The Marquess Who Loved Me - By Sara Ramsey Page 0,98
“My question is, why hide here? Why not tell everyone else to take cover?”
Nick ignored him and knelt with Marcus in front of the ladies. Lucia was as calm as ever, but her breaths were shallow and her mouth was tight. “How badly are you hurt?” he asked gently.
“It’s a flesh wound — it will heal,” she said in a clipped voice.
Ferguson wasn’t accustomed to being dismissed. “My wife, my sisters, and everyone else seem to be in peril,” he said, as disinterestedly as he said most things. “I find myself quite perturbed.”
Ellie glared at him. “I am the only person likely to shoot you. Go back outside and watch over them, if you’re so concerned.”
“I believe I’m more concerned about you at the moment,” he said, leaning against the pew on the other side of the aisle, where he could watch both Ellie and the door. “Why did someone shoot your maid?”
“He was aiming for me,” Marcus said grimly.
“And your first thought was to hide? Why not gather men and search for him?”
Marcus ripped another strip from Lucia's petticoat. He moved to sit beside her, taking over the task of keeping pressure on her wound. “I’d rather she not bleed to death while I go off into the woods looking for a madman.”
Nick stood, leaning against the back of the pew in front of Lucia. The duke had a point, unwelcome though it was. “Care to join the search with me, your grace?” he asked.
Ferguson laughed. “Not until I have an heir more suitable than my cousin. Unless you know who the madman is?”
“I have my suspicions,” Nick said briefly. “And I doubt you’re in any danger. It seems confined solely to me and Marcus.”
“Or, more accurately, me and Lucia,” Ellie said.
Lucia sighed. “I should have shot both the highwaymen on the road. And here I thought I didn’t need another lesson in misplaced mercy.”
Her tone was surprisingly light. Nick didn’t know many men who would handle being shot so calmly, but Lucia acted like she had been shot every day of her life.
The surgeon arrived then, accompanied by Lady Christabel and a slight whiff of ale. “What seems to be the matter?” he asked, walking toward them. “I heard a maid wasn’t feeling well?”
He gasped when Marcus lifted his hand briefly to show him the blood. “She accidentally gouged herself on a nail,” Marcus said, lying smoothly. “She needs stitches.”
The surgeon turned to Christabel. “Perhaps you should wait…”
“Nonsense,” Christabel said briskly, striding over to Lucia. Nick slid out of the way, joining Ferguson across the aisle to make room in front of Lucia. “If I had my bag of herbs, we could make better progress, but let’s get you comfortable, shall we?”
She pulled away the cloth and tsked in sympathy when she saw the wound. “That’s a nasty scrape. Is it bleeding as much as before, or has it slowed?”
She kept asking questions with a gentle voice that Nick hadn’t expected to hear from her. The surgeon seemed content to let her take over, swigging furtively from the flask in his pocket when he thought no one was looking.
Finally, she wrapped another strip of petticoat around Lucia's arm. “Mr. Claiborne, if you will escort the lady to a private room in the pub, I shall meet you there. I keep a bag with the publican and can do the stitches there. Ask for some laudanum if the lady wants it…”
“No opium,” Lucia interrupted forcefully.
Christabel shrugged. “Then a glass of whisky wouldn’t be amiss. I’ll join you in a moment.”
The surgeon followed them out. If his destination was the pub, it was for his own glass of whisky. As soon as they were gone, Christabel looked Nick square in the eye. “That wasn’t a scrape. What really happened?”
He thought about lying. But Christabel already knew about the highwayman — with this attempt, the neighborhood was in even more danger. “She was shot. Someone used the fireworks as a diversion to make an attempt on Marcus.”
Christabel paled. She hadn’t reacted at all to the sight of Lucia's blood, but she suddenly looked like she might be sick. “How terrible,” she said faintly.
Ferguson, ignored until now, offered her his flask. To everyone’s surprise, she took it — and drank from it with nearly as little reaction as Ellie would have. “Thank you, your grace,” she said, still sounding dazed. “I knew you were concerned about a highwayman, but I didn’t expect this.”
“A highwayman, did you say?” Ferguson asked, his hand pausing