Lady Disguised (Tenacious Trents Novella) (Tenacous Trents) (4 page)

Stanwick’s blade sliced through
the left shoulder of Mirabelle’s waistcoat and it fell open, revealing the
white linen shirt beneath. The other side slipped down Mirabelle’s right arm.
He shrugged it back up to keep his fencing arm from being confined.

“
Arrêt
,” Thorn called. 

Stanwick took a step back and
lowered his blade, while Mirabelle pulled off his waistcoat and tossed it aside.
Mirabelle shook out his arms and took up the stance once again. As with
Stanwick, sweat had dampened Mirabelle’s shirt. It clung to his shoulders like
a second skin.

“
En garde
,” Thorn shouted
and took a step back.

Carrington called, “
Pret
,”
and then, “
Allez
.” 

In that moment, everything that
had bothered Stanwick came together. There was no stubble on Mirabelle’s chin,
his shoulders were delicate, as were his wrists. Mirabelle’s hips were not
narrow, as one would find on a young man but rounded. The thin linen shirt
revealed material wrapped around his upper body. “Bloody hell.”

Mirabelle lunged before he could
call a halt to the match. Instinctively, Stanwick slashed his blade down to
block
hers
from striking him. His aim was not what he had hoped due to
his distraction, and the tip of his blade cut a long line down her thigh.

She gasped and looked down. Blood
damped the dark material, and Stanwick hoped that it was only a flesh wound.
Good God, he had just injured, no cut, a woman with a rapier. What the hell was
she thinking?

Stanwick let his blade drop and
took a step back. He wanted to go to her and inspect the injury but didn’t
trust that she wouldn’t come back at him. Thorn rushed to Mirabelle, and
Carrington strolled up to Stanwick.

“Congratulations” Carrington
patted Stanwick on the back.

Stanwick barley acknowledged
Carrington but studied Mirabelle, wavering between being damned angry for being
put in this situation and fierce admiration for the woman. Had she been any
better, she could have bested him. What if the rules hadn’t been for first
blood but death? He could have ended up in a casket, just like Arrington,
killed by a woman. His friends and acquaintances would have had a good laugh
over how his demise came to be.

Thorn was helping Mirabelle, or
whoever she was, into her jacket as Stanwick approached.  “Why?”

She glanced up at him, her
crystal blue eyes etched with pain. He’d caused her this distress. He’d wounded
her, and it tore at him. It didn’t matter that it was her fault for coming here
in the first place, dressed like a man, and issuing the challenge. He had been
the one who struck and cut her.

“I needed the money.” Though her
voice still carried the lilt of a French accent, it was no longer spoken in the
lower register she had used all evening. He should add acting to her list of
talents. 

“We need to get her to a doctor.”
Thorn moved to escort Mirabelle past him. And as much as Stanwick wanted
answers now, he could wait until her injury was treated. Mirabelle took a step
and winced and Stanwick strode forward. 

Hélène winced when Stanwick swept
her up in his arms. Why didn’t he leave her be? This was humiliating enough. 

“My carriage should be out
front,” Thorn called as he rushed toward the entrance. Thorn stepped back as
Stanwick entered the carriage and placed her on a bench. “Where do we take
you?” Thorn demanded.

Hélène gave him the address on
Henrietta Street before letting her head fall back and closed her eyes. Thorn
called the address up to the driver and settled in beside Stanwick across from
Hélène.

“Why?” Thorn asked Hélène as the
carriage pulled into traffic.   

Hélène opened her eyes and looked
at Thorn. “I needed the money.”

“I didn’t mean the gambling, but
the duel. What possessed you to even think of the idea?”

She shrugged. “He called me a
cheat, and I reacted as I thought any gentleman would.”

Thorn sighed, shaking his head.

Stanwick shot an irritated look
at Hélène. This night was not going as planned and the sooner these two
gentlemen were gone the quicker she could deal with this mess. How was she
going to explain her injury?

Damn and blast, she was even out
the twenty pounds she had originally saved. It was still back in Dagger’s.

Hélène adjusted her seat and
winced. Her thigh no longer burned as if she’d been branded, but it throbbed
and continued to bleed. She tore at her cravat to loosen it, but she could not
make her fingers work properly. What was wrong with her? 

Stanwick leaned forward, untied
the knots, and drew the material from around her neck before he bent and
snuggly tied it around her thigh. Even in the darkness of the carriage she
could see it stain immediately with her blood.  

“Are you truly related to Lady
Acker, or did you invent the connection?” Stanwick demanded.

“I am her sister,” Hélène
answered through pain.

Thorn leaned forward and stared
at her. “You are not Miss Genviève.”

How did Thorn know her sister?
Hélène leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Oh, yes, Genviève had worked
in the Thorn’s household before she and her sisters were discovered by the
Trents. Why hadn’t she made the connection before? “No,” she answered. “I am
Hélène.”

The carriage slowed to a stop,
and Hélène looked out the window. Lights burned on each floor of the house.
Genviève must still be waiting for her return.    

“I’ll take her inside,” Stanwick
announced. “Go for Dr. Brune,” he ordered Thorn.

“I am sure I don’t need a
doctor,” Hélène protested as she tried walk, but her leg gave out as soon as
she took a step. Stanwick scooped her up in his arms again and marched to the
door. He didn’t have a chance to knock before it was thrown open by Genviève.
“What happened?” she demanded. 

“It is nothing,” Hélène attempted
to assure her sister.

Genviève opened the door further
and Stanwick entered. “Where is Miss Mirabelle’s room?”

“Follow me.”

“Thorn has gone for Dr. Brune,”
Stanwick said as he followed Genviève up the stair. 

“This is really not necessary,”
Hélène insisted.

“Your injury is much worse than
you realize and needs to be tended.”

He followed Genviève into the
chamber Hélène had chosen when she thought she would be allowed to live here.
Stanwick gently placed her on the bed. “See that she is made ready for the
doctor to examine her injury.”

Genviève nodded and Stanwick quit
the room, closing the door behind him. Hélène knew it was too much to hope that
he left the house as well.

She fell back against the pillows
and closed her eyes. She was so tired. All she wanted to do was sleep. The pain
in her leg would eventually go away and she would be fine tomorrow.

“I am sure I don’t want to know,”
Genviève mumbled as she helped Hélène from her clothing and into a night rail.

“I promise to explain tomorrow,”
Hélène assured her sister. She didn’t have the strength needed for the long
explanation.

“You most certainly will.” She
pulled the blanket up to Hélène’s chin and settled into the chair. A few
moments later Dr. Brune arrived and set to examining her wound. 

Dr. Brune shook his head. “You
are lucky, Miss Mirabelle. Any deeper, and the blade would have cut into
muscle.”

After the way he had poked and
prodded, causing the blood flow to increase, Hélène had been certain Stanwick’s
blade had cut to the bone.

“You’ll need stitches.”

She bolted up from her position
and her muscles tensed. “I am sure that is not necessary.”

He looked up at her over his
spectacles. “It is very necessary.”

He threaded a needle he pulled
from his bag. She had sewn many costumes in the past, and a little thing like a
thread and needle should not bother her. Yet, as he moved it closer to the
gaping wound in her thigh, the room tilted and dark spots danced before
Hélène’s eyes.

Stanwick helped himself to a
glass of brandy and paced inside a cream room accented by warm cherry wood. A
delicate lady’s desk with spindly legs sat in the corner by a wall of shelves,
filled with books. Thorn lounged in a chair beside a window, refusing to leave
until he knew Hélène Mirabelle’s condition.

The auburn-haired woman who had
answered the door sailed into the room and Thorn came to his feet. “Miss
Genviève Mirabelle.” He smiled. “I thought never to see you again.”

“Mr. Thorn,” she acknowledged
with a nod of her head before turning to Stanwick. “Would you care to explain
how my sister came to have a cut to her thigh?”

“Would you care to explain why she
dressed as a dandy, came to my club to gamble, then challenge me to a duel?” he
countered.

She gasped. “My sister would not
challenge you.”

“But she did,” Thorn answered.

Miss Mirabelle sank into a chair.
Thorn poured a small bit of brandy into a glass and pushed it into her hand. “I
don’t understand,” she mumbled before taking a drink.

“Nor do I,” Stanwick reminded
her. “Until I have the answers I desire, I will not be leaving here.”

“You can’t mean to stay,” Thorn
insisted.

As this was the home of two
misses Stanwick well understood Thorn’s concern. “If one of them happens to
mention I remained here, I will let it be known what Miss Hélène Mirabelle was
about tonight. That should insure nobody speaks out of turn.”

Miss Genviève Mirabelle bit her
bottom lip in concern.

“I intend to only stay long
enough to receive the answers I require.”

A moment later she sighed and
nodded her head before turning to Thorn. “I think you should go.”

He grasped her hand in his. “I
will call on you tomorrow.”

“That is not necessary,” she
insisted.

“Ah, but it is.” A smile pulled
at his lips. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Stanwick didn’t want to know why
Thorn had been looking for this young woman and settled onto the settee. Thank
goodness she had not tried to force him to leave because he wasn’t about to
exit this house until he and Miss Hélène Mirabelle had a long discussion.

Hélène opened her eyes when a
cool hand was placed on her brow. Genviève looked down at her with concern.
“Did you really challenge Mr. Stanwick to a duel?”

Hélène groaned as the events of
the night came back to her. Her head ached and her leg throbbed. “I would
rather not talk about it now.” She licked her lips. Her mouth was dry and she
would dearly love something to drink. Genviève placed a glass against her lips
and she drank deeply before falling back against the pillow.

“Thorn left when I insisted,” her
sister began.

“Is he the son of the family you
worked for?” Hélène asked.

Genviève nodded. “Stanwick
insists on staying until he can speak with you.”

Hélène closed her eyes. “I can’t
right now.”

“Of course not,” Genviève agreed.
“It is far too late and you are in too much pain.” She placed a spoon against
Hélène’s lips. “Take this and get some rest.”

Hélène almost recoiled at the
bitter taste but she knew she would find no sleep unless the pain was relieved
in her thigh.

“I’ll be next door. Call if you
need me.”

She didn’t bother to open her
eyes and barely heard the door click to her room.