Chapter 24
CHAPTER 24
B reath hissed between Maria’s teeth as she rose to her knees. Fire blazed through the flesh of her upper left arm, and she knew what she would find even before looking down at the crimson stain blooming on her soot-covered frock.
How in heaven’s name would she explain this to her mother? The woman would be positively?—
Francis groaned from his place on the floor across from her, dragging Maria out of her momentary reverie. She would finish it this time.
Ignoring the agony in her arm and the stiff ache in her other limbs, she rose to stand over Francis. Blood oozed from the cut to his shoulder and chest, and the gunshot to his left knee. She shook her head at him.
“You’ve been a right pain in the arse,” she said, more to herself than to him, for Lord knew it was true.
His face was flushed as he clutched his bleeding knee, his eyes bulging in pain and his lips sneering with fury. With a tap to his shoulder with the tip of her half-boot—to ensure he wouldn’t reach for her—she bent and unfastened his cravat.
Blood from her wound slid down her fingertips, staining the off-white fabric a deep red. Her fingers trembled and slipped on the rapidly growing red stain, but she managed to tug it off. Gripping his upper arm, she attempted to roll him onto his side, but he fought.
“You’ll not take me,” he wheezed, wobbling upon the floor.
“If you don’t desist your flopping,” she grunted, “I shall be forced to find an object with which to render you unconscious.”
His eyes full of fiery hatred and mutinous intent, he fussed and fought as she clasped his shoulder and hip and rolled him to his front. Panting with exertion, she slid up his person, pressed a knee into the arch of his back, and pulled his arms behind him. A roar of pain vibrated through him, and she mercilessly wrapped the cravat around his wrists and secured a tight knot.
“Hush, now,” she said sternly, a sweat breaking out on her brow and between her breasts. “I thought you enjoyed pain.”
Rising, Maria cursed under her breath and removed her pelisse with a groan of agony, the reddened material heavy with her blood. Lord, but she could taste the coppery tang in the air. She hastily sat on the bastard’s thighs and tied his ankles with the bulky fabric.
A glance around the space told her that she hadn’t many options on how she might carry the man from the room. She couldn’t very well leave him there without supervision, for he’d undoubtedly find a way to free himself and wreak havoc upon their lives once more. She hadn’t a choice; she must bring him with her. But how?
Her gaze landed on his unkempt bed with its dark bedclothes of undeterminable colour, and her decision was made. She stood, pausing momentarily as a wave of faintness spun her head and blurred her vision, before she reached for the thin counterpane and laid it on the floor beside Francis.
The man sputtered, groaned, and swore at her as she rolled him onto it.
“Where is the entrance to the duke’s attic?” she demanded.
He spat on the floor near her booted feet.
She glanced about, and said aloud, “The door is on that side of the room, so the attic must adjoin to Jasper’s on this side.” She strode to the wall and pressed firmly on the wood panelling.
Walking along the wall, she continued to press, blinking through the occasional blurriness. A smooth divot caught her eye, and she placed her fingertips inside and gave a push. The panel moved, just as fabric rustled behind her. She spun and cursed soundly as another wave of faintness whirled through her head.
Blinking rapidly, she focused on the man squirming on the floor. “You’ll not be released that way.”
He spat again, and she shook her head. Returning to her task, she pushed the panel wider, until there was enough space for her to go through. On the other side of the passage, she slid a similar panel aside, but was blocked by a stack of paintings that entirely obscured the opening.
Frustration bubbled up through her chest as she realized how Francis had evaded their searches.
Careful to keep the blood smears at a minimum, Maria clasped the paintings and slid them along the floor, giving herself enough space through which to move. Then, she returned for her bounty.
Her arm seared hot while the rest of her felt cold, but she gripped one end of the counterpane in both hands and dragged Francis through the short connecting passage and into the storage space in Jasper’s attic. Heaving a breath, she pulled him across the space and toward the doorway.
Her back and thighs burned with use, but she welcomed the pain; with every step she was closer to having Francis back on trial and hung for his beastly crimes.
They reached the stairs, and for the briefest of moments, she felt guilty for what she was about to do. But then Francis spat at her, and the guilt faded. With careful backwards steps, she made her way to down the stairs, the man bouncing and cursing with each step. Her head spun, and she fought to keep a tight hold on the counterpane through the stickiness of her blood, but she continued to drag the bastard through Jasper’s home.
* * *
With every hidden nook Jasper searched that came up empty, the knots in his body drew tighter. They’d heard the gunfire, but mayhap it hadn’t been Francis. Or perhaps it was, but he was simply attempting—and succeeding—to cause more emotional pain. Whatever it was, Jasper’s heart could scarcely handle another moment of this.
The longer they searched, the worse his heart ached. He’d known that his feelings for Maria had grown, but he’d not realized how very much . What if he couldn’t tell her?—
“ Jasper ,” a faint, weak voice called from the floor above.
His pulse sped and he darted from the room, racing up the stairs to the third floor.
Thump, thump, thump … A rhythmic thumping accompanied by shuffling, rustling, and grunting echoed down the hall, and Jasper followed the sound to the fourth-floor stairs.
“ Maria !” His chest swelled for a startled moment before he truly took in her state. “Sodding hell!” He turned to shout over his shoulder, “ Fetch a doctor !”
She wavered on her feet, and he rushed forward. A crimson stain spanned nearly the entire length of her left arm, which was dragging?—
“ Francis ,” he spat.
He carefully disengaged Maria’s bloody hands from the counterpane and took her into his arms. She leaned against him with a sigh, her eyes rolling backward then sliding closed.
“ Christ . Maria?”
Knees giving way beneath her, she slid down his person before he lifted her bodily in his arms.
“ Livingston ! Baxter ! Thomas ! Anyone within earshot!” he hollered over his shoulder.
Mr. Baxter darted from the third-floor staircase, his eyes widening. “You’ve found them!”
“Have someone summon a physician. I need another to watch Francis, and send the women to my bedchamber to help Maria out of her clothes. We haven’t the time to bring her home; she must be seen to here.”
“Right away.” Baxter disappeared down the stairs, and Jasper turned toward the ducal bedchamber.
He was dimly aware of others approaching and offering help, but Jasper’s thoughts were all but entirely occupied. Nerves wrapped themselves around his every muscle. There was far too much blood. Too much for an injury to her arm, damn it! She was too pale. Her skin was ashen and bore a sheen of perspiration from her efforts.
“Stay alive, my love,” he whispered into her hair. “Keep breathing. Stay alive .”
* * *
His entire body taut with tension, Jasper entered the parlour. The low hum of conversation stopped, and the eyes of every occupant turned on him expectantly.
“How is she?” Miss Morgan asked, standing from her position on the settee.
“The doctor is seeing to her wound now. He requested that I give them privacy. But she is still unconscious.” His gaze slid sideways to where his cousin sat, bound to a chair and moaning over his own wound. “I came to question Francis, however.”
Juliana nodded from her position near the bastard. “I refrained from speaking to him without you present.”
Unable to utter a word in response, Jasper dragged an armchair toward the man and sat, facing him. Fury raged beneath his skin, curdling his blood. This loathsome parasite had dogged him and his for far too damned long.
“ Why , damn you?” he burst out.
A slow, cruel smile spread over Francis’ lips. “You know why.”
He did, but he wanted the villain to say it, wanted to hear the delusions. “The title? Jean? Hell, Francis, you know very well that?—”
“I do not know!” he hissed, his features mottling, despite his loss of blood. “When the truth comes to be known about your father’s theft of the title and the barbarous murder of my dearest Jean, everyone will revile you. The title is rightfully mine, and I shall have it.”
“My father did not murder Jean. We?—”
“ Yes he did ! We saw her body; we know what he did!”
His emotions in turmoil, Jasper stood and strode from the room.
Shouts of anger and hatred followed him through the corridor and into his study, but while his chest ached, he ignored it. He hastily retrieved the letter from Jean and the informational handbill for Marie Tussaud’s exhibit, then returned to the parlour.
“This,” Jasper resumed his seat and held the old, wrinkled piece of parchment out for Francis to view, “is the handbill for an exhibit of death masks from the Reign of Terror, commissioned by Marie Tussaud. As you see, it opened in May, 1802. My father, Juliana, and I were invited as special guests to view the exhibit at our leisure for the entirety of the month, during which time we stayed in London.”
“ Lies ,” Francis hissed, his mottled face growing increasingly red. “You were in Derby when Jean was murdered.”
Jasper switched the handbill out for a creased letter. “I’m certain that you recognize this handwriting. This was sent to our estate while we were in London; it was forwarded to my father here, but by then, it was too late.”
Eyes reddening, Francis reared back in disbelief. “Impossible.”
“There were only three people who had the motivation to stop Jean from speaking with my father that day.”
The colour slowly drained from Francis’ cheeks. “How dare you? We would never !”
“You and Miles mightn’t,” Jasper capitulated, “but would your father?”
His skin all but entirely ashen, the man lapsed into silence as he considered the answer. The desire to outright refuse must have been hot on his tongue, but the truth will out.
Jasper cleared his throat. “Now that we’ve established my father’s innocence, there are questions that I would like to ask.”