Chapter Fourteen
“You must let me up!” Florence cried, trying to wriggle out of his grasp and examine his arm that he insisted was not bleeding. “There’s a crimson streak running down the length of your jacket sleeve. Let me up, Trajan! The cur must have run off by now.”
“No, give it another moment.”
Had the assailant run off? Or was he waiting to take another shot?
“I hear shouts and dogs barking,” she said. “Your footmen must be after him by now. How did he get past them? Herbert was patrolling with one of your bloodhounds.”
“I know.” This was what worried him most. Trajan ignored his arm and nudged Florence down again. “Blast it, Florence. That shot was aimed at you.”
A gift from Frampton. That vindictive lord’s retribution because of those infernal letters.
“Let me have a look at your arm.”
“No, it is only a flesh wound.” He was more worried about Florence and the safety of his footmen. Had the assailant slain any of his men?
He heard more shouts from outside the window, and footsteps now resounded through the hall. His cousins had set aside their billiards cues and were running to him.
He finally allowed Florence to sit up, for his dogs were howling right outside the window.
Edgar peered in. “Your Grace! You are hurt!”
“Nothing serious. Get the dogs onto his scent.”
“Herbert’s got Dodger on him right now. Alvin’s gone for the other dogs. I’ll help him.”
The cousins burst in just as Edgar disappeared.
Andrew rushed to Trajan’s side. “You’re bleeding! And Florence! There’s blood on you, too!”
“It’s his. Not mine. He’s the one that who was shot.”
“He grazed my arm,” Trajan said. “That’s all. Sebastian, take Florence upstairs to Hermia and keep them both safe while—”
Florence grabbed hold of him. “Don’t you dare go after him. Oh, Lord. You are a bloody mess! He might have killed you! Trajan…oh, Trajan… I told you I am nothing but trouble.”
Timmons rushed in next, followed by several more footmen. Trajan’s entire jacket sleeve was now a dark-red splotch of blood.
“Your Grace!” Timmons gasped, and his eyes rounded in alarm.
“I’m fine. Take weapons,” Trajan commanded, knowing he was going to punch a wall in frustration if one more person told him that his arm was bleeding. “We’ll search the grounds in pairs.”
Ignoring Florence’s protests and Sebastian’s gripes about having to stay behind with the women, he strode to the gun cupboard, unlocked it, and handed out weapons.
“Give me one, too,” Florence demanded, following after him and staring at his injured arm with an abundance of concern.
“You have never fired a weapon before.”
She cast him a stubborn look. “True, but how difficult—”
“Gad, no!” He shook his head with vehemence. “I want you up in Hermia’s room right now, and stay there until I tell you it is safe to come down. Why are you giving me a hard time about this? That shot was aimed at you, and would have hit you if I had not pushed you down.”
“But it struck you, and we need to take care of you at once.” She turned to his butler. “Send a man for the doctor right away. And His Grace should not be joining in the search while he is spurting blood like water out of a whale’s spout.”
“I’ll be fine. You exaggerate. Go upstairs and stop fretting. Timmons, I want two armed footmen posted at the top of the main stairs and two at the top of the servants’ stairs to guard the ladies.”
“Very good, Your Grace.”
He next turned to Sebastian and handed him a rifle. “I want you inside the room with Hermia and Florence. Do not let either of them near the windows.”
“Very good, Your Grace,” Sebastian said, still grumbling in frustration.
The housekeeper now rushed in to join them.
Trajan turned to her. “My apologies, Mrs. Albright. We’ve made a fresh mess in the library. It needs to be cleaned up, but not now. It isn’t safe yet.”
“All right, Your Grace,” she said. “I’ll gather the maids and keep them in the kitchen until you instruct otherwise.”
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Albright.” Florence began to wring her hands because she blamed herself for the chaos created and was obviously distraught over his injury.
“No apology necessary, Lady Florence.” Mrs. Albright placed a kindly arm around Florence to lead her upstairs. Florence allowed the woman to steer her out of the room, but cast Trajan a pleading glance on the way out.
His heart skipped several beats, for those were real tears she was shedding.
For him.
He gave the matter no more thought and hurriedly finished handing out the weapons. They took off after the assailant. “Keep a lookout for any accomplices,” he warned, although he was fairly certain Frampton had sent only this one man.
Had he meant to kill Florence? Or merely scare her?
Well, that had been a killing shot.
Timmons remained behind to send a messenger for the doctor and assist Mrs. Albright in calming the staff.
Trajan organized his footmen in pairs, relieved when all men were accounted for and none of them hurt.
He delegated a portion of the grounds to each pair, although he doubted their search would yield any other assailants in hiding.
Assassins usually worked alone, did they not?
But there might be clues to be found.
“Edgar, come with me,” he said to the most capable of his men.
“Aye, Your Grace. What is this world coming to? Who would want to harm you or Lady Florence?”
“We’ll question the culprit once we catch him.”
But he knew the answer already—the shooter had come for Florence and not him.
It was not long before Herbert gave a shout. “He’s there! I see him.”
He released Trajan’s prize bloodhound, who tore off after the man, his barks leading them all toward the beach stairs, where Frampton had first caught sight of Trajan and Florence in a torrid embrace several days ago.
The man, obviously in a panic and knowing he would be caught before he ever made it to the shelter of the woods that separated this property from Frampton’s, stupidly thought to run down to the beach instead.
Perhaps he meant to swim to Frampton’s side of the cove, or merely was not thinking at all, for those cove waters were already dark and the wave swells were rough as the tide came in.
Even a strong swimmer could be swallowed up by the unforgiving sea.
But the man never made it near the water or even onto the beach. He had barely started down the steps before tripping over his feet and tumbling headfirst along the length of the stairs.
He was dead by the time his body hit the sand.
Since night had now fallen, two of the footmen lit torches to illuminate their way down the stairs, for Trajan did not need anyone else taking a tumble.
All hope of questioning the villain had now faded.
Trajan took a moment to search through his clothing for any identification, but he had none on him. There was nothing left to do but carry the broken body back to Gull Hall.
None of the footmen recognized the man, but perhaps someone else on staff would. Trajan hated to ask the maids, but ladies were often sharper about these things than men, and one of them might have seen him or had a friend in a neighboring estate who knew him.
Trajan suspected he was one of Frampton’s crew of ruffians, although he was not among the four who routinely followed Frampton wherever he went. Yet this man had to be in Frampton’s pay.
He glanced up at the moon that was tinged red at its edges. A blood moon.
How prophetic.
“Your Grace, let me help you,” Edgar said, coming to his side to give him a hand when he began to reel as they climbed the stairs that seemed infernally endless.
“I’ll be all right.” However, he did allow Edgar to assist him, since he was beginning to feel lightheaded and it would not do to tumble down those stairs and end up as dead as his assailant.
When they finally reached the top of the stairs, he called off the search and ordered everyone back to the house. “I doubt he had accomplices. The dogs would have picked up other scents.”
“But what if there were others?” Edgar asked. “Should we not alert the neighbors?”
“No, this man had a specific target in mind and is no danger to anyone else. I’ll not have my men scouring neighboring properties and be mistaken for villains in the dark. Everyone is to return to Gull Hall.”
Trajan would have loved to barge into Frampton Court and haul that malevolent little toad Frampton out on his arse, but what good would it do? Much as he wished to confront the man, he was in no fit condition to do it.
And why give that toad the satisfaction of seeing him wounded?
“Will you allow us to search for clues come morning?” Edgar asked, trying not to sound as frustrated as he was.
“Yes,” Trajan said, now worried he was about to cast up his accounts. Fortunately, he managed to quell his roiling stomach.
He returned to the house and marched straight upstairs, ignoring his stomach, which was once more in revolt, and his spinning head that felt as though Thor’s hammer was pounding on it.
Florence and her aunt were sequestered in Hermia’s bedchamber under Sebastian’s watch. He walked in quietly and watched Florence as she paced across the carpeted floor like a caged tigress.
She flew into his arms the moment she realized he was back. “You clot!” she cried, and hugged him fiercely. “You look green! Sit down before you faint.”
Hermia uttered a short prayer of thanks that he had returned safely.
Florence nudged him onto the lounge chair by the hearth. He offered no resistance, for his body had reached its limit of endurance. She sat beside him, remaining pressed to him, as though he needed her warmth.
Or perhaps she needed his.
“You fool,” she said with trembling voice. “You gloriously wonderful fool. Why did you save me?” She was sobbing now. His return had burst the dam of control she had been holding back. “This is all my fault. How can I ever forgive myself? How can you ever forgive me?”