her hairpins, the tight coil she’d pulled her hair into was already coming loose.

Unwilling to have Patrick escort her home, she decided to leave before he arrived. She opened the heavy oak door and froze. He stood on the other side, a scowl twisting his lips at the sight of her.

“Lazarus said to take ya home.”

Determined not to let him see how much he frightened her, Olivia straightened her spine and gave him a direct look. “If you will see me to the nearest hackney, there’s no need to trouble yourself further. I’ll pay you for your escort to it.”

“I don’t wan’ your blunt.” He grabbed her arm and yanked her into the hall.

She tried to pull free, but he only tightened his hold. She winced as his fingers dug into the tender flesh of her inner arm. Without a doubt, she’d bear bruises on the morrow.

“I’ll not be putting you in a hackney. Lazarus said to take ya home, and I mean to.” He frogmarched her down the hall and out the door before she had a chance to respond. Once outside he manhandled her into a battered carriage and took the seat opposite. He rapped on the roof, and the coach moved forward.

Her nerves jumping, Olivia tried to regulate her breathing. Losing control of that was the first sign of a pending panic attack. She couldn’t let him see any sign of weakness, knowing he would pounce on it like any other predator hunting its prey. Deciding to play the meek female as he expected her to be, she stayed quiet.

He too said nothing. For long moments, he watched her, his gaze causing her skin to crawl with gooseflesh. She glanced out the window, wishing the horses would go faster. She wanted nothing more than to be away from the young man who stared at her with such hatred.

“I know what you do when you’re alone with him.”

“No, I don’t think you do.” She kept a tight rein on the fear growing within her.

“Every woman who wants a bloke’s attention knows she can get it by lifting her skirts.” He raked his gaze over her starting at her feet, lingering at her breasts, before meeting her eyes once more. “I’m thinkin’ you’re no different.”

Resisting the urge to cross her arms over her chest to hide herself from his view, she rubbed her hands together instead, wishing she’d thought to wear the kid leather gloves Amanda had given her as part of “a lady’s proper wardrobe.” As a barrier they would be flimsy at best, but they would have been better than what she had now—nothing.

She cleared her throat and hoped she wasn’t about to engage in bear-baiting. “I fear you are mistaken. I am treating his bullet wound, nothing more.”

He gave her a skeptical look. “An armful like you? Always sniffing around, asking questions, trying ta learn more about him. I’m thinkin’ you’re interested in a lot more than the hole in his side.” He stuck his boot under the hem of her gown. “I’m also thinkin’ I might want to be seeing what’s under your skirts that’s leading Lazarus away from what’s important.” He lifted his foot, causing her gown to rise along with his boot, giving him a clear view of her stocking covered legs.

She slapped her skirts down and slid down the bench away from him. “Do not touch me.”

“I wasn’t touching ye.” He left his seat opposite and was beside her in a flash. “Yet.”

Olivia held out one hand to stave him off and balled her other hand into a fist. One thing Phillip had insisted on when he’d taken her to war was that she learn to fend off a man’s advances. And unfortunately, she’d had plenty of opportunities to put his lessons to use.

Patrick grabbed her outstretched arm and twisted it behind her in an instant. “Ye’ll listen to what I have to say and do what I tell ya. Ya hear?”

Her breath hitched in her throat as he yanked her hand upward. Pain shot down her arm to her hand, but she refused to make a sound. Blinking back tears, she forced herself to focus.

The hackney came to a sudden stop throwing them both off balance. Olivia jumped up and pushed out of the coach, not caring where they were. Almost boneless with relief, she realized they were in the private lane behind her home used to reach their small stable. She hurried forward, the servants’ entrance in sight, eager to put as much distance between herself and Patrick as she could, as fast as she could.

She’d taken only a few steps when she was yanked backward by her hair. Olivia cried out. A hand closed around her neck, and Patrick pulled her tight against him. Clawing at his hold with one hand, she jammed her elbow back into his ribs, brought her hand down to slam into his nether region. Anticipating the movement, he shifted at the last moment, and her fist bounced harmlessly off his thigh.

She froze as she felt the point of a knife against her neck. His hand shifted and clutched her jaw under her chin. “You’ll listen to what I has to say.”

Olivia inhaled at the sharp sting of the blade puncturing her skin.

“Are ye listening?”

“Yes.” The word came out a whisper.

“You will stay away from Lazarus. Stop asking questions ye shouldn’t be asking about him.” He dragged the knife downward, slicing the tender flesh. “Do ya understand what will happen if ye don’t do as I says?”

Feeling blood run down her neck, Olivia knew she had lost any chance to fight back. “Yes.”

In all that she had endured on the battlefield, she never expected that she would die at her brother’s home by the hand of a common thief.

“Remember it.” He released her jaw and shoved her forward.

Olivia fell to her hands and knees. She scrambled to her feet and ran toward the servants’ entrance. Looking over her shoulder, she fumbled for the handle. He was gone, the coach nowhere to be seen. She pressed a hand to her neck, applying pressure to the wound, and glanced around. She was completely alone.

She took a steadying breath and went inside. “Bridget,” she called as she closed and locked the door.

The young maid came into the room from the butler’s pantry, a soft cloth used to polish the silver in her hand. “Oh, my.” She dropped the cloth and hurried forward. “What happened? Are ye all right? Who done this to you?”

Knowing she must look a sight bleeding as she was and her hair in disarray, Olivia gave the servant a wan smile and tried to hide the fear still coursing through her. “I’m fine. It was…an accident, nothing more.” She glanced away as the lie fell from her lips. “I’m sure it looks worse than it is. Will you help me clean up?”

“Yes, of course. Do ye want to go to your room or Sir Phillip’s patient room?”

“His examining room would be best. The supplies we’ll need are there.” She pushed away from the door and headed toward the small room at the front of the house.

Not hearing any movement behind her, she looked back. Bridget stood just inside the kitchen, leaving her barely visible from where Olivia stood. “Are you coming?”

“Yes, Mum.” The maid lingered a moment longer.

Olivia swore she heard whispered voices, but the young woman hurried down the hall without a backward glance making her doubt she’d heard anything at all. She moved into Phillip’s examining room and picked up the ivory handled mirror her brother would use to check his appearance before seeing a patient. She couldn’t remember how many times she had teased him about worrying over his appearance like some dandy. He would always respond with a smile and tuck the mirror into a nearby drawer.

She held the mirror so she could see her neck. While the hand she’d kept pressed to the wound was smeared with blood, the cut didn’t look deep, and the bleeding had nearly stopped. She’d been lucky. If Patrick had started cutting under her jaw instead of behind and below her ear, he would have sliced through the main vein in her neck, and she would have died of blood loss in a matter of minutes.

Bridget took the mirror from her without a word and handed her a warm, wet cloth in its place. She held the mirror up so Olivia could see the wound and gently wash away the blood.

“I don’t believe it needs stitching.” She set the cloth aside.

“I’m happy yer not hurt bad. Ye gave me a fright when I seen you all bloody like ye were.” Bridget bustled around the room gathering the necessary supplies for a bandage. She laid them on the cot used for examinations. “Ye sure yer all right? There’s a lot of blood on your dress.”

“I’m fine. A little flustered, a little embarrassed, and a little sore, but for the most part, I’m fine.” Olivia picked up the mirror the maid had set aside. Instead of focusing on the wound on her neck, she looked at her gown. The neckline on the right side was stained a rusty brown where the blood had soaked into the material. There were also traces of blood on her collarbone that she hadn’t quite washed away.

She picked up the small piece of cotton and held it out. “I’m afraid you’ll have to apply the bandage. I’m not sure I’ll be able to do it while looking in a mirror.”

Bridget took the square of cotton and pressed it with gentle fingers to the cut.

The door burst open with such force, it slammed against the wall. Bridget let out a loud squeak, and Olivia jumped and grabbed the scissors from the cot. She shoved the young maid behind her before she realized it was Will who stood in the doorway.

His anger hummed through the room like the buzz of bees trapped in a jar. “Leave us.”

The young servant took to her heels without a word. She flattened herself against the door frame as she passed him, careful to keep a wide berth between them, then took off down the hall.

Will crossed the room, took the scissors from Olivia’s shaking fingers, set them down, and tilted her head back to better see her neck. Bruises that could only come from a man’s hand lined one side of her jaw. He touched the tender skin with a gentle finger. “Who did this to you?” he growled.

“I need to get Bridget. I need her help to apply a bandage.”

“I will help you.” He crossed to the table. Picked up the pitcher of water and poured it into the basin. “Tell me what to do,” he said, washing his hands. He needed to do something to keep his anger in check. He could feel his temper rising out of control every time he looked at her bloodstained gown.

She picked up the cotton pad the maid had dropped in her haste to leave the room and put it the wastebasket. With quick economical movements, she retrieved a clean pad and set it on the cot along with a length of gauze. She pressed the cotton square to her neck. “I’ll just need you to hold this in place and then help me tie off the gauze.”

It took considerable effort, but he managed to keep his emotions under control as he moved to her side and held the cotton square against her skin while she applied the gauze. A few short minutes later, she stepped back from him. “I should only have to wear it for the remainder of the day.” Then as though to reassure him, she added, “It is little more than a scratch.”

But it had the opposite effect. “A scratch!” The words exploded from him. The hold on his temper slipped away. “You very nearly had your throat cut, and you say it’s nothing more than a scratch? Have you even seen yourself?” He towed her from the room, across the hall, and into the small parlour she used to receive the occasional guest. He stopped before the large looking glass over the mantel, positioning her in front of it.

She gave herself a cursory glance then turned away. “I realize I look a sight, but truly the wound is very superficial. How is Harry?”

“I don’t give a damn about Harry right at this moment.” He grabbed her arm. “You will tell me who did this to you, and you will tell me now.”

“Will, you’re hurting me.”

He released her in an instant and backed away. The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt her in any form or manner. Furious with himself for losing control, he stormed to the side table and poured a glass of scotch. He tossed the drink back in one swallow, drew a breath between his teeth as the alcohol burned like a flame down to his stomach, feeding his anger. “Why won’t you tell me what happened?” He slammed the glass onto the table, and she jumped. “Was it one of the members of the
Ton?
Those bastards always think they can take what they want,” he muttered the last more to himself than to her.

Olivia shook her head and stared at him, her teeth worrying her bottom lip.

A terrible thought occurred to him. Had the taking of Harry been nothing more than a ploy to get to Olivia? Hammond had to have known he would go after Harry. But could his nemesis have known she would be at the warehouse at that particular point in time?

“Was it Hammond? One of his men? Was it someone you knew?” With each question, his voice became louder. He lost the last vestiges of control when she looked at him with fear in her eyes, like he’d been the one to slice open her neck with a blade. “’Ow ken ye be protecting ’im?” He closed the space between them, his fingers wrapping around her arms. “I ’ave ta know. I’ll be murdering the bastard.”