Those men would now rush to join them.
“My lord, let me go in first,” Mr. Barrow said, huffing and lumbering up the stairs, trying to keep up with him. “Please! You’ll get yourself killed. Think of your son!”
Damn it.
He couldn’t stand back and let Taffy die. The door was open. He approached it cautiously, forcing his heart to calm while he listened for sounds to indicate their positions in the room. But all was silent. He carefully peered in, expecting to see the deranged Lord Gordon holding Taffy hostage. Instead, he saw them both motionless on the floor, their bodies in a crimson pool of blood. “Blessed saints!”
He raced to Taffy’s side and ordered Mr. Barrow to secure Lord Gordon. By this time, two more runners had arrived. “He’s dead, m’lord,” Mr. Barrow said. “Miss Ralston got him.”
“But did he get her?” asked the runner he recognized as Collins in obvious dismay.
Gavin’s hands were shaking as he put two fingers to her neck to check for a pulse. “Thank heaven. No. She’s breathing. We need a doctor. Fast!”
Mr. Barrow sent Collins off to town with all haste.
When Gavin lifted Taffy into his arms, he saw a knife that had been hidden by her shoulder and realized this was the weapon used to stab her. “Collect that thing. Search that devil for other weapons. Make damn certain he’s dead before ye put away yer own weapons. Bind his hands and stow his body in one of the outbuildings. I don’t want him in the house. I won’t rest easy until maggots collect on his body.”
He carried Taffy to his bed and placed her in it, then took the knife he kept under his pillow and carefully began to cut the gown away to expose her shoulder. He’d cleanse it with brandy and then keep a clean cloth pressed to it until the doctor arrived. He hoped that a few stitches was all she needed.
She looked so slight and pale in the big bed. The infernal mobcap she always wore must have fallen off in her struggle as had most of her hairpins. Her hair was a magnificent shade of auburn-red and looked beautiful as it cascaded onto the pillow. “Forgive me, lass. I should have been here for ye. I should have protected ye.”
“Is Rafe all right?” she asked in a ragged whisper, her eyes fluttering open. He saw they were shadowed with pain.
“Aye, love. He is, thanks to ye. He’s with Mick in the library, just as ye taught him.”
She smiled and closed her eyes again. “Thank goodness. I couldn’t let that monster get him.”
“We’ll no longer have to worry about him. Ye shot him, lass. He’s dead.”
She gave a slight nod. “He stabbed me. My shoulder is on fire.”
“Did he get ye anywhere else? I’ll check the rest of ye now. I have to cut away yer clothing. Ye’re soaked in blood, but I think most of it is Gordon’s.”
She smiled at him. “Cut away my clothes? A likely excuse, my lord. You’ve been itching to undress me from the moment you met me. Is that not so?”
“Aye, lass. It is.” He kissed her lightly on the forehead. “But I need to know. Did he hurt ye anywhere else?”
“No. I think I stopped him before he could stab me again. But I don’t know. I passed out.”
He ran his hands gently up and down her legs, her sides, and carefully along her back. But he found no other puncture marks. He had never been a particularly pious man, but he silently began to recite every prayer he could recall. “It seems to be just the shoulder. Rest now, love. I’ll take care of ye. Ye’ll need stitching. The doctor will tend to that. I’ll be with ye all the while.” He waited for the Bow Street men to remove the body before he shut the door. He returned to her side and removed her garments with aching care.
Her body was beautiful, slender and creamy. Her breasts were full and their buds pink. The patch of hair between her legs was the same auburn-red as her mane of curls. But he quickly tucked the sheet around her, just enough to cover her up to her breasts. He needed to leave the shoulder exposed while he cleansed it.
She was blushing.
“Och, lass. This is not the way I’d hoped to glimpse yer body. But ye need never feel any shame with me. I wish to be yer husband. Ye know that.” He