Chapter One
As he continued to study the stillness of Duncan’s body, Benjamin turned the bits of the bullet Rheem had expertly removed from Duncan’s upper chest over and over in his hand.
He glanced at his person in a nearby mirror and presented his appearance with a frown, for though he was not one to spend hours in his toilet beyond a certain cleanliness about his clothes and person, he was still in the same clothes he had worn when Duncan was shot.
His sleeve and waistcoat and cravat were well stained with blood. Duncan’s blood.
Thanks to Titan’s attention to detail, Benjamin was nursing a glass of whisky.
“Keep fighting, Duncan,” he whispered in a quiet toast to the man he admired.
Benjamin swallowed the crispness of the drink in one gulp.
It burned on its way down, but he made no complaints.
He had held his breath in what felt as forever in anticipation of Rheem’s success, and the sting of the whisky proved both he and Duncan were still alive.
Duncan was stubbornly tough. “Thank the Lord,” he murmured as he watched the shallow rise and fall of Duncan’s chest with each labored breath the man took.
Everyone involved had executed their tasks with precision and great ease.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon had not thought twice about assisting both him and Rheem.
Benjamin knew most women were not so useful in such situations.
“When I marry,” he whispered to the room’s stillness, “I want a bride who is both brave and caring.” He smiled.
“A comely face would prove equally as beneficial.”
He rested his hand briefly on Duncan’s. “Thankfully, with the assistance of the others, I was able to staunch the bleeding before Rheem arrived. Duncan was stable and breathing easier by then,” he acknowledged with a sense of pride.
“Duncan is comfortable now, but whether his lordship will admit it or not, this event should be a warning to each of us, but especially to him.”
As he assisted Mr. Rheem and Mrs. Dove-Lyon, Benjamin had asked questions in case something happened when he was alone with Duncan, as he was now.
Playing the scene over and over again in his head, he looked off as if seeing it again and murmured, “Was Duncan truly the intended target? It could just as easily have been Titan or another of the Lyon’s Den’s employees.
It appears possible that the shooter could be one of Duncan’s many enemies, but it is equally as possible that Mrs. Dove-Lyon or one of her ‘misfits’ in society could also have angered someone enough to take revenge.
“If it was Duncan or even if it was one of the Lyon’s Den’s employees as the intended victim, does that mean the man will attempt to correct his mistake?
Will he try again? If so, how soon? What was the shooter’s goal?
Kill Duncan or one of the Den’s help? Create havoc?
Claim power over all of us? Have us constantly looking over our shoulders?
Who is the shooter? Is he a man who does this sort of thing often? A professional killer?”
The idea took Benjamin by surprise. Though he knew such men existed, he had never thought to wonder upon the possibility happening before his very eyes.
“What kind of man plans his escape so completely? How did he know Duncan was inside the Lyon’s Den?
Had he trailed us there and, when we exited the gaming hell without Duncan, he knew it was time for him to act?
Was he planning on shooting Duncan inside the gaming hell instead? ”
All this pondering had Benjamin returning to his own fault in what had occurred.
“Could I have stopped the tragedy before it began?” He ran his fingers through his hair and then stretched in exhaustion.
He had always considered himself a “detail” person, but on this particular night, he had been too relaxed—too confident. He would not make that mistake again.
“I am here,” he whispered to the stillness of the room, though he could easily hear the activity within the Lyon’s Den.
Doors opening and closing. Bursts of laughter.
The occasional curse word. Footsteps close and beyond and above the room where he watched the rise and fall of Duncan’s chest. “I wish to be with the others, searching down each and every clue. Yet, I can better serve Duncan and the family by overseeing our father’s care.
My brothers can search the streets to find Duncan’s would-be killer. I am required for more tender care.”
With a yawn and another stretch, Benjamin stood to remove his coat. He would send word to his valet tomorrow for more clothes. “Poor Mr. McCormack will likely have an apoplexy when he views the blood on these clothes.”
Benjamin again checked Duncan’s breathing, as well as the bandages to know everything was as it should be.
Then, he made his way to the makeshift bed Mrs. Dove-Lyon had provided him.
“A bit of sleep,” he declared as he stretched out on the mattress, but such was not to be had, at least, not yet.
Worrying over Duncan and playing the scene of the shooting over and over again in his head had left him both exhausted and frustrated.
He had missed something. Some detail that was the lynchpin to solve this mystery, and it would haunt him until he knew the solution.
After more than an hour of tossing and turning, in frustration, he considered rising and pouring himself another stiff drink to assist in lulling him to sleep, but he wanted a clear head in case Duncan took a turn for the worse.
Without realizing it another stretch had his muscles relaxing, and the tide of fatigue crept across his mind, which was finally shutting down.
“The drink has known success,” he murmured.
“No sense in dulling my senses further or lowering my intellect with another swig of whisky,” he thought.
“Perhaps if we had not all had so much to drink, one of us could have responded quicker and taken down Duncan’s attacker before he earned a head start in his escape. ”
Instinctively, he checked the gun he had hidden under his pillow.
He had insisted that the bed brought in for him had been placed between the door and where Duncan rested peacefully on the other side of him, or as peacefully as the situation provided.
“It is best to place protection between the rest of the world and Duncan until we learn who has attacked our family.”
“Good day, Thompson,” Mr. Harlan Rheem said as he entered what would customarily be the ladies’ parlor at the Lyon’s Den.
Though Mrs. Dove-Lyon had initially suggested the room for Duncan’s care, she later bemoaned the inconvenience of using the room for so long, that is, until Graham paid the woman well for the use and privacy of the parlor. “How is our patient today?”
“I had hoped Duncan would have been coherent enough for him to be removed to Duncan Place by now,” Thompson explained.
“Has he been awake at all?” Rheem asked as he pulled away the sheet to remove the binding and change out the pads covering where they had cut into Duncan’s chest and shoulder.
Benjamin had stood opposite Rheem throughout the surgery and could again see it all playing in his head.
He had learned much from this real-life dilemma, though he would have been happy never to know it if such had prevented Duncan’s attack.
He had marveled at the ease with which Rheem had known what was necessary, as well as how the man executed each cut and stitch with pure confidence.
“Three times today, but only long enough for me to give him a few spoonfuls of water,” Benjamin said dutifully.
“Did he keep it down?” Rheem asked as he repacked the wound with clean cloths.
“He seemed to. No gagging or permitting the water to drool from his mouth.”
“No words?” Rheem continued his work.
“Not yet,” Ben admitted.
“His wound appears to be healing over properly, although it is too early to know with confidence. I would like to see the wound seal over slowly, though keeping Duncan confined so long will be difficult. Any news on who committed this heinous act?”
“The others are all out searching down each clue, no matter how bizarre,” Benjamin explained. “Have you spoken to Theodora?”
“At least twice a day,” Rheem explained as he tied off the strips of cloth holding the pad in place. “She is quite determined that if her father is not well enough to return home soon, she will come to the Lyon’s Den to attend his lordship herself.”
“Duncan would not approve of his daughter in the Lyon’s Den,” Benjamin observed, while thinking, “Neither would my real father approve of my being here.” However, he did not comment. “Any other orders?”
“You have done well by Duncan,” Rheem assured.
“I wish I had waited and walked out with him,” Benjamin admitted as he studied Duncan’s pale features.
“When the man bumped into Marksman, Beaufort wanted to call the stranger out, but I said those who are drunk attempt to walk straight and instructed Beaufort to ignore the fellow’s actions.
If I had permitted Beaufort to follow his instincts, Duncan might not be as we see him on this makeshift bed. ”
“You cannot second guess yourself,” Rheem said in definitive tones.
“Every good man must learn to live with his decisions. For all you know, Duncan’s attacker might have turned his gun on Beaufort instead, and, at close range, Beaufort might well have died.
From what the others have described, it is as if his lordship’s attacker was waiting for this opportunity.
Duncan was quite fortunate that this happened before the Lyon’s Den.
Including you, there were quite a few available to assist his lordship. ”
“Should we hire a nurse?” Benjamin asked.