Falling for the Marquess - Julianne MacLean Page 0,117

of modesty in these circumstances. She had been shot. He—whoever he was—needed to examine the wound.

She looked down at her leg. Her ivory stocking was stained red on the inside of her thigh. The whole area burned like nothing she’d ever experienced before. It was as if someone were branding her with a red-hot poker.

Her rescuer wrapped his hand around her calf and moved her legs apart to get a closer look. Adele stiffened. She had to fight the urge to squeeze her legs back together again.

“I must remove your stocking,” he said, “to get a better look. May I have your permission?”

“Of course.”

Her reply came intuitively, but after she’d said it, she felt her modesty return. She swept the petty notion aside, for now was not the time to worry about decorum. She squeezed her eyes shut and focused on overcoming the pain.

The man’s hands were swift as he rolled the stocking down her leg. He barely touched her skin. His touch was light as silk. He eased the stocking to her ankle with great care, as if he were handling something very precious. Adele held her breath the entire time.

“This looks painful,” he said.

It was. Her whole leg throbbed, and the pounding sensation reverberated all the way up to her shoulders.

Adele opened her eyes and watched the man’s face. His dark brows drew together with concern as he inspected the gash. He slid a hand over her bare thigh as he touched all around the wound.

“It’s just a graze, thank God,” he said, sitting back on his heels. “We’ll bandage it and you’ll live.” He stood up and glanced around the room.

Looking up at him, so tall and serious, Adele had to fight the sense of embarrassment and intimidation that made her almost afraid to speak. She had never let a man who was not a doctor touch her so intimately before.

“May I ask who you are? And how you found me?”

He considered her question for a moment. “I apologize, Miss Wilson. I should have identified myself.”

Suddenly, he was transformed into a proper gentleman. At least his words were gentlemanly. His appearance was quite another matter altogether. He was unshaven, wild, and rough. His black wool coat looked shabby, dusty, and weathered, as if he’d rolled down a hill in it. There was intensity in everything about him, and it left her breathless and panicky.

Adele was nowhere near ready to relax. Especially when she found herself locked in his dark, gleaming stare.

“I am Damien Renshaw,” he explained. “Viscount Alcester. Harold’s cousin.”

Harold’s cousin? Yes…she knew of him. Her sister Sophia had met him in London and described him as the polar opposite of Harold. Lord Alcester had a terrible reputation with women, he was irresponsible with money and his mother had been a scandalous adulteress. He was following in his mother’s footsteps, it was said, and led a careless life with a string of mistresses of questionable repute. The current one was a famous and beautiful actress.

“The ship’s master at arms informed Harold of your kidnapping,” Lord Alcester said, “as there was a ransom note left in your stateroom. Harold informed me of the situation, and it was deemed that I should take care of things.”

Deemed? By whom?

“I assured Harold that I would bring you home quickly and quietly,” Lord Alcester added. “We will leave here in the morning, after the storm has passed, and travel under assumed names to meet your mother and sister in two days’ time, in a village between here and Osulton Manor. It has all been arranged. She will then escort you the rest of the way, as if nothing ever happened.”

Adele was in shock. She was to travel alone with this man?

Still fighting the excruciating pain in her thigh, she struggled to collect her thoughts and understand the situation. “No one knows about my kidnapping?”

“Besides the ship’s officer, no one except your family and Harold’s mother and sister. I suggested he not even tell them, but by the time he contacted me, he had already informed them. They have since been advised to keep quiet.”

“To avoid a scandal,” Adele said.

“Yes.”

She glanced uneasily at her rescuer—a rake of the highest order—then at the unconscious man lying on the floor beside them, who had done God-only-knew-what to her while she was unconscious.

Adele felt sick and dizzy.

Lord Alcester followed her gaze, then crossed the creaky floor to where her kidnapper lay. Kneeling down, he pressed two fingers to the man’s neck. The wind from the storm