Chapter 16

 

 

 

Christian’s heart ceased to beat when Eleanora was kicked clear from the carriage. Instinctively, he wanted to chase the masked bastard, tear him from the carriage, and beat him to a bloody pulp. Even do murder.

But—El. Oh, Jesus, El.

He came out of his shocked state when Michaels finally caught up to him and exclaimed, “My God!”

Christian ran to her side, dropping to his knees. There was blood pooling behind her head.

“The carriages are getting away, Your Grace!” Michaels cried.

“To hell with them.” He hooked his arms under Eleanora’s knees and tried to lift her.

“You won’t be able to carry me,” Eleanora said weakly. “I’m no featherweight.”

Thank Christ she’s awake. 

Christian tore off his apron and bunched it up. “Here, are you able to hold this behind your head? Apply pressure; it will stem the bleeding.”

She took it and did as instructed. Well, if Christian couldn’t carry her this way, he would transport her another. He sat her upright, leaned in, and heaved her over his shoulder. With shaky legs, he stood and distributed her weight.

“Stop!” Eleanora protested. “You and Michaels can assist me home by acting as crutches—”

“It will take too long. Michaels, with me. Eleanora, keep the pressure on your injury.”

With long strides, and as swiftly as he dare, he made his way toward the alley.

“This is so humiliating, carried like a sack of potatoes,” Eleanora stated. “Wait, you are not going through the pub?”

“It’s the quickest way.”

Eleanora groaned.

Christian stepped across the threshold. “Make way! Injured lady coming through!” he bellowed. The crowd parted, leaving a clear path to the opposite door.

“Miss Galway,” the barman called out. “Are you well?”

Before she could reply, Christian said, “She fell on the cobbles. Just taking her home so we can call in the doctor.”

“I will never live this down,” Eleanora sputtered. “The entire street will be talking.”

Christian patted her rear. “Your safety and care take precedence over any potential embarrassment.”

Eleanora didn’t reply.

“El, answer me. Are you awake?”

They were almost to the Cleveland Street entrance.

“I feel woozy,” she said, her voice nearly inaudible.

Christian burst through the pub door with Michaels on his heels. Once on the sidewalk, he found Althea outside of the Galway home, holding the parcel.

“My God, what’s happened? I arrived to find the door wide open. Ellie!” Althea’s hand flew to her mouth in shock.

“We need a doctor immediately,” Christian yelled.

“I want—Buchanan,” Eleanora whispered.

Of course, her Canadian.

Not an appropriate time for him to feel any sort of protectiveness. He entered the house and strode into the parlor.

“Give Michaels directions,” he said to Althea.

“He lives on the top floor of Mollie’s, on Upper Wimpole Street. Number forty-nine.”

Christian snorted. A brothel. Typical.

“I’ll go straight away, miss,” Michaels replied, heading for the door.

“Don’t come back without him,” Christian called out.

“I won’t, Your Grace.”

Michaels departed, and Christian laid Eleanora gently on the sofa, taking care to keep the bloody apron against the back of her head. Her face was white as a sheet, her eyelids fluttering. As he crouched next to her, genuine fear clutched his insides. Christian knew next to nothing about head injuries. However, he figured it might not be a good idea to allow her to slip into unconsciousness.

He tapped her cheek none too gently. “Stay awake, El. You hear me?”

“So commanding,” she murmured, her words slurring. “I like you calling me El.” The letter ‘l’ trailed out for several seconds.

Then she leaned forward and promptly vomited on his boots.

“Sweet Mother. Beefsteak pie. How horrid. So sorry.” Eleanora fainted.

Christian tapped her cheeks again. “Stay awake, El!”

A moment passed, then another. At last, Eleanora’s eyelids fluttered.

“Oh, thank God,” Althea exhaled. “I’ll fetch water.”

“Yes, and anything else you think Buchanan will need.”

Althea rushed from the room as Christian took Eleanora’s hand. “The doctor will be here directly. He’s not all that far away.”

“The parcel,” she rasped.

“Althea has secured it for now.”

“The carriages, the costumes,” she swallowed. “That cost money.”

Althea returned with a tray with various items. She dipped a cloth in the water and handed it to Christian.

As he gently wiped Eleanora’s mouth, he said, “Do not focus on the case now, El.”

“Have to, keeps me awake.”

Althea passed him a glass of water.

“Here, take a sip.” He tilted Eleanora’s head up slightly enough for her to drink. She did.

“Your boots—” she whispered.

“They do not matter. Only you matter.”

“My head aches.”

He tenderly kissed her forehead. “If I could take away the pain, I would.”

“This is a game,” she whispered. “Whoever is doing this, it’s all a game to them.”

“Hush now,” Christian answered as he stroked her brow.

“What does she mean? What happened?” Althea asked.

Christian gave her a quick synopsis of the events.

“You should have followed one of the other carriages. Michaels could have followed the other,” Eleanora interjected.

“And leave you bleeding on the cobbles? I think not.”

Christian heard the carriage pull up to the door, and a tall bearded man burst into the room.

“Doctor!” Althea cried. “Ellie’s had a nasty fall. Kicked from a moving carriage. The injury is to the back of her head.”

Buchanan shoved Christian. “Move aside,” he barked.

“This is the Duke of Allenby,” Althea said.

“Then move aside, Your Grace.” Buchanan sat his bag on the nearby table.

Annoyed, Christian stood next to Althea. He watched as the doctor did a cursory exam, checking her eyes, feeling her head all over.

“Your pupils are not dilated, a good sign. Who am I?”

“Dr. Corbett Buchanan.”

“What day is it?”

“Thursday, October seventh.”

“Very good. You answered correctly and with no hesitation. Where were you kicked?”

“The chest.”

When Buchanan started to trail his hands across Eleanora’s torso, Christian could not hold back the possessive animal growl from escaping his throat.

Buchanan looked up at him with his eyebrows arched in question. Then he turned his attention to Eleanora. “No broken ribs, but your chest area will be sore and will bruise. Now turn slightly, so I may examine your injury.”

Eleanora did, and the doctor tossed aside the apron. “Head wounds bleed something fierce. It’s always worse than it looks.”

Well, Christian was at least gratified to hear that.

“You will need a few stitches. Althea, I will need scissors. And hot water. I believe Eleanora has a mild concussion. Eleanora, on a scale of one to ten, how would you rate the ache in your head?”

“Five, maybe six.”

“Good, not severe.” The doctor glanced at Christian’s boots. “I see you vomited, expected with a concussed head.” He looked about the room. “Where is Miss Sybil?”

“Gone,” Althea answered.

“What?” The doctor’s eyes widened. “For good?” The man truly sounded distressed over the prospect.

“No, she should return soon. Her father was ill, nothing serious, but she wanted to be with him,” Althea said.

The look of relief that crossed the doctor’s face was palpable. Was there something between Eleanora’s cousin and Buchanan?

Althea touched Christian’s sleeve. “Come with me. We will gather what the doctor needs and clean off your boots.”

Christian was not eager to leave Eleanora, but followed Althea into the kitchen.

“Did I smell gin on that sorry excuse for a doctor?” he snarled.

Althea waved for him to sit at the table as she moved to the sink. “Yes, he drinks, but you’ve seen him in action; he knows what he is about.” Althea handed him a wet tissue, and he proceeded to wipe his boots. Then she took the cloth from him and passed him another. “For your hands.”

Yes, hands covered with a blend of flour and blood made for quite the mixture. “We were making scones when the bell rang.”

“Were you? I agree with Eleanora that whoever is orchestrating this, to them, it’s a game. Could there be more than one? Possibly, since there were three masked men. Or they could have all been hired. Regardless, they knew Ellie was home and that you were with her.”

“Are you saying we are all under surveillance?”

Althea nodded. “It is possible. Even probable. Stay and finish cleaning up. I will take in what the doctor needs. I’m glad you were here, Christian. Ellie can be—impulsive. Despite her well-ordered and analytical mind, there are times she acts impetuously. Anyway, thank you.” Althea picked up the tray and departed.

Christian slowly wiped the grime from his hands. The scene of Eleanora kicked from the carriage played over and over in his mind. Impulsive indeed. Never had he known such a moment of stark terror. The horrible thought that she could be seriously injured—that he could lose her—was a bleakness he had never experienced.

What in the deviled hell?

There was no use denying it any longer; he was indeed falling for Eleanora Galway. All plans of finding a society-suitable wife dissipated into the air.

He wanted Eleanora.

The difficult part? Trying to convince her they could have so much more than a temporary affair.

They could have it all.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Darkness had shrouded the room when Eleanora next opened her eyes. Sitting next to her bed was a large figure in silhouette. Her heart leaped with joy.

“Da?” Her confused brain tried to make sense of what was occurring.

Her father—here.

“I’ve missed you so much.” Her eyes filled with tears.

“El, it’s Christian.”

“Oh. Of course. I was dreaming.”

“Understandable. Your father was a large part of your life.”

“Da was all we had. I used to sit by that window,” she pointed at the one facing Cleveland Street, “every late afternoon, waiting for Da to come home. Terrified that some crazed criminal would murder him. But he always came home.”

“But not anymore,” Christian interjected softly.

“No. Not anymore,” Eleanora sniffled.

He sat next to her on the bed. Gently, he gathered her into his arms so that she was lying across his lap. Christian took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. Eleanora swung her legs across him and laid her head against his chest, basking in his warmth and the strong beat of his heart.

“Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak whispers the o’er-fraught heart and bids it break.”

His voice. How sensual yet soothing.

A lump formed in her throat. She may have just fallen for this enigmatic duke. So remote with others, but all open warmth with her.

“Shakespeare?” she ventured.

“Yes, from Macbeth.”

“How true. When Da passed, I made a vow: I would never give my love to anyone ever again. Not my sister, uncles, cousins—no one. For if you do not love, you will never be hurt. Or so I foolishly thought. The vow didn’t last; it is my family, after all. It was the grief speaking. But that pain and anguish linger, hiding in dark corners, popping out when I least expect it.”

“Like now.”

Those gathering tears spilled over her cheeks. Her father was not here, and the misery cut through as deep as it had the night he died.

Christian held her close in a rocking motion and smoothed her tangled hair.

“There, love. It’s all right. Cry as much as you like.”

“W-w-why does it still hurt so much? He’s been gone over three years!” she sobbed piteously into his shoulder.

“You loved him very much,” he murmured.

“Yes. My father was my hero, my whole world.”

“I wish I could have said the same. I hardly knew my father. He rarely came to Bamford Park when I was a young child.”

“At least you had your mother. I don’t remember mine at all,” Eleanora sniffled.

“I did. She was—and still is—a constant in my life. My mother just informed me she has received an offer of marriage from the Duke of Coldbridge.”

“Will she accept?”

“I believe so, she’s quite besotted.”

“You will have to share her affections with another man.”

“Yes. But I won’t begrudge it. Her happiness means more to me than my emotional needs.”

What an altruistic thing to say. The fact that he loved his mother and wanted her happiness spoke well of his character. And it moved her.

Eleanora couldn’t say anything else, the pain of losing her father and the lingering grief still too acute. She certainly didn’t want to reveal that her deep-seated fright extended to her growing feelings for him.

Instead, she allowed the comfort Christian offered to flow through her until she quieted. Unbelievable that he was still here by her side. Drat it all for showing her vulnerable side. Yes, she could be sensitive but kept it well hidden. Why had she allowed it to surface with him?

“Chris, thank you for listening. For comforting me,” she whispered.

“Ah. Chris. I like that, El. Call me that when we’re alone.” He trailed the tip of his finger gently across her cheek.

“And I like that you call me El. We shouldn’t be alone, though.”

“Who cares what anyone thinks? If you knew how much I have longed to hold you in my arms like this. I can stay here all night. For the rest of my life, even. Just say the word.”

What is he saying?

“You don’t mean that.”

“You believe there can be nothing between us? And don’t start with the ‘but you are a duke’ nonsense. I won’t have it. I would never smother you or tell you how to live your life. Think about that. What is growing between us is powerful, El. It will only grow stronger.”

A future with a duke?

After only knowing each other a matter of a few weeks? Her head started to ache, and she could not speak or think of this anymore tonight. Instead, she nuzzled in closer, and Christian kissed the top of her head, holding her as if she were precious cargo.

How much time passed; Eleanora wasn’t sure. “What time is it?”

“Nine o’clock at night. Buchanan gave you a pinch of laudanum for the pain and to help you sleep. He said you’re to be watched closely for the next thirty-six hours. I informed Althea I would stay and assist.”

“Oh. There is no need—”

He cupped her cheek and gently stroked it with the pad of his thumb. “There is every need. Every two hours, I am to check if your mental capabilities have deteriorated. And you’re to get as much sleep as you can. Your Canadian claims it will aid in your recovery. You must stay abed twenty-four hours. No leaving the house for thirty-six. I am afraid I must insist.”

Eleanora bristled and pushed his hand away. Every two hours? Although she did recall seeing Althea and Christian at various intervals but thought it a dream.

“I do not require a keeper or a nursemaid,” she tried to swing her legs around, but Christian halted her movements by gripping her lower leg.

“If it means your complete recovery, then I will be your keeper. Bed rest and fluids, the doctor said. Althea and I will make certain you follow his implicit instructions.”

“But the case. The parcel! What—”

Christian laid a finger gently against her lips. “Calm. If you take a drink of water and lie down, I will tell you.”

Frowning, she took the offered cup and drank it all. Then she lay flat. Christian pulled the covers up before he took his seat.

“There was a severed hand in the box.”

“What?” Eleanora cried, making a motion to sit upright, but Christian held up his hand. Frustrated, she lay flat once again. “Continue.”

“Doctor Buchanan has taken it to your uncle’s precinct to perform blood analysis. Althea compared the writing on the brown paper of both parcels. It matches.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Eleanora mused. “Do you recognize the writing? Does it match any of the rakes?”

“No, I don’t believe so.”

“Or perhaps Ford Whitney. Do you still have the letters he sent?”

Christian shook his head. “That was years ago; they’re long gone. Besides, I don’t study a person’s handwriting. My analysis is useless in that regard.”

Well, it had been worth a try.

“You observed no distinguishing features on the masked men? The drivers? The carriages themselves?” Christian asked.

“My, you sound like a seasoned investigator. Answer me this, why didn’t you and Michaels chase the other carriages?” she demanded.

“We’re not getting into this. Try to sleep. Recover. There is plenty of time for the case later.”

Eleanora turned away from him, annoyed at his high-handedness. But it dissipated when she recalled how he had comforted her. Not many men would have offered such compassion.

Exhaling, she turned and met his gaze. “You are a caring and intelligent man, Christian Bamford. Do not allow anyone to tell you any different.”

“Thank you.”

“When I said it was a game? I believe it started that way to the person or persons involved. But I have this feeling, here,” she balled her fist and laid it at her middle. “That it will take a dangerous turn. This stunt this afternoon took careful planning and money. They left the box here. They no doubt knew that you were with me. You had best inform your friends to take precautions. It’s more imperative than ever that we follow up on other leads.”

Christian took her fist and laced his fingers through hers, then gently kissed her hand. “I will pass on the warnings. We will talk more tomorrow. Althea received a telegram a few hours past. Miss Sybil will be returning immediately. You will have even more assistance. Sleep.”

Christian once again tucked the blankets about her as her eyelids fluttered. Lord, she was tired, and she ached all over. As sleep overtook her, she couldn’t shake the thought that one of Christian’s friends had a hand in this.

But above all that? What filled her thoughts even more than the case was Christian.

The way he held her, soothed her pain, and spoke openly about his feelings.

Oh, she was more than falling for him, and it scared her sick.