Forbidden Angel (19 page)

Her gaze traveled from Cazador to the bed. “I was sent to see if there was anything you needed.”

Cazador inclined his head. “Is there a clean nightgown anywhere? We need some broth for the woman and food for me.”

“Yes, sir.” She bobbed a curtsy and left the room.

The girl couldn’t be more than fourteen or fifteen. Cazador told himself what Malcolm did, or did not do, was not his business, but he felt sickened all the same.

When the maid returned, she carried a white cotton nightgown and some food. Placing the tray on a table and the nightgown on the bed, she quickly exited.

Cazador strode to the door and locked it. The last thing he wanted was to have Malcolm barge in while he was cleaning the semi-conscious woman. Cazador didn’t trust him, not at all. He gently removed the torn, bloody shift and washed the blood from her body before dressing her in the nightgown.

As a rule, he did not need to know much to accept a job, but Malcolm did not behave like a grieving husband. Had she been his . . .

Cazador shook the thought from his head.

Unlocking the door, he moved to the table and began his meal; meat pie, bread, cheese, all prepared well. Obviously, Malcolm would pay to ensure he had what he wanted. Picking up the bowl, he moved to the side of the bed and began spooning small amounts of the chicken broth between her lips. After a few sips, she refused to take more.

“Look at me,” Cazador ordered softly, leaning closer for her to hear.

Black lashes fluttered and lifted. Her eyes were a startling shade of lavender. Bemused, he stared. He had known only one other with eyes this color.

Shrugging off unwanted memories, he stated, “You will need to eat to regain your strength.” She refused to look at him. “What is your name,
niña
?”

“Angeline.” A soft croak.

“A few more sips and you may rest.” He spooned more broth into her mouth. Then, taking a chair against the wall, Cazador settled back to wait. Something was amiss. His instincts were seldom wrong.

He glanced up to see Malcolm, whose gaze flicked from the bed to Cazador, to the pile of clothing on the floor. “Did you enjoy her?”

“
Dios
. You could say this about your wife? You disgust me.”

“You’ve done your job, now you can leave.” Malcolm’s eyes were locked on the woman lying on the bed.

“It is not yet finished. If she runs a fever, she may die. I will stay until it is decided.” Cazador spoke through gritted teeth.

“I can care for her myself. There’s no reason for you to stay.”

“I said, it—is—not—finished.”

Malcolm shrugged. “Have it your way.” From the hallway, he shouted, “Millie, bring me some whiskey and get to my room, girl.”

“No, it is not finished between us,” Cazador stated softly.

Jeremy looked from Shirley’s tear-streaked face to her hands pressed against a pad of cloth on Adrian’s chest.

“Let me,” he said gently, removing the blood-soaked wadding. Adrian’s coat lay open. Gripping the edges of Adrian’s shirt, he ripped, then carefully inspected the wound. “How did this happen?”

“I don’t know for sure. I heard gunshots and ran for the back of the house. I saw a man ride off with Lady Windsford,” Randy replied, still staring at Adrian.

Jeremy nodded. “Tell Mr. Brimfield what’s happened, then bring the second team from the barn. Switch horses, son, and do it quickly. We head for London, now.” Jeremy leaned closer to Adrian. “My lord, I’m going to make you more comfortable and then we must travel again. Do you understand me?” Adrian gave a faint nod. “Where is the house in London?”

“I know the location.” Shirley gave him the directions.

Mr. Brimfield hurried from the Hall toward them. “How bad is it?”

Jeremy shook his head. “Can’t say for sure. The bullet went plumb through, but from the looks of things, he’s lost a lot of blood. I’m more concerned about the cold and the cosh on his head. Where is that lad?”

“I’m here.” Randy was at his side.

Jeremy eyed Shirley. “Press your hand against his chest again. That’s it.”

After the team was changed, Jeremy squeezed his son’s shoulder. “You’re to take a good, fast horse and ride for London. I’ll give you directions. When you get there, have them send for a doctor. I’ll be right behind you with the carriage and Lord Windsford. Do you understand the urgency?”

“Yes, Pa. I won’t let ya down.”

“You’re a good lad. Now off with you, and be careful.”

Jeremy checked on Shirley and Adrian one more time, then climbed to the high seat. He glanced up as Randy galloped by on a large, gray gelding.

He adjusted the reins in one hand and picked up the whip in the other. Although some time had passed, he’d once had the reputation as the best coachmen in London. Jeremy trotted the fresh team down the long drive and out onto the road. Snapping the whip above the lead horse’s ear, the team sped up quickly, settling into a gallop as they rushed toward London.

They made the outskirts of town traveling at an unprecedented speed, only slowing to maneuver through the more congested area of Mayfair. When Jeremy pulled the team up in front of the house, Michael, Frank, and Jeffrey ran from the open doorway to meet them. Jeremy jumped down and stepped back out of the way, but close enough to help if needed.

Frank sent Shirley a questioning look. She responded with a nod. “He still lives.”

“Get his feet. I’ve got his head,” Frank choked out. “Come on, Boss, we got ya and we’re movin’ inside where it’s warm.”

Penelope tucked her arm through Shirley’s to lead her inside, with Jeremy trailing behind.

The look on Bunny’s pale face and pinched lips was enough to send a cold chill of dread through Jeremy. His gaze swung to the table in the drawing room where Bunny had assembled a bowl of hot water, scissors, and bandages.

Bunny cleared her throat before she spoke. “Lay Lord Windsford on the long settee. The one nearest the fire. He’s too large a man to carry upstairs without risking more injury.”

Michael laid his hand on Jeremy’s arm to stay his advance into the drawing room. “Where is Lady Angeline? Randy said she was taken.”

“That’s right, sir. And truth to tell, there was no time nor manpower to search.”

Michael nodded, his lips a grim line. “There’s a stable and carriage house around back. After you care for the team, come inside where it’s warm and have some food. You made excellent time. You should be proud.”

“Thank you, sir, we are.” Jeremy stared past him through the open doorway.

Michael followed his gaze. “They’re tending to him now and a doctor is on the way.”

When Jeremy left to tend to the tired team, Michael crossed the front hall and motioned for Frank to join him. “How is he?”

“He’s lost a lot of blood, but the wound don’t seem that bad. I’ve seen men recover from much worse. They’re more worried about the cold and the bump on the head. He ain’t very responsive.”

“Was Shirley harmed in any way?”

“Just shock. She’s a strong woman, my Shirley.”

“I know this is Malcolm’s doing, but I don’t know where to start looking, where he may have taken Angeline.” Michael lowered his voice. “Can you get a message to Edward Thornby and ask him to find the locations of any properties Malcolm may own?”

“I sure can.” Frank sent an encompassing glance into the drawing room. “I’m tellin’ ya now, when we find this bastard, he ain’t gonna be able ta harm anyone ever again.” Frank grabbed his coat and hat and started for the door.

“When that time comes, I’ll help you,” Michael promised ominously.

He strode into the drawing room and went directly to Adrian’s side. “How is he? Has he opened his eyes or said anything?”

Jeffery lifted his gaze from Adrian’s prone form. “No, Captain, he hasn’t.”

Shirley dabbed at her eyes with a hankie. “Is there any news of Lady Angeline? Malcolm will, will . . .” She clutched at Michael’s arm. “Please, you must do something.”

Michael laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “We’ll find her, I promise you.”

Shirley gave a short nod, then refocused on Adrian. “Cook’s making some broth to help warm him. We’ve wrapped heated bricks and placed them by his feet and along his sides. I just wish the doctor would hurry. I don’t know what else to do.”

Bunny hurried from the kitchen carrying a bowl of broth. Handing it to Shirley, she said gruffly, “They’ll find Lady Angeline and bring her home. We must make certain Lord Adrian is here to greet her when that happens.” She dabbed at her cheek with her apron and retreated to the kitchen.

Michael knelt by the settee. “Adrian, it’s Michael, can you hear me? Open your eyes.”

Adrian’s eyelids fluttered. “Angeline?”

Michael heaved a sigh of relief. “We’ll find her,” he assured.

Adrian licked his lips and swallowed. In a raspy voice, he managed, “Michael, the man, flat-brimmed hat.”

Michael touched Adrian’s hand. “I understand. Now save your strength.”

“Drink this, my lord, it’ll help you.” Shirley placed a spoonful of the broth to his lips.

Adrian tried to refuse the broth, wincing when he moved his head. “I said, drink this,” Shirley ordered, to everyone’s surprise. “I’ll pour it down your throat if I must, but I won’t be telling her you died from pure pigheadedness when she comes home.”

Adrian managed a weak grin, and drank.

“That’s better,” she stated approvingly. “Now, let’s get some more down you. The doctor will be here soon.”

Michael silently applauded the very determined Shirley as she spooned the broth into Adrian’s mouth. Easing away from the settee, he moved to Jeffrey’s side, where he stood with his arm around Penelope.

“Will he live, Michael?” Penelope’s voice caught on a sob. “He cannot die, you know. What would we all do without him?”

Michael studied her face and noted the frightened expression in her eyes, the tremble in her fingers, clasped together as if in prayer. “He’s strong and determined, and so is Shirley. She’ll not let him die, she just told him so.”

Penelope’s gaze deflected to Shirley. She took a shuddering breath. “Then that is the way it shall be.” Disengaging from her father, she crossed to the window seat and sank onto the cushions.

Michael followed and sat beside her, taking her hand in his. “Come, now. I thought we just decided he’ll be fine.” When she didn’t turn, he squeezed her hand. “Adrian is my best friend. We’ve been through a lot in these years. He’s strong, and I believe he’ll recover.”

Penelope swiveled to face him. “Adrian has been dear to me all my life. I cannot picture what it would be like if he . . . if he were not . . .” She started to sob quietly.

Michael pulled her to her feet, then brought his arms around her. “Everything will be all right, you’ll see.” He stroked her hair. Penelope huddled into his embrace and laid her head against his chest. Over her head, Michael met Jeffrey’s worried gaze, and wondered at the nod of approval Penelope’s father bestowed on him.

When the knocker sounded on the front door, Jeffery reached the door ahead of Mr. Mansfield, and breathed a sigh of relief when Dr. Sterling rushed in, his face flushed from the winter cold.

“Where is he?” The doctor handed his cloak and hat to Mansfield.

“Over here, Doctor.” Shirley motioned to him.

Dr. Sterling quickly discarded his coat and rolled up his sleeves. After washing his hands, he knelt by Adrian’s side. Carefully removing the soaked bandages, he studied the wound. “Is the bullet still inside?”

“No, there’s an exit wound in his side. Should I turn him for you to see?”

Dr. Sterling seemed to consider it for a moment. “No, I don’t want to disturb the wound and start it bleeding again. Where is the exit wound?”

Shirley pointed to a spot on her side as an example. “The bullet grazed the inside of his arm, too.”

Dr. Sterling’s forehead furrowed. “That is unusual, but in this case, very fortunate.”

Jeffrey considered the import of Dr. Sterling’s words and shivered.

“Look at this.” Shirley handed Sterling the silver case that held the cigarillos Adrian preferred. “It’s creased and the corner’s bent.”

Sterling turned the case in his fingers. “It must have deflected the bullet meant for his heart.” Handing the holder back to Shirley, he examined the wound on Adrian’s head. “Has he been able to speak or open his eyes?”

“Yes, both,” Shirley affirmed. “He’s even had some broth.”

“Has he vomited, or complained of nausea?”

“No.”

“That’s good. The wound itself is not as troubling as the loss of blood and the head wound. They can be very difficult.” Dr. Sterling rose and snapped his black bag closed. “I’ll check tomorrow, but at this point, if there’s no infection and no fever, he’ll just need time to recover. If anything changes, call me right away.”

Jeffrey heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Doctor. Is there anything else we can do?”

“Just keep the wound clean and change the bandages regularly. He needs to lie still and rest.” Dr. Sterling eyed the bowl of soup and wrapped bricks. “That’s right. Get him to drink the broth and keep him warm.”

“We’ll do whatever is needed.” Jeffrey shook the doctor’s hand.

The front door swung wide and Frank, with a much disheveled Edward Thornby in tow, rushed in. After shedding his coat, Frank strode directly to the settee. “How’s he doin’?” His gaze darted from Adrian to Jeffrey.

“The doctor has said he’ll be fine with rest and time to heal.” Jeffrey moved aside to allow Frank a closer look. Frank crouched silently beside Adrian. The emotion on his face spoke volumes.

“Have you been with Adrian long, Frank?”

Frank regained his feet. “Right after he came ta Texas. I was in the Army with the captain there, and one day he says he wants ta introduce me ta this Lordship fellow who wanted ta build a ranch.” Frank grinned in remembrance. “I expected ta meet some pantywaist lay-about, no offense meant,” he hastened to add, glancing quickly at Jeffrey. “Instead, the captain, he introduces me ta one tough son of a,”—Frank coughed—“er, one tough man. He worked right alongside the other men.” Frank gazed at Adrian. “There ain’t much we wouldn’t do for him. I left the Army for him and never regretted it for a minute. Spencer Ranch is somethin’ we’re all proud of.”

Catching sight of the silver case laying on the table, Frank picked it up, examined it, and frowned. Slowly shaking his head, he laid it down and met Jeffrey’s gaze.

“Everything was good ‘til this Malcolm guy showed up. He’s so evil he don’t deserve ta live, and I plan ta help send him on his way ta hell where he belongs.”

Jeffrey squeezed Frank’s shoulder. “Adrian will be all right, Frank. You’ll see.”

“Yeah, I know.” Frank gruffly cleared his throat, then strode to the window and looked out.

Jeffrey noticed Edward standing in the threshold, his satchel clutched against his chest as he stared at Adrian. Michael motioned the timid man forward.

“He’s going to be all right?” Edward questioned.

Michael nodded. “Yes, thank God. But we have another pressing issue we need your help with.”

“Anything.” Edward straightened. “What can I do?”

Michael looked him in the eyes. “Lady Angeline is missing. We need the locations of any properties Malcolm owns or has use of.”

“She’s missing?” Edward squeaked. His glasses lost their purchase on the end of his nose and fell to the floor.

When Michael bent to pick them up, Jeffrey caught the look that passed between Michael and Frank. Obviously, Frank had not explained much to Edward. Michael raised a brow at Frank and handed the glasses back to Edward.

“I didn’t want ta’ scare him,” Frank responded to the unvoiced accusation.

Michael’s gaze returned to Edward. “We’ll find her, but we need your help to do it. Can you get this information for us?”

“Yes, Captain, I can. I must leave now for town, but I’ll return first thing in the morning.” Clutching his satchel, he hurriedly left the house.

Sometime during the night, Adrian became aware of Michael and Frank taking turns spooning broth into his mouth and exchanging the cooled bricks with warm ones.

His chest and arm hurt like hell, but the pain in his head was excruciating. He tried to open his eyes and winced at the effort and groaned. Both men were beside the settee in seconds.