Samantha screamed.

She raced down the steps toward Raven in her blood-splattered dress.

By now the servants had arrived. Two of the footmen took off after the assassin. The two bodyguards leaped off the coach and went to the duke’s body.

Samantha shouted, “Take him into the drawing room now. Fetch the doctor. Transport him with care.” She followed them into the large room.

The flow of blood must be stopped. Samantha ripped off part of her slip and pressed the material to his right shoulder to stem the flow.

“Fetch my aunt,” she screeched to one of their servants. “Has the physician been summoned?”

The sight of his wounded body made her dizzy, but she couldn’t give in to female hysteria—not now that he needed her. She fought the terror that attempted to overrun her like a runaway coach. No. No. No. He needs me.

“You cannot die on me now, Raven. I will not let you. I love you.” She held the wad of her undergarment against the blood flow but it continued to turn crimson.

“No, this cannot be!” She kept the fabric compressed against the gushing wound with both hands.

Lady Minerva rushed down the stairs.

“Help me, Aunt! Help me!”

Lady Minerva knelt beside Samantha. She relieved Samantha’s pressure with the remnant of the garment to compress the wound. “Get some bandages, anything clean from the kitchen. Towels will do. Have the staff boil water, lots of it. Hurry. It will be needed for sterilization.”

A servant nodded and raced off.

Minerva issued orders like a gunnery sergeant. “Brandon, send someone to get a constable. Samantha, remove his neck cravat so he can breathe easier.” She paused.

“Tell Raven’s coachman to fetch Lady Margaret at once. Do not tell her he’s wounded, but that it is imperative she come. We do not need her to suffer a heart attack.” She barked another order. “Brandon, take off his boots and then help me hold this cloth on the wound.”

Samantha took it all in and exhaled. She assisted her aunt, but things developed much too fast. “Where are the clean linens?” Samantha shouted in a voice that would awaken all the dead in a cemetery.

The settee was soon stained with Raven’s blood. Samantha could not believe this had happened. There was a danger to him. He knew all along and tried to shield her while she had scoffed at him many times. Oh, my darling. Forgive me. Stay strong for us. I need you.

In what seemed an indeterminate amount of time, the surgeon arrived and with speed and dexterity, made a critical assessment of the gunshot injury. He removed his jacket, pulled up his sleeves, and requested hot water and clean, hot cloths. “Now!”

A servant came in with a large basin and a supply of linens. “The cook has immersed them in boiling hot water, sir. Clean, dry towels are on the way.”

“I will need more basins of hot water. See to it.”

The doctor pointed to Winston, “You, my lord, help me remove his jacket, but keep your hand on his wound. I will cut away his shirt so that we do not interfere with the pressure you apply. Can anyone tell me what happened? They said he was shot. Were there several?”

Samantha explained she only heard one shot as the would-be assassin pulled the trigger and ran. The surgeon noticed her bloodstained dress. “Are you injured, my lady?”

“No, but please tend to him. He cannot die.” The tears flowed like a raging torrent in a swollen stream.

“I will do my best, but prayers would be in order,” he said, furrowing his brow.

Whether it was a few minutes or more, they waited in anxiety until Lady Margaret arrived escorted by Prince Nicholas. At the sight of her favorite nephew in a pool of blood, she started to swoon.

The Prince held her. “We will all need your strength now, my lady. Do it for the duke’s sake.” The Prince addressed Lord Winston and explained, “I awaited the duke’s return as he summoned me about information for the charter. So I accompanied Lady Margaret here.”

He sat her on a chair. Samantha went to the dowager and held her hand.

Lady Margaret observed her bloodstained clothes, arms, and face. “Are you hurt, Samantha?”

“No, my lady, his blood splattered all over me. I couldn’t help him soon enough.” She burst into tears and allowed her agony to rip through her. He cannot die. He cannot die. Not now. He doesn’t know how much I love and need him. He cannot die.

The surgeon said to Samantha, “On the contrary, my lady, your quick action may have stemmed the flow of blood. “I have to determine the nature of this wound. More water!” he barked. “He will be in severe pain. I regret I must ask that the rest of you clear the room. Make arrangements for a bed where he can be tended in quiet after we are through.”

Samantha jumped up. “Please let me stay with him.”

“Are you his wife?”