“He’s out,” Amelia gasped.
“The physician did say he could go in and out of consciousness for several days to come.” William pulled his wife close and brushed his cheek against the top of her head. “It is probably for the best. There is nothing he can do, and I could see him struggling with being unable to help. Nothing is worse than being unable to help the one you love.” William should know. He’d been unable to help Amelia when Sir Phillip had tried to drown her. And again when she regained consciousness and had lost her memory. Not being able to help had nearly done him in.
She hadn’t known him. Her own husband. Wentworth had him thrown in Newgate believing he tried to kill Amelia. While he wallowed away inside a prison worse than hell itself, he berated himself because he didn’t know what was happening outside. He didn’t know what was wrong with Amelia. Even Spencer had a hard time finding out the truth. And if it wasn’t for Spencer, he probably would have given up and succumbed to the madness trying to invade his mind.
Now he owed his cousin. He would do anything for Spencer. Along with Smythe and the Runners, he was heading out shortly with Wentworth, Sebastian, Myles, and Amesbury. If Baker was still in London he would be found.
The alternative was too painful and frightening to consider. If they couldn’t get Miranda and her aunt back soon, he feared for not only their lives, but Spencer’s as well.
William knew all too completely what tragedy did to one’s soul. He’d lived it for twelve years. Until Amelia.
Bridgeton waited downstairs in the drawing room for the men to arrive. He heard the door open and close, muffled voices, and turned from staring blindly out the window to find Smythe entering the room. His heart sped up with anticipation, then stopped dead away when he got a good look at Smythe’s somber expression.
“I’m sorry, milord.”
“We’ve been through enough together. Bridgeton, will do. And don’t bow, for God’s sake. I don’t care about etiquette at a time like this.”
“Bridgeton, I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I think we’ve had a lead.”
“Jesus, the way you looked when you walked in I thought you had bad news.”
“Sorry. In my business I’m always serious.” He combed his hands through his unruly, longer than customary, brown hair. “Some days I think I need a new line of work. I don’t believe I’ve smiled in years. But never mind me.” He shook his head, and William went to the sideboard to pour the fatigued man a whiskey.
“Perhaps this will help.”
“Thank you. It’s worth a try.” He downed the liquid. “Damn that’s mighty fine whiskey. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to drink the stuff I have again.” He placed his glass on the sideboard. “Do you mind if I sit.”
“By all means.”
William waited patiently as Smythe sat stiffly in a chair and sighed. “Thank you. Much better. As I was saying, we believe we have a lead.”
“Not to interrupt. But what happened to you. I noticed last night you appeared injured. Are you?”
Smythe touched his side. “Knife wound. Don’t worry, it won’t keep me from doing my job.”
“I’m not worried about that. You have never let any of us down. And when I say any of us, I mean my family and the Seabrooks. And I asked out of concern. Whether you have noticed or not, we see so much of you, I, at least think of you as a friend. I believe I speak for everyone else when I say that.”
“You do,” Wentworth said as he, Sebastian, Myles, and Amesbury entered the study.
“What happened?” Wentworth approached Smythe.
“He has a knife wound,” William supplied.
“It happened two days ago. I’m fine.”
William excused himself, left the room, and spoke to his butler. “Please fetch the physician.”
“Actually, he just arrived and is with Mr. Spencer.”
“Then tell him to come into the drawing room when he is finished.”
Wentworth helped Smythe remove his coat exposing a white shirt coated in fresh blood.
“You are not fine. You’re still bleeding and you look hot,” William said. “The physician is with Spencer and will be down momentarily.
“That won’t be necessary.” Smythe went to stand, swayed, and sank back down into the chair. “Perhaps I do need a doctor. Thank you.”
“No thanks necessary.” William poured whiskey for the new arrivals and refilled a glass for Smythe who looked like he needed about four. He should have said something last night about being injured.
“How did it happen,” Wentworth asked as he sipped his drink.
“One of my own Runners. Knew he was crooked as hell. Caught me off guard, which rarely ever happens. For his troubles he’ll be buried in a pauper’s grave.”
“Good. I would hate to think you let him live after that,” William said, feeling some satisfaction for the Runner.
“Hell no.” Smythe downed his glass, leaned back. “We found out Baker has family in London. Believe it or not he is a distant relative of the Duke of Yarmouth.” He paused and took a shallow breath. “We are watching his London residence. As soon as it’s dark my men will get inside and search the place from top to bottom. If they are in there, they’ll find them.”
“The duke is depraved. If Baker went to him, he wouldn’t care what he did to Miranda or Violet. He hates women if his treatment of Amelia was any indication.”
“I know. And that’s what troubles me.” Smythe’s speech sounded slurred. On two drinks? Now William was truly worried. He’d seen the man drink much more than that and not feel any effects of the alcohol.
The butler announced the doctor. “This good man has been stabbed. He needs care,” William stated.
The physician spoke quietly to Smythe, then removed the man’s shirt and Smythe hissed as it was pulled over his head revealing a cloth bandage wrapped around his midsection stained with old and new blood. It was then William’s nose detected the stench of infection. He glanced at his companions and saw they all noticed as well.
“The wound is infected. He needs medicine and rest,” the doctor said as he rummaged inside his medical bag.
William left and reentered. “The housekeeper is preparing a room. Let’s get you up.”
“No. I can’t ppppossibly impose.”
“You can and will.” William and Wentworth each took a side and helped Smythe stand. William noticed right off how hot his skin was to the touch. He’d always admired Smythe, but he did even more so now. The man would’ve hunted for Miranda and Violet at risk to his own life.
After getting him settled in a room, the doctor made them all leave. A short time later he entered the hall to concerned looks on all the men. “I cleaned his wound, rewrapped it, and gave him laudanum to ease the pain and help him sleep. I think we caught the infection in time. But only time will tell. I will be back on the morrow to look in on both Mr. Spencer and Mr. Smythe. Good day. I can see myself out.” The middle-aged doctor walked down the hall carrying his carpet bag of medicines and instruments.
“What do we do now?” Sebastian asked.
“You may as well go back to your wives. Smythe’s men will contact me when they find out anything more. Let us pray Miranda and Violet are at the duke’s residence. That way, they should be home tonight.” Once alone, William paced the small room, hoping to exhaust his mind and body enough so he could relax.
“May I come in?”
“Always,” he replied with a smile and zing to his heart. When he opened his arms, she walked right in, resting her head on his chest and wrapping her arms around his waist.
“You look tired. You haven’t slept since before the ball. Come. I’ll tuck you in.”
William rested his cheek on the top of her head and inhaled her lavender scent. The same scent he smelled the first time they met. It would always remind him of her.
“That sounds wonderful, but what if Spencer or Smythe need me.”
“Smythe?”
He proceeded to explain about the Runner.
“Oh dear. The poor man. We owe him so much already. It’s the least we can do. I’ll check on him when you are settled in bed.
“Have Mary or Liz. I want you to myself.”
“Your wish is my command.”
When Smythe came awake he looked around, and his investigator’s mind came to several conclusions. The sun had set and he had no idea where he was. He kicked off his covers as he’d broken out in a sweat. Knife wound. Infection. Fever. He was in the house of the Earl of Bridgeton.
The other thing he noticed was a lovely young lady sitting in a chair dozing. He had seen her before, even though they were never formally introduced. She was one of Mr. Spencer’s sisters. Which one he did not know.
As her head bobbed forward he studied her features illuminated by the candle light. Her hair was a pale blonde, her lashes slightly darker as they rested against her skin. He wondered if her eyes were blue or green. She looked slight of frame. Although she had curves. Her wrap failed to hide the swells of her breasts over the scooped neckline of her light pink dress.
What was she doing in here? If anyone found out she would be ruined. Spencer would kill him. He would not want a Runner for a brother-in-law.
“Excuse me miss,” he said in a voice he hardly recognized. “You need to wake up.”
She lifted her head, locked eyes with his, and smiled as she raised her arms over her head to stretch. “You’re awake. How do you feel?”
He died. There was no other explanation for this angel sitting at his bedside. Blue. Her eyes were a strikingly deep blue. Suddenly, he had difficulty getting air into his lungs.
“Who are you?”
“I’m sorry.” Even in the candle light he witnessed her blush. “I’m Mary. Spencer’s sister. I was afraid you might wake-up in the night and need assistance. My sister, Liz, is sitting with Spencer. So I thought…” She shrugged her shoulders. “I would keep watch on our other patient.”
“You need to leave.” The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted the harshness of them, and his stomach twisted up around the knife wound at the hurt look that replaced the happy one from moments ago.
“Forgive me that was harsh.” He pulled the covers up over his chest, which he just realized was naked except for the bandage. “I mean. It’s not proper for you to be in a room alone with an unmarried man.”
She waved her hand around. “Oh, that. Nonsense. I’m playing nurse and you’re my patient.”
Damn if his blood didn’t pump southward. She was adorable and so innocent. She had no idea what she insinuated. He needed to tread very carefully around her.
“I thank you for looking over me while I rested.”
“Oh.” Her smile faulted again.
“What I mean to say is, you must be tired and in need of rest yourself. I feel much improved.” And then he remember his case. “Do you know if any of my men came by this evening?”
Her smile came back brighter than before, if that were possible. “Yes. That is another reason why I came in here. If you woke up I wanted to give you the good news. Your men rescued Miranda and Aunt Violet.”
Suddenly, exhausted beyond reason, he sighed and thanked Mary. At least he thought he said the words before he drifted into a hazy sleep.