Eight Hunting Lyons (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

Chapter Twenty-Three

G emma woke with a start to realize she was alone. She reached out to touch the pillow next to her. It was cool to the touch. Where was Colin? Hadn’t he told her he loved her just a few moments ago? She shook her head. “I must have dozed off again.”

Slipping from beneath the covers, she donned her nightrail and dressing gown. Desperate for a bite to eat and a cup of tea, she nearly tugged on the bell pull before she realized how quiet it was. How early was it? Where was her husband?

She walked to the window, swept the drape aside and sighed. “It’s not even dawn yet.” Her stomach rumbled louder this time and she smiled. “Colin’s probably just as hungry as I am,” she reasoned and then began to hum to herself. They’d certainly worked up an appetite last night. She had been afraid before he began his gentle—and insistent, tutelage. Afterward, she could not help but sigh as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over her. With a soft smile, she realized she could not wait to have him continue with his instruction.

The sound of carriage wheels startled her. Was one of their neighbors just getting home or just leaving? Curiosity got the better of her and she glanced outside. Odd, the carriage stopped in front of Templeton House. The sound of the front door opening and closing had her heart stuttering in her breast. The man she’d spent the night making love with strode to the carriage, opened the door, and climbed in.

Her stomach churned in earnest as her thoughts, and the recent conversations with Captain Coventry, raced through her. There was only one place her husband would be going to before dawn. She dashed across the room, tugged on the bell pull. Had Harkwell challenged Colin to a duel, or had he challenged Harkwell?

The name had her breath snagging in her breast. She had to get to Chalk Farm. It was rumored to be the sight of more than one duel. Hastily washing her face and hands, she was about to go behind the dressing screen when a soft knock sounded on the door. She rushed to open it.

Her husband’s valet stood on the other side, blinking in confusion. “Your ladyship? Is anything wrong?”

She grabbed the front of his waistcoat, pulled him inside and shut the door. “Where is my husband?”

His face lost every ounce of color, and she had her answer. “I need you to take me to Chalk Farm.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “I can’t, your ladyship.”

She poked him in the chest. “You can, and you will, or I shall hire a hack and find my way there alone. What do you think his lordship will do if he finds out you refused to help me?”

“But he expressly stated you were not to follow him.”

She put her hands on her hips, started to speak, and realized it would be a waste of time. “Fine then.” She grabbed hold of his sleeve, opened the door, pushed him out. “I’ll be ready to leave in ten minutes. Have Lettie ready to go with me.”

“Your ladyship—”

“Nine minutes.”

“Yes, your ladyship.”

She was ready in eight. She hastily bundled her hair atop her head as she bustled down the staircase. She didn’t care who she woke up, whose sleep she disturbed. Colin needed her whether he knew it or not.

Lettie stood by the front door, her eyes wide with fear. “Are we really going to the farm?”

“Yes.” She slipped her arm through Lettie’s, leaned close and whispered, “Did you find it?”

“Yes, your ladyship.”

“Where was it?”

Lettie whispered, “Right where you thought it would be.”

“Hah! In the bottom of his wardrobe! I knew it.”

“Shush,” Lettie cautioned, reaching into the pocket of her coat. “No one can know that I was snooping around in his lordship’s things. They’ll sack me for sure.”

“No, they won’t,” Gemma assured her. “I will tell them I tasked you with the job.”

“But his lordship—”

“Will not sack you, as you put it, once I tell him how I couldn’t possibly face my new role as viscountess without the aid of my trusted lady’s maid.”

Lettie’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she blinked them away as the front door opened.

Her husband’s valet motioned for them to follow him. “Not a word now, your ladyship, else his lordship—”

“Will not sack you. I shall make certain of it.”

“Thank you, your ladyship.” He held the door to the carriage and helped Gemma and her maid inside.

Two men appeared out of the early morning mist. “Who are you?”

“Thompson at your service, your ladyship.” Pointing to the man who was climbing up to sit beside the coachman, he told her, “That’s Franklin. We were supposed to meet you yesterday, but plans changed what with your husband’s injury.”

“Are you friends of my husband?”

He shook his head. “We work for Gavin King of the Bow Street Runners, your ladyship.” He closed the door to the carriage and climbed on top. A glance out the tiny window facing the back of the carriage had her realizing the man must be sitting on top facing the rear, while Franklin was facing front. Just what sort of trouble did Colin expect that she’d get into?

As they sped off toward their destination, another thought occurred. What sort of trouble had he been preparing to protect her from? Setting those thoughts aside to worry about later, she looked out the window on her side and then leaned forward to look out the one by Lettie. “All right,” she sighed. “It’s safe to hand over my grandfather’s dueling pistol.”

Lettie withdrew it from the depths of her coat pocket. “Here you are, your ladyship.’

“Is it loaded?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Gemma sighed. “How can I protect my husband with an unloaded pistol?”

Lettie frowned. “I supposed you could whack someone on the back of the head with the handle.”

She smiled at her maid. “Excellent suggestion. Any other ideas?”

Lettie shook her head.

“I could throw it at Harkwell’s head!”

Lettie shivered. “He has a horrible reputation, your ladyship. Steer clear of that one.”

“My father all but sold me to him.”

Her maid’s eyes rounded in shock. “Why?”

“I’m afraid it has to do with a business proposition and the amount of coin Father was willing to hand over to be rid of me.”

“I’m ever so sorry, your ladyship. Thank goodness you’re married to the viscount.”

Gemma couldn’t agree more. Thoughts of their night spent in one another’s arms, sampling the delights that would be theirs for the rest of their lives, filled her as she settled back against the squabs.

The carriage slowed to a stop. Had the duel occurred already? Before she could panic, reason returned. It was far too quiet. The door swung open, but it wasn’t Mr. Thompson or Mr. Franklin who stood glaring at her. “Mr. Garahan, what a surprise to see you here.”

“I could say the same for yer ladyship, but I can’t say that I’m surprised.”

“Has Harkwell shown up yet?”

“Aye. Just a few moments ago. I need to check the pistols to ensure they are loaded properly.”

“Of course.” She put a hand to the open doorway and would have stepped down, but he spun around, warning her, “Do not step foot from that carriage, yer ladyship.”

She paused, deciding the better part of valor would be to let the man think she would do as he asked.

He seemed satisfied that he’d accomplished the task he’d obviously been assigned. He strode off to the field where her husband and Harkwell stood facing one another. She could feel the palpable tension in the air. She did not trust Harkwell. He was sure to do something underhanded unless she intervened.

This was not going to end well.

While Garahan was busy inspecting the weapons, she slipped from the coach and made her way over to stand behind a grouping of trees. She felt, rather than heard, someone standing behind her. Afraid to look, she hesitated, then chastised herself. She was here to stop Harkwell from murdering her husband. She was not afraid!

Spinning around, she found herself face-to-face with Captain Coventry. “Captain!” she breathed a sigh of relief. “I did not expect to see you here.”

“I could say the same, your ladyship.”

Before he could order her back to the carriage, Colin and Harkwell were taking their places. “Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere else, protecting Colin’s back?”

He frowned at her. “Stay put!”

She lifted her chin, intending to argue, then realized time was of the essence. The sooner he left, the sooner she could make ready to put her plan into action. “Very well.”

He slipped from where they were hidden, taking up a position in plain sight. She wondered who else was hiding, protecting Harkwell. A glance at the carriage had her realizing both Thompson and Franklin were no longer on top, but the coachman was. At least Lettie would not be alone.

The call to stand back-to-back had her empty stomach roiling. Thank goodness she had not eaten anything. Watching her husband standing straight and tall with the dueling pistol wavering in his left hand— his left hand! She placed her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. Dear God, Colin was right-handed! How would he be able to return fire if Harkwell was the first to shoot?

The sound of a twig snapping had her on alert. She turned toward the sound in time to see a man wearing a dark coat skulking closer to the field. He hadn’t noticed her. He was intent on his quarry—her husband, Viscount Moreland!

She would not let the man sneak up on the men two paces away from turning and firing! Love for Colin had her leaving the safety of the trees. She heard the first shot but didn’t take her eyes off the man who stood at the edge of the field. Was she the only one who noticed him?

He raised his pistol and aimed it at her husband’s back. With a cry of anguish, she shouted Colin’s name and launched herself at his attacker, reaching for the pistol in his hand. He grabbed hold of her arm, with a grip of iron as he raised his other hand above his head.

She watched the handle coming toward her before she heard Colin calling her name, snapping her back to the present in time to pull her free arm over her head to deflect the blow.

The horrifying sound of bone breaking filled her as searing, white-hot pain shot through her arm and her vision tunneled. The last thing she saw was Colin kneeling beside her. She tried to lift her hand to his face but couldn’t.

“You’re safe,” she rasped as her world went dark.

“Why hasn’t she come around yet?” Moreland demanded.

Dr. McIntyre frowned at him. “Would you like me to set your wife’s broken arm, or answer your incessant questions?”

Edmund tugged on his brother’s arm. “For God’s sake, Colin. Let him set her arm before she comes to.”

The words finally made sense in a world that had tilted on its axis from the moment he’d heard Gemma scream his name through the early morning mist. “She has to wake up,” he rasped.

“She will,” the doctor assured him. A moment later, he said, “I need someone to hold her hand while I align the bones.”

Colin was not listening. His mind whirled as the duel replayed itself in his mind. The tables had been turned on him. His wife had been the one protecting his back. Because of Gemma’s fearless actions, Harkwell’s henchman had not succeeded in that regard. Colin’s stomach heaved at the memory of his wife protecting her head from Harkwell’s henchman. Determined, the bloody bastard settled for breaking Gemma’s arm.

“I’ll do it.”

Colin snapped to attention at his brother’s words and shook his head. “No. I need to.” He moved to stand where the physician directed him and held her arm steady until McIntyre was satisfied that the bones were in their proper place in order to heal.

Gemma’s ink-black lashes fluttered against the ghastly white of her face. “She’s coming around.”

McIntyre nodded. “Mrs. Pritchard, do you have the laudanum ready?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Colin,” Gemma whispered. “You’re not dead.”

Tears stung the backs of his eyes as his earlier fear that she would be before he could reach her side returned.

“It’s just a flesh wound,” Edmund piped up from where he stood behind his brother.

Confusion had his wife’s brow furrowing. “Harkwell shot you?”

His brother chuckled. “No, he shot a tree, which deflected the pistol ball which grazed Colin’s arm.”

“Why does my arm hurt?” She sounded confused. Didn’t she remember? Had the bastard hit her in the head before breaking her arm?

Sensing her agitation, he quickly answered, “You used it to protect your head.” He sat beside the settee in the chair the doctor had vacated. “That bloody bastard planned to strike your head with the butt end of his pistol.”

“I was so worried when I awoke and you weren’t there.” Tears welled up and fell though she didn’t seem to realize that she was weeping.

“I’m sorry, love. I didn’t want you to follow me.”

The confusion in her gaze dissipated and fire replaced it. “You might not be here frowning at me if I hadn’t!”

“Yer ladyship has the right of it,” Garahan said as he entered the sitting room. Turning to the doctor, he asked, “Will her ladyship be all right?”

“With complete bed rest for a sennight, an invalid’s diet, and proper care, yes.” He moved around the group of people who had slowly gathered as he’d taken care of the viscount and the viscountess. “I need to splint her ladyship’s arm and then wrap it,” he announced to the room at large. “If you would all excuse me.”

“Don’t let us stop ye.” Garahan’s reply earned a glare from the doctor.

Coventry tugged on Garahan’s arm to get him to move and motioned to Edmund. “I believe King should be arriving shortly with news.”

“Do you need me to stay?” Mrs. Pritchard asked. “If not, I will see about feeding our guests.”

The doctor’s gaze met the viscount’s. “I believe his lordship has things well in hand, but thank you.”

With a nod, the housekeeper left the room.

“I owe you my life, Gemma.”

She softly smiled. “Then we are even. You saved me from having to marry that horrible man.”

More tears welled up and he gently dried them. “Are you in terrible pain?”

She shook her head. “Father handed over my dowry to Harkwell, didn’t he?”

“King shall get to the bottom of that, my love. Don’t worry. I have coin enough to take proper care of you and our children.”

“I love you, Colin.”

“I know.”

His wife’s gasp was echoed by the deep chuckle rumbling from behind him. He’d forgotten they were not alone. The doctor’s nudge had Colin admitting, “I wanted to see if my darling wife was listening.”

Gemma huffed out a breath to speak but groaned instead as the doctor placed the splints on either side of her forearm.

“Easy, love,” Colin urged. “I’ve got you.”

“You won’t let go?”

“Not in this lifetime, Gemma.”

She closed her eyes as Colin held the wooden slats in place and the doctor secured them with linen bandages.

McIntyre nodded. “I’ll fashion a sling for you, but you must heed my instructions and follow them to the letter.”

“She will,” Colin answered for her.

“Will I?” she countered.

Colin bent to press a kiss to her forehead. “You will.”

“I thought we agreed you would not order me around as if I were one of your midshipmen.”

He sighed and knelt beside the settee. “It’s not an order, it’s common sense.” Before she injured herself in her attempt to sit and respond to that last remark, he rasped, “Take a deep breath, clear your mind and search it. You’ll realize I am not ordering you to follow the doctor’s orders. I’m asking you to… need you to.”

Falling into the warmth of her soft brown eyes, he said, “I love you with all my heart, Gemma. Promise me you’ll do as Dr. McIntyre says. I cannot imagine living the rest of my life without you by my side.”

Her gaze riveted to his. “Why didn’t you say that in the first place?”

“Be patient with me, my love. I’ve been barking orders at underlings for years.”

“If you will temper that need with a bit of understanding that it is vexing in the extreme and tempts me to ignore you, then I shall agree.”

“I need you to hold her ladyship’s arm still once more, and gently lift her toward you while I fix the proper position of her sling.”

Colin did as the doctor asked, cradling his wife against him, before handing the doctor a corner of the sling for him to secure at Gemma’s shoulder. When McIntyre stepped back, Viscount Moreland eased his wife against the cushions, meeting her gaze.

“Do you need another pillow?”

“No, thank you.”

“What can I do? I need to do something, Gemma.”

She reached out to cup his cheek in her hand. “Keep me company?”

“Of course. But you are in pain. I need to fix that.”

“Bedrest,” Dr. McIntyre reminded them as he closed his bag.

“What if she is more comfortable down here? Isn’t her comfort our first concern?”

The doctor cleared his throat to advise, “Bedrest, invalid’s diet, and proper care for a sennight—nothing less. If she moves about too often, the bones may shift and not heal properly.”

“I understand. Wouldn’t it have been better to set her arm when she was in our bedchamber?”

The doctor shook his head. “Setting the bones as quickly as possible will help with the healing.”

“I see.”

McIntyre’s glance shifted to the viscountess. “Your ladyship, while I would do all in my power to ease your pain, I’m afraid that will not be possible until you are settled in your bedchamber.”

“I understand,” she told the physician. Turning to her husband, she stated, “I’m ready.”

He slipped his uninjured arm beneath her, carefully easing her against his chest. Her gasp of pain had the viscount pausing, beads of sweat breaking out on his brow. “Forgive me for hurting you, Gemma.”

She drew in one breath and then another. “I’m fine. We can do this.”

Wishing he had the power to turn back time, he lowered his forehead to hers. “I wouldn’t hurt you for the world, Gemma.”

“I know,” she whispered.

He straightened to his full height and followed the doctor. His bootheels echoed in the quiet. He paused at the bottom of the staircase. “Once we reach the top, it should not be as jarring as ascending the stairs.”

Her gaze met his. She nodded then tucked her head beneath his chin.

Colin steeled himself not to react to the tears pooling at the base of his throat. If Harkwell and his lacky were within reach, he’d have them hanging from the yardarm of his ship. Another sharp intake of breath had him needing to distract his wife from the pain.

The massive chandelier in the entryway had him glancing at the ceiling and the cable holding it in place. “Shall we hang Harkwell and his henchman from the chandelier, my love?”

Gemma nodded against his throat. “In a sennight, when Dr. McIntyre allows me to leave our bed.”

“I rather had something else in mind, my love.”

She eased back to meet his gaze. “Care to share it with me?”

“Later,” he promised as they stood in the doorway to their bedchamber. “When we’re alone.”

“As to that, your lordship,” the droll tone in the physician’s voice commanded his attention. “You’ll have to refrain from any activity that could possibly induce her ladyship to move that arm.”

“For how long?” Colin inquired.

“Until I have cleared her ladyship to resume her normal duties.”

Viscount Moreland remained silent, while he settled Gemma in their bed to the physician’s exacting instructions. “Thank you, Doctor.”

McIntyre inclined his head. “Send for me at once if her ladyship develops a fever or appears to be in more pain than right now.”

“I will.” Colin moved one of the chairs over to the side of the bed and sat down heavily, the weight of his failure to protect his wife eating at his very soul until he felt the tips of her fingers on his arm. He looked up to find her smiling at him. How in the bloody hell could she smile after she’d suffered such a grievous injury?

“Colin?”

“Aye, Lass.”

“You could tie me to the bed, so I do not move.”

Love for his wife crashed over him like a wave amidship. He tipped his head back and laughed until tears filled his eyes.

She smiled up at him. “Did you know you roar like a lion when you’re handing out your orders.”

He shook his head. “I shall try not to roar, too much.”

“Or order me about?”

He chuckled as he leaned over and placed a whisper-soft kiss to her upturned lips.

She pulled him close and kissed him with a thoroughness that reminded him of the night before, when he’d taken the time to tutor her in the art of lovemaking. Shaking with need, that he had to control, he dragged in a breath and asked, “Where have you been all of my life?”

Gemma traced the line of his jaw with her fingertips before tapping the tip of one finger against the fullness of his bottom lip. “Waiting to be rescued by my lion.”