The Player (Rockliffe Book 3) (35 page)

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Without stopping to think, Caroline spun back the
way she had come, yelling, ‘Mr
Bailes
– get Bertrand.
Now!
’ Then, snatching her skirts up
in both hands, she was racing out of the yard in Adrian’s wake.

She’d hardly got through the gate when a second
shot set her heart ricocheting against her ribs. ‘Adrian?
 
Adrian!
’

Oh God, oh
God.
 
Don’t let him be hit.
 
Please, please don’t let him be hit
.

In just the last fateful few minutes, the sky
seemed to have grown darker, as if promising a deluge.
 
She ran, half-tripping, along the narrow,
rutted track and then, seeing no sign of Adrian ahead of her, turned to cross
the line of the dunes, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
 
A clump of something or other caused her to
stumble and fall to her knees.
 
She
pulled herself up and ran on, screaming his name.

Where is
he?
 
Where?
 
Why don’t I see him?

Then, just when panic and despair were beginning
to merge into absolute terror, two things happened more or less
simultaneously.
 
She saw Betsy running
towards her … and she found Adrian by tripping over him.

He was on his back and seemingly unconscious, an
ominous stain spreading over the brightly embroidered vest.
 
Sobbing a little and, unable in the poor
light, to see if he was breathing, Caroline laid one hand on his chest and the
other against his neck, hoping one or the other would tell her if he was still
alive.
 
Her fingers came away sticky with
blood

Betsy arrived to crouch on the ground beside her,
struggling to breathe.
 
She said, ‘He’s …
gone.
 
That man. Went after … second shot
… brought his lordship down.
 
Is … is he
dead?’

‘I don’t know.
 
I don’t think so.’
He can’t be
dead – he can’t be.
 
How shall I bear it?
Hands shaking and her vision hopelessly blurred, Caroline was fighting with the
buttons of the vest.
 
‘Go back,
Betsy.
 
Bertrand’s coming but we need more
help. Get Lord Nicholas.’

Betsy stood up and then, with relief, said, ‘Look
– they’re coming.
 
I’ll go … water and
bandages.’

Bertrand dropped on his knees beside her.
 
The Duke of Rockliffe and Lord Nicholas were
two steps behind him.

‘He’s not dead,’ said Caroline, raggedly.
 
‘Tell me he’s not dead.’

Before Bertrand could speak, Rockliffe said
crisply, ‘Sheringham, no doubt. Nicholas – get a horse saddled and go after him.
 
He’ll be headed for Deal but if you miss him
there, ride on to Walmer and call out the Lord Warden. Use my name.
 
Go – and try not to do anything stupid.’

Without a word, Nicholas took off, running back to
the house.

Bertrand, meanwhile, had shed his coat in order to
strip off his shirt.
 
Folding it into a
rough pad, he placed it over the bullet-wound in Adrian’s shoulder and, seizing
Caroline’s hands, said, ‘No. ’E is not dead.
 
Now, press ’
ard
, Madame.’

She did as he said for the few seconds it took for
him to drag his coat back on and take over from her, swearing under his breath.

Through chattering teeth, Caroline said fiercely,
‘Adrian? Don’t die.
 
Do you hear me?
 
You can’t die.
 
Not on our wedding day.’

The thick sepia lashes fluttered a little and
Adrian’s eyes opened, dazed and frowning.

‘Don’t move,’ said Rockliffe quickly.
 
‘You’ve been shot.’

‘Gathered that,’ managed Adrian, his voice a mere
thread but tension in every muscle. ‘Betsy?’

‘Safe,’ said Caroline, finding his hand and
holding it tight.
 
‘She’s safe.’

‘Good.’
 
He
seemed to relax.
 
Then, peering down at
his chest, ‘Damn.
 
This vest was new.’

And Caroline, her face wet with tears, gave way to
sobbing laughter.

Rockliffe said firmly, ‘He’s not going to
die.
 
Not from a bullet in the
shoulder.
 
He won’t die.
 
Do you hear me?’

She nodded, wiping a hand across her face. It occurred
to her, somewhat belatedly, that his Grace was in his shirt-sleeves and had a
smear of soap below one ear – all of which told her how fast he’d reacted on
hearing that first shot.

‘Good.
 
Now
this gentleman and I are going to get his lordship back to the house.
 
It will be helpful if you precede us so that everything
is ready when we arrive.’

‘I don’t want to leave him.’

Bertrand looked up from what he was doing and
said, ‘
C’est bien
,
Madame.
 
Monsieur le Duc
is right.
 
And
I am ’ere.’

‘There goes Nicholas,’ remarked Rockliffe,
watching his brother ride away.
 
‘And
someone is coming with a lantern.
 
Excellent.’ He held out his hand and pulled Caroline to her feet.
 
‘Go, my dear.
 
We’ll bring him to you.’

Reluctantly and with one last, lingering look at
her husband, she went.

Dropping back on to one knee, Rockliffe slid one
arm under Adrian’s shoulders saying, ‘You’re going to sit up slowly. You may
feel a little light-headed.
 
Blood loss
and having a bullet in you has that effect.’

‘I’m fine,’ protested Adrian, struggling to his
knees.
 
‘I can manage.’

‘Be still. You’re bleeding like a damned pig,’
grumbled Bertrand in French.
 
And added a
vulgar epithet describing both Lord Sheringham and Lord Sheringham’s
antecedents.
 

A tremor that stopped just short of laughter ran
through Adrian and he said, ‘Bertrand … you should know that his Grace’s French
is as good as my own.’

‘Not quite,’ murmured Rockliffe, levering Adrian
upright. ‘That particular expression isn’t one I’m familiar with. Ah … the
gentleman with the lantern. Perhaps we can now accomplish this without tripping
over our own feet.’
 
He paused and then
added, ‘Since you’re likely to bleed all over me, you’d better start calling me
Rock. There are times when formality becomes more than a trifle ludicrous.’

*
 
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*

They got back to the house without mishap and
without Adrian passing out on the way. Once in his bedchamber, Bertrand and
Rockliffe eased him out of his coat and vest, leaving Caroline to cut away his
ruined shirt.
 

When it was done, Adrian found he was quite glad
to lie down.
 
Though his shoulder was on
fire, the rest of him was a block of ice.
 
But what troubled him most was expression in Caroline’s eyes and the
tear-stains on her cheeks. He said, ‘Don’t worry. Once the bullet’s out, I’ll
be as good as new.’

‘He could have killed you!’ she said
explosively.
 
‘He nearly did, for God’s
sake.
 
And it was deliberate.
 
He took Betsy just to draw you outside so he
could … so he could murder you.’ She stopped, drew a steadying breath and removed
the pad she’d been holding against his shoulder in order to take a look. Then,
turning to Bertrand, ‘It’s not bleeding as much but he needs a doctor. Will you
go?’

‘
Bien s
û
r
.’

‘One moment,’ said Rockliffe quietly. ‘If I might
take a look?’

‘Be my guest.’
 
Adrian started to shrug and immediately regretted it. ‘I gather you’ve
some experience of bullets?’

‘As much as one would wish to have.’
 
The Duke pushed Adrian back against the
pillows and began gently pressing the area around the wound. ‘I served in the
Hussars for a couple of years before inheriting the title.
 
I’ve seen bullets being removed … one of
which was from myself.’
 
He stopped what
he was doing and sat back. ‘From what I can tell, the ball has made a nice straight
entry and is lying not far below the surface. Removing it ought not to be too
difficult … though the doctor should still be summoned.’

Caroline stared at him.

‘Are you saying
you
can do it?’

‘I believe so.’
 
Smiling a little, he rose and went to wash his hands. ‘Unless his
patients include the odd poacher or smuggler, the local doctor may have had
little or no practice with bullet-wounds.
 
But the choice must be Lord Sarre’s, of course.’

‘Adrian,’ said his lordship, with a strained grin.
‘If you’re going to dig holes in me, formality is
definitely
ludicrous.’

Rockliffe nodded and started issuing instructions;
more hot water and linen; knives – razor-sharp and perfectly clean; a bottle of
brandy.
 
Then, when things began arriving
and he’d placed a large glass of brandy in Adrian’s hands with instructions to
down it quickly, he said, ‘I’d suggest you leave the room for a while, Lady
Sarre … but I suspect I would be wasting my breath.’

‘Yes.’

‘You should go,’ said Adrian, draining the glass.
‘This isn’t something you want to watch.’

‘I’m not leaving you,’ she said flatly. ‘And I’ve
no intention of watching.
 
I’m going to
help.’

‘Good.’
 
The
Duke rolled his sleeves up, washed his hands a second time and perused the
array of gleaming knives Bertrand had laid out on a towel.
 
Then, glancing back at the open doorway where
Betsy hovered beside Mr
Bailes
, ‘I suspect Adrian
might prefer a little more privacy.’

Managing a smile and hoping she looked calmer than
she felt, Caroline crossed the room saying, ‘Go downstairs and make some tea
for yourself and Mr
Bailes
, Betsy. You’ve both had a
shock – and I’ll need you to sit with his lordship later.’

Then she closed the door, leaving herself,
Bertrand, the Duke … and Adrian, now starting to look marginally less tense.

‘What should I do?’ she asked Rockliffe.

‘Stand nearby and have some pads of linen ready
when I ask for them.
 
Bertrand …’ He
switched smoothly to French, ‘Sit on his other side and get a firm hold.
 
I need you to keep him as steady as you
can.’
 
Then, once more in English, ‘The
brandy will help, Adrian, but there’s no point in pretending it won’t
hurt.
 
Quite a lot, as I recall.’
 
He turned away to pick up the blade he’d
decided was most suitable.
 
‘In the
meantime – and to give your thoughts a different direction – you may wish to
know that Nicholas is in hot pursuit of Lord Sheringham with instructions to
get help from the Lord Warden.
 
Try to be
still now … and I’ll do this as quickly as I can.’

The knife slid in following the passage of the
bullet and Adrian’s breath hissed through his teeth.
 
‘
Merde
.’

‘Quite.’
 
Without removing either his eyes or his concentration from what he was
doing, Rockliffe said, ‘If Sheringham is caught, you’ll need to decide whether
or not you want to bring charges against him.
 
Be
still
.
 
Either way, he’s finished in England since it
would be quite useless to expect me to put attempted murder in the vault along
with all your other secrets.’

 
Adrian
said nothing. Sweat was breaking out all over his skin and blood was blossoming
about the knife.
 

Caroline found that watching someone sliding
sharp, pointy metal into her husband’s flesh didn’t agree with her.

‘Ah.
 
There
it is,’ said Rockliffe calmly. ‘Very, very still now. I’ve been meaning to tell
you how much I appreciated your performance in
The Hypochondriac
.
 
At some
point, I’d enjoy hearing how you got into that line of work.’ He made a slight
adjustment that had Adrian clamping his teeth together and digging his fingernails
into Bertrand’s restraining arm.
 
Then,
reaching for the slender pincers beside him, he drew the bullet out, saying in
a tone of profound satisfaction, ‘And we have it. Do you know … there are times
when I amaze myself.’

Adrian gave a low, involuntary groan and let his
muscles slump.

‘Bertrand, you can let go now.
 
Caroline, press down hard directly over the
wound.’
 
He poured a second glass of
brandy and approached the bed, the bottle still in his hand. ‘Adrian … brace
yourself.
 
Caroline … remove the pad, if
you will.’
 
And he poured neat brandy
over the wound.

The shock of it nearly caused Adrian to hit the
ceiling and he swore, long and hard in French.

‘Really,’ remarked the Duke, handing over the
glass, ‘you and your friend are a linguistic education – though perhaps not of
the best sort.’
 
He smiled at Caroline
and said, ‘He’s all yours, my dear.
 
Wrap
him up, let him finish the brandy and leave him to sleep. As for myself …’ he
gestured distastefully to the state of his apparel, ‘I shall go and attempt to
restore myself to some semblance of respectability.’