Chapter Fourteen #2
“It isn’t your fault.” He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head, for she was more torn up about his injury than he was. “We all know Frampton is to blame.”
“But can you prove it?” Sebastian asked, raking a hand through his hair, obviously distressed.
“No, unfortunately. At least, not yet. The assailant is dead. He had no identification on him. Someone might recognize him, but will they be brave enough to come forward and link him to Frampton? I doubt it. Anyway, Andrew and Nathan have gone off to summon the magistrate.”
“And Timmons sent one of the grooms to fetch the doctor,” Sebastian said. “The lad tore off on horseback as soon as you marched off to search the grounds.”
“I’m sure the doctor will be thrilled to have to return here,” Trajan said dryly.
“After he takes care of stitching my wound, I’ll have him examine the dead man.
The magistrate will ask him to do it anyway, since he’ll demand a full report.
” He winced as his head began to reel. “Will you help me, Florence?”
“Yes, of course. What do you need me to do?”
“Help me to my quarters. You too, Sebastian.” He needed more than a simple lie-down, for his wound needed to be cleansed immediately. The doctor would do a professional job of it once he arrived, but that could be another hour yet. Or longer if he was off on another call.
Trajan had an excellent bottle of brandy in stock that he had been intending to share with his cousins, but he would now apply that fine blend to the area of the wound.
It was merely a flesh wound, so proper application of the brandy and a temporary binding of a clean cloth around his arm to stem the bleeding would go a long way to treating the injury and preventing infection.
The doctor would no doubt clean the area of the nasty gash again and make certain no bits of lead remained buried under his skin before he stitched his arm.
If anything good could be said of this night, it was that the shot had torn clear through his arm, and no surgery beyond a few stitches would be necessary.
But that limb was a rather nasty mess at the moment.
Florence was undone by it. She cried as they left Hermia’s bedchamber and yelped in dismay each time he wobbled on the way to his quarters, which he did a time or two because his strength was fading fast.
“Florence, perhaps you had better remain with Hermia while Sebastian—”
“No! I am staying with you. Don’t you dare make me leave your side. I have to be with you. I must.”
She cried even harder. Because she was dying inside to see him hurt.
“Hush,” he said gently, and kissed the top of her head again. “This isn’t your fault.”
“It is all my fault.”
“Stop, love. Not even I thought Frampton was venal enough to send a man to kill you.”
“And he almost killed you instead. I don’t want to lose you, Trajan. I cannot. My heart will never recover. Don’t you see that you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me?”
“Mutual, Florence.”
She shook her head vehemently. “How can you possibly think I am any good for you? All I’ve brought you is havoc and pain. But you are my dream man.”
He laughed.
“You are,” she insisted. “All my life, I was made to feel worthless by those who should have loved me. Then you came along and opened your heart to me. You cared for me and protected me. I love you so much. I knew it from the first moment I set eyes on you.”
He laughed. “Our very first meeting on the Bromleigh property? You were up a tree even then.”
She nodded. “And so scared of my feelings that I tried to avoid you as much as possible. Please tell me you will survive this.”
He had never seen Florence, this strong, stubborn woman, so vulnerable. Knowing how guarded she had been all of her life, he understood what it took for her to open up and reveal how deeply she cared for him.
He groaned and kissed the top of her head once again because she had kept her eyes downcast all the while, too ashamed of herself to look up at him. “It is merely a flesh wound, love. I will survive it.”
“Promise me you will.”
“Not only will I promise you, but we are going to leave for London at first light tomorrow, just as planned.”
“No!” She stared at him in disbelief. “How can you risk it? You need to recover.”
“A night’s rest is all I need.”
“We’ll ask the doctor what he thinks,” she said, mistakenly believing the doctor’s decision would resolve this disagreement.
It wouldn’t. If he was still breathing come sunrise, Trajan was going to ride off with her to London. Nothing mattered more to him than getting rid of those infernal letters.
It was just after midnight by the time the doctor arrived to tend to his injury, which Trajan estimated would require over a dozen stitches to fix.
“That many?” Florence asked, paling.
“A bit more than that, I’m afraid. It could have been worse,” Dr. Pritchard replied. “His Grace is fortunate it is merely a flesh wound. There are no fragments of lead lodged in the muscle or bone, just a nasty tear that stitches will repair. However, it will leave a scar.”
Florence groaned.
Trajan caught her as she teetered. “You shouldn’t be in here while the doctor stitches me up.” Besides, his shirt was off, and that left him naked from the waist up. Not a proper sight for an unmarried lady.
Although there was nothing proper about anything Florence had done leading up to now.
“We are betrothed. Where else should I be but by your side?” Florence insisted, looking a little green.
Her voice sounded thin and wobbly, and this concerned him.
“Will you listen to yourself, Florence? You are making too much of a mere flesh wound. You really ought to leave. Not only because you cannot handle the sight of my blood. Need I remind you we are not married yet? It isn’t appropriate for you to be in here. ”
“Was it appropriate that you were shot?” Her eyes began to tear again. “How can I think about propriety when your life is at stake?”
He sighed. “Sebastian, bring over that chair. Florence, sit down before you faint and the doctor has another patient on his hands.”
“I am not going to faint.” She kissed him on the cheek and sank into the chair as soon as Sebastian brought it over.
The doctor voiced no opinion about her presence. He must have dealt with this often enough whenever a patient’s loved ones were present.
Yes, Florence surely counted as a loved one. But Trajan had not expected her to be so overset.
And yet he ought to have realized she hid a lovely softness beneath her brash and confident exterior. She’d needed that hard shell to protect her from an unloving family.
But gad. She was so soft inside. So filled with love that she was aching to give.
However, she was also racked with guilt and completely torn apart because she continued to blame herself for his injury.
“Florence,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze, “I want you to stay with me, but you must stop crying. I am not going to die.”
She sniffled and nodded. Then cried a little more.
In truth, it felt good to be needed. And so good to be loved.
Especially good because Florence was the one who needed him and loved him. That she trusted him enough to discard her mask and show her true self was a major step for her.
In truth, it was monumental, for she had worked so hard to prove she could stand on her own, be independent and fierce.
She dried her tears on the sleeve of her gown and cast him an achingly sweet smile that almost broke him.
He liked this gentler side of Florence very much.
Not that he ever wanted her to be tearful or helplessly trembling. This was not really in her nature. Even when scared, she would find the courage to fight with all her heart. But he wanted to fight alongside her, not be held at arm’s length because she was afraid to let anyone close.
Well, she was letting him close now. There was something deep and wonderful developing between them.
Was this what people meant when they spoke of true love?