When a Rogue Meets His Match - Elizabeth Hoyt Page 0,93
around her shoulders.
Mr. Blackwell ran past them down the rest of the stairs. “What happened?”
“Set upon in Whitechapel,” Keys said grimly. “We was followin’…” Oddly, he glanced up at Messalina again and pressed his lips together before continuing, “Doesn’t matter. Got separated, and by the time I found the guv ’e was goin’ down with two men upon ’im. Shot the bigger one and the smaller ran for it.”
“Christ,” Mr. Blackwell said, looking appalled. “Where’s that bloody doctor?”
He reached to touch Gideon’s right shoulder just as Keys shouted, “Don’t!”
At the touch Gideon arched with a pained cry.
“What’s wrong with him?” Messalina asked frantically.
“’Is shoulder’s out of joint, ma’am,” Keys replied, and then said to the men carrying the litter, “Up the stairs, careful-like.”
Reggie grunted and began backing up the stairs, his massive arms bulging with the strain.
Messalina turned and with Lucretia hurried back up. She ran to Gideon’s room and entered for the first time since the night of the ball.
The bedroom looked the same as when she’d last seen it only days ago. For a moment grief reached up to take her in an overwhelming wave.
Then Lucretia began to pull back the covers on the bed. “We need a fire in here right away.”
“Yes.” Messalina went back out into the hallway, moving aside to let the men carrying the litter by. She glanced at Gideon’s face, but his eyes were closed. Was he insensate?
She caught the eye of the same maid who’d run into the sitting room. “Please bring another blanket.” She turned to a second maid, “Go to the kitchens and tell Hicks that the doctor will no doubt need hot water.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Both maids took off at a run.
Below, Messalina could hear the doctor arriving, and in a moment a middle-aged man with a bobbed wig puffed up the stairs.
The doctor caught sight of Messalina. “The lady of the house, I presume?”
“Quite.” Messalina pointed to the bedroom. “My husband is in there.” And as the man trundled slowly down the hallway, she couldn’t help adding, “Please hurry.”
The doctor nodded, saying soothingly in a voice that made Messalina want to kick him, “All in good time, ma’am. All in good time.”
He was at the bedroom door now, and as he went in Messalina followed close behind.
She halted, though, when she heard Gideon’s rasping voice from the bed. “Get her out.”
Messalina glanced around, wondering which maid had irritated her husband so much he wanted her thrown from the room.
But then she realized: he meant her.
“I don’t want her here,” Gideon was saying, even as he groaned at the doctor’s touch. “Get her out, I say!”
Keys was in front of Messalina, his expression apologetic. “Sorry, ma’am.”
“But—”
The door shut in her face.
* * *
Julian Greycourt deliberately let the door slam as he entered the inn room he and his brother shared.
“Where have you been?” Quinn asked with his arm over his eyes. He lay in one of the two narrow beds in the room.
“Out on business,” Julian replied, tossing his hat onto the table. He prowled to the window, peering out. The inn courtyard was nearly deserted. “And being followed by Hawthorne.”
“What?” Quinn withdrew his arm, revealing bloodshot eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that Hawthorne followed me from Opal’s,” Julian said absently. Was the boy lurking by the stables watching their room?
“Why the hell should he do that?” Quinn demanded.
“I presume he’s doing it on our dear uncle’s orders.” The boy went inside the stables, and Julian turned to look at his brother.
Quinn was staring at him. “He means to kill you.”
“Perhaps.” Julian had of course already considered this possibility after his uncle’s sinister hints. “Augustus certainly hates me enough to order my death.”
“Bloody hell!”
Julian glanced at his brother, his lips twitching. Quinn could be nearly as dramatic as their sisters. “But that’s not the only reason Augustus might order me followed.”
Quinn groaned, rolling to stand from the bed. He wore only his shirt and breeches, the shirt untucked and hanging about his hips. His hair was a wild tangle. “Then tell me what Augustus is up to.”
Julian shrugged. “Remember, I went to meet with Rookewoode and his friends.”
Quinn paused in the act of pouring a glass of wine, his eyes narrowed. “You think he knows of our plans?”
“It’s one concern.” Julian sauntered to the table, taking the wineglass from his brother’s hand. “Augustus has certainly spiked our plans before.”
He swallowed some of the wine and winced. Cheap swill.
Quinn poured himself another glass. He looked at Julian, and for a