Once Upon a Diamond (24 page)

A resounding boom cut off her argument.

Tristan jerked Kate to the carriage floor and rolled on
top of her.

“Don’t move,” he warned. Kate watched in horror as the
carriage door fluttered back and forth and Tristan whipped out a pistol from a
compartment beneath the seat.

Kate couldn’t move if she wanted to. Tristan was
crushing the breath out of her. Pressing her back to the floor, he lifted his
head to glance outside. “Pistol shot,” he whispered.

Before she could say a word, an agonizing groan reached
her ears. She stiffened in alarm. “Where’s Matthew?” she screeched.

She twisted her head. The light from the street lamps blurred
in the fog. A cold rain had begun to fall. One of the horses snorted while Tristan
clenched his pistol, raising it higher.

“By Jove, he’s hit, my lord.” Digby’s shaking voice came
from beneath the carriage.

Hit?
Icy fear slammed
into Kate’s chest. “Matthew!”

Matthew suddenly appeared, staggering toward the coach. “Kate,”
he groaned, then stumbled to the ground.

Tristan pounced outside. Kate followed.

“Get down!” Tristan pushed her against the walk. The
dampness of the cool ground rose to meet her face.

“Matthew?” she cried, her arm reaching out to touch him.

“He’s been shot,” Tristan hissed. “Someone might still
be out there, and I can’t see a deuced thing in this fog.” 

Tristan rolled Matthew toward him. “Devil take it! He’s
losing too much blood! Have to move him inside!”

Kate
started to shake as she stared at her brother’s still body. The blood. There
was so much blood.

Nothing
stirred inside the gloomy bedchamber except the sound of servants shuffling
across the floor with clean water and linens. Outside the Lancewood townhouse,
fog still blanketed the night. A light rain sprayed against the window, interrupting
the crushing silence.

Kate
sat in a wing chair alongside Matthew’s still body. Her brother had been placed
upon Tristan’s four poster bed and hadn’t moved at all. Candles flickered on
the nearby nightstands, throwing her hunched shadow onto the far wall.

Matthew’s
face was pale and gaunt, the candlelight only adding to the shadows beneath his
eyes. Though the ball had passed through his shoulder, he had lost a huge
amount of blood.

Kate’s
eyes pooled with tears as she dropped her gaze. She noticed her brother’s blood
had mixed with the captain’s blood, staining her gown. She dropped her head
beside her brother’s.
Oh,
Matthew.

“Please
fight this. You have your whole life ahead of you.”  Her throat locked up. “I
won’t let you die, Matthew. I won’t.”

Tristan braced himself against the door, watching Kate’s
shoulders tremble in grief - grief that paralyzed his heart. He frowned as his
gaze followed her delicate hand brushing across Matthew’s pale brow. The scent
of foreboding death filled the room.

She was going to lose the only family she had left, and
it was his fault. The shot had been meant for him. Someone wanted him dead, and
it had something to do with that deuced diamond.

He had sent an urgent missive to Whitehall, telling them
of the shooting. One theory was that he was closing in on the diamond and
someone was getting restless. Restless enough to shoot Matthew.

The other theory was that Gaston wanted Matthew dead
because Kate’s brother was the only man with the facts about the captain’s
hideous crimes. Yet it seemed impossible for the captain to have recovered so
quickly from the fight in the gardens.

Tucking away his thoughts, Tristan quietly stepped into
the room. “Kate. The doctor’s here.” 

Dr. Faber, a noted London physician, stood behind the
earl. He nodded toward Tristan, telling him to remove Kate from the room.

Tristan touched her shoulder. “Sweetheart, it would be
best if you moved into the adjoining chamber and clean up. I’ve one of my
nightshirts in there and a dressing gown. I’ve sent for some of your things. You
can stay close to your brother until he recovers.” 

Recovers? Dies is more likely.

With red-rimmed eyes, Kate followed his finger toward
the door of the connecting room, the bedchamber for the mistress of the house,
the earl’s future bride. She peered through the opening. The servants were
bringing in hot water for her bath.

Tristan ached to hold her, comfort her, soothe her
crumbling heart. But he kept his distance. It was his fault Matthew was shot. His
fault she would lose her only brother. His fault she would be alone. He wished
he was in that bed, fighting for his life, not Matthew.

Kate turned to him, her eyes brimming with tears. “Thank
you,” was all she said before she disappeared into the room and closed the
door.

Drained from the evening’s exhausting ordeal, Kate took
a deep breath and slipped off her filthy gown. She moved toward the copper tub
and dipped her tired body into the warm water.

Matthew had to live, she told herself. He couldn’t die.

She wiped the tears from her face and quickly finished
her bath. Lying on the bed were Tristan’s nightshirt, dressing gown, and some
brown wool stockings. Kate didn’t hesitate. She put them on, tugged on the belt
of the gown, and hurried into the adjacent chamber to be with her brother. Propriety
was the least of her worries.

Edward was sitting beside the bed, his expression grim. She
stepped toward the doctor who was standing in the corner of the room whispering
to Tristan.

“W
–
will
he live?” she asked.

“He’s strong,” Dr. Faber replied. “Ball went right
through him. But he’s lost a considerable amount of blood. I’m not one of those
physicians who does the bloodletting, you know. I have my own ideas about that,
but I am worried about a fever. I’ve left some laudanum if he wakes. Give him a
few drops. It should help him sleep. The pain will make him want to move. He
must stay in bed and keep that shoulder still. I’ll return tomorrow. The boy’s
strong as an ox. One never knows about these things. He’s in God’s hands now,
child.” 

Kate nodded a thank you. The doctor picked up his bag. Edward
rose to give up his seat to Kate and departed with the doctor.

Tristan stood over Kate, knowing she would not leave her
brother’s side. His jaw muscle ticked as he watched her gently wipe Matthew’s
head with a wet cloth.

Her brother looked dead already. Tristan had seen wounds
in the war. He had no doubt that Kate’s brother would develop a fever, if he
lived long enough for that. Why the devil had Matthew exited first? 

“It’s going to be a long night," he said quietly,
touching her shoulder. “Get some sleep in the next room. You can leave the door
open. I’ll watch over him. If he wakes, I’ll let you know.”

Kate’s lips trembled as she shook her head. “Why, Tristan?
Who would anyone want to shoot my brother? He wouldn’t hurt anyone. He has no
enemies.” 

A handful of tears trailed down her cheeks. Tristan’s
felt as if a hand had closed around his heart. “Kate, you aren’t alone. I’m
here with you.”

He knelt by her side, and she turned, burying her face
in his shoulders.

She gulped hard. Suddenly, deep sobs racked her body. “I
w-won’t leave him, not until I know he’s all right.”

“I understand.” Tristan drew in a ragged breath. “But try
to at least close your eyes. If you can spare me then, I have to speak with the
magistrate. He’s waiting downstairs. I’ll be back later.” He brought her hand
to his lips and withdrew from the room.

It took over an hour for Tristan to explain the shooting
to the magistrate. Devin and Edward were in the drawing room as well, listening
to the details of the horrendous evening.

After the magistrate took his leave, Tristan mounted the
staircase to his bedchambers. Exhausted from the evening’s ordeal, he opened
the door slowly and peered in.

A twisted smile spread over his face as he took in the
sight before him. Kate was asleep on the chair, looking more like an imp
swimming in his dressing gown than a grown woman. He immediately recalled the
courageous girl at the inn who had fought for his life. Now, that same guardian
angel fought for her brother’s life as well.

Treading closer, Tristan lifted a hand to Matthew’s pale
forehead and grimaced. Already too hot. Death would come swiftly.

He moved toward Kate and swept her into his arms. She
seemed so fragile. Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow.

The thought of Kate in danger sent a cold chill throughout
his body. He strode into the adjoining room, placing her on the bed. He stared
at her blond hair billowing about the pillow, her flawless face, her sweet lips.
He would find that diamond, and the danger surrounding him would end. Then Kate
could be his bride, and this room would truly be hers.

But would she ever be his? 

He rubbed a frustrated hand across his face. If Matthew
died, would Kate still marry him? Knowing her like he did, headstrong,
impulsive, and independent, she might sail back home and put the dreadful
ordeal behind her. But he had to keep her. He couldn’t let her leave. He
wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Closing the door, Tristan returned to Matthew’s bedside.
He leaned over to wipe the injured man’s forehead with a cool cloth, then sank
into the wing chair alongside the bed.

Hours later the knock on the door startled him. When the
maid walked in with his breakfast, he blinked and realized he had been keeping
vigil all night.

“Good morning, my lord.” She placed the breakfast tray
on the bed table. “I’ve brought some food for Miss Wilcox as well. Shall I take
it to her?”

“No, leave it here for when she wakes.”

It was only minutes later when the connecting door swung
open. Kate appeared in the oversized dressing gown. Her brown eyes were wide
with guilt. “I’ll take care of my brother now. I’m sorry I fell asleep and left
you alone.”  

Tristan pointed to the table where the maid had set her
breakfast tray. He pushed himself out of the chair, hardly able to look at her.
She would be alone if Matthew died. He could not let that happen because of him.
It was his duty to marry her now, whether she wanted it or not.

“He
has the fever,” he said. “I’ve been wetting him down with the water.” 

He’s
probably going to die. I want you to stay with me. Be my wife.
But
the words didn’t come. She had already refused his proposal once, what would
she say to him now? She needed time.

But if Kate had any color in her somber face when she
woke up, she lost it the moment Tristan’s words hit her ears.

“The fever?” She scrambled toward her brother’s side. “Please
don’t let him die !” 

Tears sprang to her eyes as she wiped the wet cloth
across Matthew’s face. Her loving hands willed Matthew to live. Tristan’s
throat tightened. She was an angel of mercy, not willing to give up on life. He
needed her. Desperately.

“He won’t die,” she sobbed. “I won’t let him!”

He
let out a shuddering breath. Maybe her love and prayers could get her brother
through the worst.
Dear, sweet Kate, you’re worth more than all the jewels
in England.

She glanced up, her expression filled with worry. “Eat
your breakfast and get some sleep,” she insisted. “You looked horrible.” 

A smile crept along Tristan’s lips, and he insisted she
eat with him. Silently, they finished their meal together. Knowing she would
need him later, Tristan left for a short time to rest in another room down the
hall.

Kate moved from her brother’s side and drew the drapes
open to let in the sun. She glanced outside, her gaze following the duke’s
carriage that had stopped in front of the townhouse. The footmen carried two of
her trunks to the front door.

Heaving a sigh, she turned back to look at Matthew and
rang the bell for some fresh water. She wished Tristan could have stayed with
her today. Would she be alone if Matthew died? The thought made her ill. But
she couldn’t think of herself. Matthew needed her. He had given her so much,
and now it was time for her to give back.

For four long days Kate wiped Matthew down with wet
cloths and stayed by his side. She was exhausted. The doctor had visited every
day and wasn’t very hopeful.

Kate was determined her brother would live. She felt his
pain as if it were her own. Though Matthew opened his eyes now and then, she
had no idea if he was conscious of his surroundings. The duke and duchess had
come to visit, but Matthew hadn’t seemed aware of their presence at all.

Tristan made sure she had everything she needed and had
checked in on Matthew every morning, but otherwise he had avoided her. She had
heard Edward mention something about the diamond.

She told herself she didn’t need Tristan. She didn’t
need anyone but Matthew. She shifted the cool cloth on Matthew’s feverish
forehead and swallowed past the growing tightness in her throat. She was
surprised he had made it this far. She had spooned warm broth down his throat and
even bathed him with the help of a servant. His color had improved, but he
seemed to hover between life and death as if it were a game.