One Whisper Away (35 page)

The physician looked at her set face and then nodded. “Everyone else leave the room.”

They looked mutinous, but Cecily caught James’s arm in a familiarity brought on by tragedy. She said fiercely, “If you can think clearly, you have more motive than Lord Drury does. If Jonathan dies, you would be earl. The viscount has nothing to gain, as he was never in love with me anyway and my engagement is settled and official. If you want to help, find out who did this. Look elsewhere, but
look
. Surely you have more information than anyone. And make sure no one tells Addie. I am not an expert, but I do remember that when my mother was ill I was so very frightened. Lily can stay with her.”

For a moment, it seemed that he might argue.

She was too shaken to care about who might be listening, too aware of the doctor already giving quiet orders and removing instruments from his bag. “I’m staying. I love him.”

A bit more than she’d meant to admit, especially when she hadn’t yet told Jonathan, but then again, she didn’t care.

James did not seem surprised.

Instead he took her hand, raised it to his lips briefly, and whispered, “Don’t leave him. He needs you.”

Then he spun around, herded Lily out of the room, and shut the door.

“One shot went clear through his side,” Dr. Gilchrist muttered. “I doubt it did much damage. That shoulder is another issue. We need to take out the bullet. If you faint on me, Lady Cecily, we won’t have free hands to catch you.”

“I won’t faint,” she promised.

T
here was nothing like attempted murder to ruin a house party, Eleanor thought wryly, watching another carriage roll away. London would soon be agog over the newly engaged Lord Augustine’s brush with death, but at least the doctor now cautiously predicted that he would survive. Since neither wound was fatal, the loss of blood was the main issue, and it appeared he’d also been beaten in some way and had some broken bones.

“I see Sir Norman has decamped.”

The calm, deep voice made her turn. Elijah joined her on the front steps, dressed for riding, his appearance as immaculate as ever. She said with what she thought was admirable poise, “I assume you are departing also.”

“That depends.” He looked at her intently. “Your grandmother suggested that as a family friend, perhaps I could stay a few more days to keep you and Augustine’s younger sisters company. Between Roderick, James Bourne, and myself, that is one gentleman for every unattached female. I hope my presence appeals to you.”

“I think you know full well it does,” she answered, an inner joy blossoming, though it was difficult to be jubilant when her sister’s fiancé was at death’s door.

Those two kisses the other evening had been the very epitome of her fantasies, and the usually pleasant and reserved gentleman she knew had been not polite in the least. She’d tasted the brandy on his breath and wondered in the chaos of the events that had transpired since then if he was going to excuse himself on the basis of too much drink for their impetuous embrace.

It seemed he wasn’t.

Elijah smiled, but it was brief. “Under the circumstances, it isn’t much of an occasion for trivial festivities any longer, but at least we can occupy ourselves while we wait for Augustine to recover enough that he can travel again.”

“It might be a while.” Eleanor felt her face tighten, remembering her sister’s exhaustion that morning. She had insisted on staying in his room all night, and not even their grandmother had contradicted her. Quite frankly, propriety aside, if Jonathan Bourne hadn’t already compromised Cecily, he was certainly not in any shape to do so at the moment. “I still do not understand how it happened. None of the guests would ever do such a horrible thing, and it isn’t as if he knows anyone else nearby. Why?”

“I have asked myself the same question, I assure you.” Lord Drury added dryly, “Though I understand I was the first suspect.”

“No one truly thought so.”

His smile was rueful. “I admit I was a little annoyed with Augustine once I understood I had a rival, but that was the extent of it, and as you know full well, my feelings were not engaged. At least not where your sister is concerned.”

The weighted meaning in that last comment was like being given a secret to keep and hold close. “I know,” Eleanor said softly, looking into his eyes. If the venue had been less public, she would have said more, but at that moment two footmen came out carrying a trunk past them to the last waiting vehicle.

They were still standing on the steps and the sky above was dismal with the threat of rain, so perhaps it was best if the guests departed anyway.

“I hope you do not intend to go riding alone,” Eleanor said, eyeing his riding breeches and the quirt in his hand.

“Actually, once James Bourne dismissed me as the possible culprit, he asked me if I would help him investigate what might have happened. As I understand it, the earl has a head injury in addition to his wounds, and the doctor predicts he might not precisely remember the incident. We are meeting at the stables. Roderick is going with us.”

“I don’t think Lord Augustine has been awake enough to really articulate what happened. Cecily said he has drifted into consciousness several times, but now they think he might be sleeping instead of insensible.”

“It’s good he’s a healthy male with athletic tendencies to begin with.” Elijah quirked a brow. “I can’t really think he’d be easy to kill if he saw it coming. An ambush is a bit of a different matter if one doesn’t know the enemy is out there. I agree with you—no one around here would have cause to hate him. He’s been in England barely three months. I know your sister has had other suitors, but none that were serious or I would have heard about it through the inimitable gossip chain of the
ton
.”

“I agree.” She took in a breath. “May I go with you? I would like to help.”

It looked as if his first reaction was to object, and maybe even point out that she was a female, and therefore not useful, but instead he ended up giving her a brief smile. “I cannot see why not. I know I, for one, would enjoy your company.”

 

There was light, warmth, and a beautiful woman.

Perhaps this was heaven.

Except, Jonathan had to acknowledge a moment later, his side ached, and his shoulder hurt like the very devil. Surely heaven didn’t involve this level of pain, but at least he could open his eyes this time and not see two of everything. A headache lurked in the background, but it wasn’t overpowering.

A cool hand touched his brow. “Are you awake?”

Guest room at the ducal mansion. He recognized the fine furnishings and pale green draperies, and the doors to the balcony were open to the late-afternoon sunshine; he could tell by the way the light slanted across the floor. Cecily sat next to him, her blond hair gathered back from her face, wearing a somewhat wrinkled pink gown, her tawny eyes full of concern. Once again her fingers feathered across his skin. “We’ve been so worried.”

He would answer her if his mouth wasn’t so parched. He croaked out, “Water?”

She hastened to bring a small cup to his lips and he sat up at great personal cost, and held it himself with the hand opposite of the shoulder that now throbbed with the beat of his heart, devouring the liquid quickly. She brought him another cup right away, and even as confused as he was over what might have happened, Jonathan found he enjoyed the gentle sway of her hips as she moved across the room to the pitcher.

He drank that one too. It seemed to help, and slowly he sank back against the pillows. The weakness was infuriating, but then again, an extremely beautiful young woman was hovering over him, so the situation was not as dire as it could have been.

“Where’s Addie?” The concern homed in, sharp and intense as his head cleared a little.

“With Lily.” Cecily smiled uncertainly. “They seem to be growing very fond of each other. No one has told her precisely what happened. We didn’t want her to worry. She’s safe. I give my word.”

He relaxed a fraction. “Thank you.”

“Cook sent up some broth. Can you take some?” Her face was drawn into an anxious—charming—frown.

Was she just beautiful all the time? Even when rumpled and obviously tired?

Yes, she was.

Jonathan at least attempted a smile. “In a bit, yes, I think so.”

He’d been here before . . . in the aftermath of a serious wound, but this was far superior to the army form of nursing offered to him then. Those were usually overworked women who administered tender care on a severe time limit in the middle of a war. He far preferred gazing at his lovely intended bride, but he did note the slight dark circles under her eyes. The way he felt, he’d been ill for some time . . .

Try to remember
.

It was just flashes. The coolness of the morning. The reckless ride. Seneca splashing through the river . . .

Some of it came back. The crack of gunfire, which he certainly hadn’t expected in the quiet of the English countryside and certainly not on the ducal estate. Then a second shot . . . and he’d fallen . . .

Jonathan said slowly, “Someone shot me.”

She nodded, a delectable golden curl that was loose from her chignon brushing the graceful column of her neck. “What else do you recall?”

“Not much,” he admitted. The second bullet must have grazed his side, for he noted that besides his shoulder, there was a swath of bandages around his waist as well. That could have been bad, he realized grimly—being gut-shot was usually a death sentence. “The shots. Seneca was spooked and I was surprised and I fell. . . .”

There was more. He knew there was more, but he just couldn’t quite bring it into focus.

“You must have hit your head on something. Dr. Gilchrist thinks you have some broken ribs as well.”

No wonder it hurt to even breathe in. “Sounds lovely,” he said ironically. Then his voice softened. “You are as beautiful as ever, but you look tired. I am not going to ask, because I know you’ve been here the entire time. The spirits tell me it’s true. When did this happen?”

“Two days ago.” She smiled and took his hand, twining their fingers, her slender hand much smaller than his larger one, but the joining perfect just the same. “What would make you think I’d ever leave you? I am just grateful
you
didn’t leave
me
.”

His delicate English lady had an inner strength of purpose that he was fairly sure had brought him back from the brink of death.

And the spirits approved enough to not topple him over the edge.

“I’m rather grateful myself.” It took some effort to tighten the grip on her hand, and as a man who wasn’t easily moved to tears, he hastily attributed the burning in his eyes to his injured state. Even when he’d received word his father had died, he hadn’t cried, but now . . .

“I hadn’t yet told you that I love you.” She leaned closer, her floral feminine scent an intoxicant and her words even more so. “It was all I could think about. I’d never
told
you.”

“Nor I you.” His voice was barely audible.

“There’s nothing stopping us from doing so now.”

“I’ll go first,” he murmured, watching her from under half-lowered lids, knowing that in his entire life he would never take for granted her beauty, the inner even more than the outer. She was without guile, and had always, from the moment they encountered each other that fateful night of the ball, looked at him as a man, not a half-breed earl, and she
loved
him.

“I love you.” Pain was an abstract concept that had nothing to do with the joy in his heart, so he smiled as he spoke the words, no reluctance, her presence a balm more effective than any medication. Serenity filled his soul. He’d been spared for a reason, and that reason was even now smiling back at him, her eyes misty.

“I love
you
.” Cecily touched his bruised cheek. “So much it frightens me, and I know quite a bit about fear from these past few days.”

“I’m sorry, my lady.” The quiet voice interrupted before he could say anything. Jonathan very much wanted to explain that romantic love was different and he’d never loved a woman this way before, but maybe it was for the best to save that impassioned speech for another time, as he was not certain that eloquence and acute pain went hand in hand very well.

Cecily turned. “What is it, Mrs. Hawkins?”

“The duke has arrived and is downstairs requesting your presence. I’m to sit with his lordship in your place, my lady.”

She blinked. “My father is here?”

“The duchess sent for him. They are in the private salon.”

Had Jonathan had the strength to object at the interruption at such a poignant moment in their lives, he might have, but truthfully he was weaker than he had imagined, so he simply nodded when Cecily made her excuses and left the room in a flurry of rose perfume.

Mrs. Hawkins, who was tall and angular, with a pronounced Scots accent, said pragmatically, “It’s time to change the dressings anyway, your lordship, and the lassie can’t be here for that.”

Thankfully he was already half asleep when the woman pulled down the sheet.

N
o one spoke as she entered the room, and while she normally would have gone to greet her father, Cecily instead registered the disparate presence of not only her parent, her grandmother, James Bourne, and Eleanor, but also William Shakes, the gamekeeper, dressed in his usual worn breeches and dusty coat, sitting awkwardly on the edge of an embroidered chair as if he might soil it. He jumped to his feet when he saw her, looking relieved not to be sitting in the presence of the regal company of the duke and the dowager duchess. He continually turned his hat in his hands in an obvious nervous mannerism. Thickset and soft-spoken, with dark hair now shot with silver and skin weathered into an oak mask, he had been a fixture on the estate as long as Cecily could remember.