Chapter 34
As soon as the words But I promise she’ll love France left Mr Babin’s mouth, the sick Emerald had been working to keep in came out. Her white soup and lamb, the fish with the wine sauce—every bite had been a delight—vegetable pie, and lemon cheesecake. She folded over, and everything she’d eaten sprayed all down the front of that awful man’s breeches and shoes.
Whether it was learning Mr Babin had been smuggling people or the idea of a forced sojourn in his company that sent Emerald’s dinner tumbling out of her, she could not be sure, and everything happened too fast for her to give her contemplations due reflection.
Beau called her name. Mr Babin cried out in disgust, yanking his handkerchief from his pocket and trying to wipe away the sick while keeping the gun trained on Beau. And Emerald, knowing what wish was foremost in her heart, made a bold choice. She flung herself upwards, bringing her knotted hands around like a mace and striking Mr Babin on the underside of his chin. The blow staggered him, and he stumbled backward. Without sparing a second look behind her, Emerald raced towards Beau. He grabbed the rope around her wrists and practically dragged her down the dim corridor at a gruelling pace. They neared the corner, and Beau pushed her ahead. The sound of a gunshot reverberated off the tight walls. He wrapped her up from behind, taking them both down as a second shot was fired.
Emerald was falling in slow motion. Her mind had enough time to register the gunfire, and her heart enough time to freeze with fear. Beau suffering a gunshot—or worse—in his bold rescue of her was unfathomable. His homecoming had roused her from a sleep so deep even dreams couldn’t survive. Their time together had been unhurried, and she felt them drifting to eternity, one touch, one look at a time. The awful bang threatened to take from her what she wished for most before it was even truly hers.
Landing on the hard ground sent a wave of shock through her. She felt hot all over, and bearing Beau’s full weight was making it hard to breathe. Next to her head, a flurry of footsteps ran past in the direction of the room where they’d just come from. Above her, his voice swimming, Saunders told Beau he was bleeding. Beau pushed up to his knees beside her, but Emerald still couldn’t get enough air.
‘A flesh wound,’ Beau said. ‘I don’t even feel?—’
Emerald found his hand with hers, but the effort to close her fingers and hold his warmth as cold began to creep in was too great. The last thing she remembered was the odd tone of her voice and how distant it sounded as she said, ‘Beau—Beau, I can’t—’ and the terror-stricken blue eyes that met hers before they closed.
Beau cried out.The anguish with which he said Emerald’s name brought the dozens of armed men around him to a standstill. For one moment everyone stared in shocked silence before the chaos. Lord Duffy was yelling for a carriage. Allard sent someone for the physician and the surgeon. Saunders was already tying together handkerchiefs from the men.
A flower of red bloomed on her side, and blood was pooling under her. Beau tore his cravat from his throat, folded it over itself, and gently pressed it to the wound. With care, Saunders lifted her just enough so Beau could wrap the handkerchiefs around her and secure his cravat in place. She whimpered, and Beau’s eyes burned with tears.
‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’ He kept saying those words, but he didn’t think he was hoping for her forgiveness so much as his own. ‘It’s all right, my love, everything will be all right. I’ve got to lift you.’ Beau knew she was unconscious, but if she could hear anything, he wanted her to know he was there, tethering her to her earthly body, to him, to the life they would live together.
One of Lord Duffy’s men appeared at his side with a thin, flat panel of scenery painted like a hat shop. Saunders took her legs, Beau her upper body, and together, they shifted her onto the wooden board and carried her out to the carriage.
The ride to Avon House took years off his life. He sat back in the corner of the carriage, cradling her close to him and doing his best to protect her from the jostling movements as they rode over the cobblestones. Her pallor paled with every minute, a sure sign of the life leaving her, even though the flow of blood had slowed.
Saunders sat across from him, face grim, and bounded out of the equipage as it rolled to a stop in front of the house.
Beau, with quick, careful movements, carried Emerald out of the carriage and cleared the steps of his townhouse in one long stride, sailing through the door flung open by Saunders and shouting orders that woke the entire house: hot water, clean linens, Gwen.
His mother and sister were racing from their rooms as he approached Emerald’s door, their shock and worry finding footing in overlapping exclamations, none of which he heard. He laid her on her bed as Gwen rushed in, her bleary eyes clearing as she took in the scene before her.
Beau was already cutting the bodice of Emerald’s dress.
‘My lord, I can— You ought not?—’
‘No!’
Gwen nodded and turned her attention to shooing his mother and sister from the room as the surgeon entered. At Beau’s elbow, the maid placed a bowl of hot water and a stack of clean rags. He washed his hands, and a new bowl appeared directly after.
Beau stared at the torn, bloody flesh of Emerald’s side, and bit his own tongue till he tasted a metallic tang to prevent further tears. With tender caution, he cleaned her wound before soaking a rag in brandy and dabbing it against her angry skin.
‘My lord,’ said the surgeon, ready to remove the bullet lodged in the curve where her waist met her hip.
He nodded and moved to the other side of the bed. Perched on the edge, he possessed himself of her hand and made gentle, soothing circles on the back of it.
‘It will only hurt a moment, my love,’ he said quietly. ‘Remember, we feel pain and gain strength in equal measure. I’m right here.’ Beau exhaled a tremulous sigh. ‘I’m right here.’ He inclined his head once more, a sign of silent permission, and the surgeon dug into her with his pincers.
Emerald whined, but the sob he heard belonged to Gwen.
‘Oh, miss.’ The maid had come to the foot of the bed and stood with her hands clasped tight over her heart.
‘She’s lucky,’ remarked the surgeon, dropping the bullet into a little dish on the table. ‘Missed her ribs and her organs. Her greatest risk is infection.’ He opened a jar and used a small spatula to scoop out something golden and viscous. With a delicate hand, he applied it to the open wound. ‘Honey. Helps prevent contamination, swelling.’
Beau’s stomach turned when the surgeon picked up a needle, and he winced when it pierced her soft flesh.
When the surgeon finished the sutures, he left Beau with instructions for her ongoing care, a promise to return in the morning, and a directive to send for him should she develop a fitful fever.
‘If you please, sir.’
Beau wasn’t surprised to hear Saunders’s voice rising from the corner of the room. The valet thanked the surgeon, and Beau heard the door open, their retreating footsteps followed by two tentative, worried feminine voices. He finally looked over his shoulder to see his mother and sister clinging to one another in the doorway.
‘What happened? Will she be all right?’
He turned back to Emerald. ‘She needs a fresh nightdress.’
‘I’ve got one here, my lord,’ replied Gwen.
‘Beauden.’ His mother articulated his name as a warning.
He wanted to rail, to refuse to leave her side, to threaten violence if anyone tried to force him. No one would be so tender, take such careful care of her as he. But he had already taken liberties, tearing into her chemise. When he saw her in a state of undress, it would be because she’d chosen to share herself with him.
There was a soft touch to his shoulder. ‘Go, brother. Clean yourself up. I’ll help Gwen.’
With a heavy sigh, he acquiesced, placing a kiss on Emerald’s palm and curling her fingers around it before he left her side.