Lady Catherine's Secret: A Secrets and Seduction book (18 page)

Lost in self-recrimination, she almost missed the man lying along the wall of the town house. If not for the faint glimmer of light reflecting from something metallic, she never would have noticed him.

Catherine jumped down from the saddle to stand before the crumpled form. It was a man in a cloak. Her stomach tightened as she stared down at the motionless body.

She listened intently, all of her attention focused on the man at her feet, and she detected the sound of deep, even breathing. At least he was alive.

But he was lying quite still. She reached down and pushed the unconscious man onto his back. She couldn’t see well enough in the dark to tell what his injuries might be.

What could she do? If she left him here, those two ruffians might come back. Could he be seriously injured? She didn’t smell traces of alcohol, so he probably wasn’t drunk.

As she squatted there, trying to come up with a plan, she heard the faint rumble of an approaching carriage.

She moved before she even thought. Clutching her horse’s reins, she hurried back to the street on foot to flag down the coachman. She rushed toward him through the fog, waving her arm.

“Wha’ in the blazes!” shouted the coachman, startled by her sudden appearance. “Stand back! I ’ave a pistol, so ye won’t be robbin’ me tonight!”

When she heard the metal click as he cocked his weapon, she let out a squeak of alarm. “Wait, no! I need your help. Someone’s been injured. I think he may have been attacked by thieves.”

She jumped when she heard a thumping from inside the carriage, as if a person was whacking a cane against the coachman’s box. “What is the matter, driver?” came an elderly man’s voice from inside the carriage.

The coachman shouted an explanation of Catherine’s dilemma.

The elderly man inside called back, “Let him know that I have a pistol as well.”

The coachman glanced at her and shrugged, not bothering to repeat the words.

After a brief pause, the querulous voice continued. “If he seems trustworthy enough, then see if there is anything you can do to help. But under no circumstances will I open the door of this carriage.” She heard the thump of the cane again, as though he’d used it to punctuate his statement.

“Perhaps you could help me put the man on my horse,” she suggested, wondering what she’d do with him. “He is too big for me to lift alone, and I fear that abandoning him here will leave him open to another attack.” Perhaps she could find a policeman and leave the man with him. At least he’d be safe.

“Well, you ain’t but a lad, so’s I s’pose liftin’ a full-grown man would be a wee bit tough for ye,” the coachman agreed. He followed her down the alleyway, still holding his pistol. When they stopped next to the crumpled form, the man grunted and prodded the figure with his foot.

He glared at Catherine. “Stand back, young’un.” He watched her as she took two steps back, and then he tucked his pistol into his waistband. Squatting down, he gathered up the injured man and then heaved the limp body onto his shoulder as he rose with a grunt of exertion.

“Bloody ’ell, he’s a big ’un.” Turning toward Catherine’s horse, he tossed the man facedown over the saddle while she kept a firm hold on Wildfire’s bridle. A small grunt escaped the injured man as he landed heavily on his stomach. To her horror, he began to slide backward off the horse. The coachman stopped his fall by pressing his shoulder against the man’s backside.

“Let’s lead my horse to the street. If we stand on either side of him, I think we can keep him from falling off.” Catherine grabbed one of the man’s wrists to help balance him, wondering what she’d been thinking of when she set out on this short-sighted rescue. The sooner she was safely rid of him, the better.

She shook her head. No. That wasn’t true. She was just feeling surly because everything had gone so badly tonight. At least her night hadn’t been as bad as this man’s.

Once they were back on the main road, the coachman was able to shift the man’s weight so that it was more evenly distributed on the saddle. “That should do ye, as long as ye keep your horse to a walk. I’m sorry I can’t help ye more, but I need ta get me own charges safely home to their beds. Yer a good lad ta help a man in need.” He tipped his hat and climbed back onto the driver’s box. He gave a slight wave as he headed off into the fog in the opposite direction from which Catherine was headed.

She examined her cargo as she scowled at him.
No good deed goes unpunished
.

From the fine quality of his cloak, he wasn’t a commoner. Maybe he carried an item that might identify him in some way. If so, she could try to take him to his home.

She pulled back his cloak to expose the pockets of his trousers and realized, with a sinking feeling, that he wore a pair of white fencing pants.

In a panic, she hurried around to the other side of Wildfire where the man’s head dangled. The mantle of his cloak hung over his head, and when she pulled it back, she wasn’t surprised to discover the face of Lord Huntley.

“Why did fate decide to throw you in my path tonight?” With a groan, she dropped the mantle back over his face and crossed her arms, trying to decide what to do.

18 - The Town House

When Catherine arrived at Lord Huntley’s town house, she could detect no light coming from inside, which struck her as odd. Perhaps he wasn’t expected home for a number of hours.

She tied her horse to the post out front and knocked on the glossy black door. After knocking repeatedly for several minutes, there was still no activity within the residence. She retreated down the shallow steps and craned her neck back to look at the building. Then she checked up and down the street to make sure that she had not mistaken his house for another. This had to be Huntley’s. She was certain of it. Climbing the steps to the front door again, she tried to open it, but it was locked.

Her snort of frustration was echoed by her horse.

She grinned at him as she came down the stairs. “Come on, boy. Let’s check around back.”

She took hold of his bridle and led him around the side of the town house toward the stables. Perhaps she’d find an open door at the rear of the house.

She jiggled the door latch to the rear entrance, and to her relief, it opened. She poked her head inside the dark house to look around, but she couldn’t see much.

“Is anyone here?” she called out.

She waited, but nobody answered. Pushing the door wide, she could make out a gas light fixture just inside the entrance. She fumbled around the table below it and found a box of safety matches. She struck a match and held it up to the fixture as she slowly turned up the flow of gas. She was rewarded with a soft
fumf
sound and a gentle glow of light.

“Hello!” she shouted. “Is anybody here?” Where was his household staff? How was she going to manage to get that enormous man inside?

She huffed. Should she walk Wildfire inside the house and dump Huntley on the floor? She gave her tall horse a measuring look. No, that would be her last resort. Wildfire would
not
be a willing accomplice in her plan. It would be best if she could rouse Huntley.

She tried to peer down the hallway of the darkened, unfamiliar house, but she couldn’t see far, so she lit the candlestick sitting on the table. Hopefully, Huntley would prove accommodating.

She stepped back outside and drew the mantle of the marquess’s cloak back to examine his face.

She patted his cheek.

No response.

She tried again, this time giving him a slight slap.

“Oh.” He let out a low groan. “What the...” He jerked his head up.

“You’re lying on my horse, Lord Huntley.” She used a gruff, soothing tone. “You’re at the rear entrance of your town house. Let me help you down.”

He didn’t speak, but he must have shifted his weight, because he began to slide off the far side of the saddle. She scurried around, barely catching him as his knees began to buckle.

“Put your arm over my shoulders and I’ll help you inside.” He complied, and she guided him toward the door, staggering under his weight.

“I’m not strong enough to carry you,” she warned. “Please don’t faint.”

As if asking him not to faint will help.

“Where’s my blasted valet?” he mumbled. “Madson?” he called more loudly.

As they stepped through the entrance, she was able to push the door shut with her foot. She grabbed the candlestick with her free hand. “I was wondering the same thing. You’ll have to direct me, Lord Huntley. I’m not sure where to take you.”

Lurching along the hallway, they made their way to a drawing room. She shuffled him toward a long sofa and was able to guide his descent as he collapsed onto it. Somehow, he managed to remain in a seated position.

He rocked forward, rested his elbows on his knees, pressed his hands against the sides of his head, and then let out a deep sigh. “My head feels terrible. Can you pour me some scotch?”

Catherine looked around the room and saw a collection of bottles and glassware sitting on a low table. She couldn’t tell which one was the scotch, so she grabbed the one sitting at the front. If scotch was his favorite, it stood to reason that it must be the one most readily available. She sloshed about an inch into a glass and brought it to him.

Huntley had yet to look at her, and he blearily reached out for the glass when he saw it in front of his face. She watched him close his eyes and swallow the amber liquid. Then he clenched his jaw. “That was a mistake,” he said, and coughed. “It burns.” He looked at his glass as if it had betrayed him. “Why does my throat feel so raw?”

Catherine lit another gas lamp and noticed that someone had laid a fire in the fireplace. She lit a taper and poked it into the tinder. Soon the flames took hold.

“Lord Huntley, where can I find a member of your staff? I see evidence of them, but nobody seems to be here.”

He finally looked at her, first in confusion, and then with dawning comprehension. “Blast! What a mess. I sent my entire staff over to my new country house this afternoon so they could inventory everything and begin to clean it. I plan to join them there tomorrow.”

“Your new country house? I thought you were looking for a new house here in the city?”
Uh-oh. I shouldn’t know about that, because he told Lady Catherine, not me... not Gray. Blast!

“Oh, you heard about that? I didn’t know it was common knowledge.” He shifted his weight as he lifted his booted feet up to the sofa, stretching out upon its length. His muscles tensed and released under the snug fencing breeches.

“I was fortunate enough to purchase the Savelle estate just outside London. It came fully furnished, but the staff had been dismissed long ago. I sent my current staff to begin—” he stopped short. “I hope you’ll forgive me, but you’re Gray, am I correct? The boy from Bernini’s?”

“Yes, my lord.” Catherine turned her head away and pretended to look around the room, taking in her surroundings. When she glanced back at Huntley, his eyes were closed.

“I owe you a debt of gratitude. Tonight’s events are beginning to come back to me.” He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “I was attacked by some men, and the next thing I knew, I was off my horse and they were pulling me into an alleyway. The last thing I remember is one of them pressing a cloth against my face.”

“A cloth? Was he trying to suffocate you?”

“I don’t think so. It was too small for that. The cloth smelled sickly sweet.”

Sickly sweet? Could someone have used a chemical to subdue him? The collodion she used to make her scar was made from a nitrocellulose mixed with ether and alcohol, and it had a sickly sweet odor. “Maybe they used one of those new chemicals doctors have begun employing for surgeries. I think they’re called anesthetics. I recall reading that one of them has a sweet smell. Perhaps that’s why your throat feels raw.”

“Perhaps.” He sounded listless.

She wrinkled her brow as she recalled stories about perfectly healthy people who died unexpectedly from the use of anesthetics. Despite the warmth emanating from the fireplace, the thought chilled her. Racking her memory, she couldn’t remember if the patients had died while they were asleep or after they’d woken up. She wished she’d paid more attention to the newspaper articles.

“My head feels a bit clearer, and I think my stomach is starting to improve.” With a grunt, he hoisted himself back to a sitting position. He wavered. “Well, maybe I’m not completely well.” He leaned his head back against the sofa and shut his eyes again. His pale face looked sickly in the low light.

As she peered down at him, Catherine was torn. She knew she should leave, but how could she, with no one in the house to care for him?

With a sigh of resignation, she came to the only decision she could live with. She’d stay for a while, just to make sure he recovered. She caught herself gazing at his full lips and chided herself. The man wasn’t well.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I need to see to my horse.” At his nod, she hurried outside, where she led Wildfire along a well-worn path leading to the stable.

She was surprised to find Rajah standing outside the door of the stables, having made his own way home. She stumbled about in the unfamiliar dark space. Rajah eagerly entered his stall, so she placed Wildfire in an empty one near him.