Lord Deverill's Heir (40 page)

“No, love, be quiet, please.” She felt his hands on her gown, ripping it open.

She tried with her last ounce of strength. “I don’t want to die, but I might, and you know it. You must know the truth in case I do. Justin, please, listen.” Her voice was only a whisper now, raw and harsh, and he leaned very close to hear her. “Elsbeth is Gervaise’s half-sister.

Magdalaine is their mother. I found a letter on the skeleton in the abbey ruins. The skeleton was Gervaise’s father and Magdalaine was his lover.

My father, oh God, Justin, he must have killed them both.” His voice was as calm as night. “I understand, Arabella. You can trust me. You are not to worry about anything now.” It was all right then. She let the darkness close over her mind and take her away from the pain.

The earl had ripped away her bodice and the silk chemise below, to bare the wound in her shoulder. The ball had entered high above her left breast. If she had not thrown herself in front of him, he thought grimly, the bullet would have gone straight through his heart. He worked with the efficiency that the years in the army had taught him, all of his energy focused on stanching the flow of blood. He wadded his handkerchief into a thick pad and pressed it over the wound. The blood welled up over his fingers. Even as he heard the servants’ hurried footsteps up the stairs, pounding loudly down the corridor, he did not look up or lessen the steady pressure.

He did not even care when a man named Potter, whom the earl had hired to oversee the other ten or so men, appeared at his side, panting hard, saying at last, “We’ve got him, my lord. I’m sorry, but we had to shoot him.”

He heard Elsbeth cry out.

“He is dead then?”

“Not yet, my lord, but I don’t hold out much hope for him.” Even though he had ordered all the staff belowstairs for the evening, the sound of gunfire had, thankfully, made them disobey his orders. Giles stood panting in the doorway. “Oh my God, my lord! Oh, Jesus, what should I do?”

The earl said quickly, “Giles, ride to Talgarth Hall and fetch Dr.

Branyon. Tell him that the countess has been shot and he is needed urgently. Go, quickly. Tell him, too, that it is all over.” He heard Crupper’s familiar wheezing behind Giles. “Giles is bringing Dr.

Branyon. Crupper, have Mrs. Tucker tear up clean linen and bring hot water. Quickly, man.”

Crupper was weaving where he stood. “Yes, my lord,” he finally managed.

“But, my lord, let me kill the damned blighter first!”

“You can consider that later, Crupper. But first get me the cloths and the hot water.”

“Yes, my lord. First things first. Of course her ladyship is more important than that piece of slime from a foreign swamp.” The earl could only shake his head. He kept the pressure on the wound. He prayed. He looked up to see Elsbeth weaving where she stood, her face white. As he looked at her, he now saw the tremendous resemblance between her and Gervaise. Never would she know, for he would never tell her, nor would Arabella. “It is all right now, Elsbeth. I am sorry that you were betrayed by Gervaise. But it is over now. You are all right. He will pay for what he has done. No, don’t cry, Elsbeth, don’t cry. I don’t want him dead. But listen to me, sweetheart, he deserves whatever he gets.” Elsbeth fell to her knees on the floor. She began to cry, then shook her head, and dashed the tears away. “No,” she said. “No, I won’t cry. You’re right, Justin, he’s not worth it. But I wasn’t crying for him. Please tell me that Arabella will be all right. Please, Justin, don’t let her die. Please. It is all my fault if she dies.”

“No, Elsbeth, she won’t die. And none of this is your fault. I will strangle you if you ever say anything so stupid again. Now, I swear to you again that Arabella won’t die. She is my life, you see. I cannot let her die or else I am nothing at all.”

He turned from Elsbeth then and pressed harder on the wound. He searched his wife’s pale face. She was deeply unconscious, thank God. He prayed that she would continue unconscious. There was pain to be borne. He knew the bullet hadn’t gone through her shoulder. It would have to be dug out.

He wished that Gervaise was dead.

When Crupper came into the room, carrying both a basin of hot water and towels piled over his right arm, he said, “I don’t believe anyone else should be allowed in here, my lord. I understand that Dr. Branyon will arrive soon. As for Miss Elsbeth, I have told Grace that she is to assist the young lady to her bedchamber. Oh, Mrs. Tucker, you’re standing right at my elbow. Well, my lord, I could hardly tell Mrs. Tucker not to come in now.”

“I know,” the earl said.

Mrs. Tucker looked ready to faint and join Elsbeth on the floor. He said very gently, “Please, Mrs. Tucker, see Miss Elsbeth to her bedchamber.

Then Grace will attend her. Thank you. I know I can trust you to keep everyone else away.”

“But, my lord, what of the Frenchman?”

“Does he still live, Crupper?”

“I don’t know, my lord. I will go ascertain his condition. Hopefully it is not a good condition.”

“Thank you, Crupper.” Justin pressed down harder. The cloth beneath his fingers was soaked with Arabella’s blood. He began his prayers again.

After he was certain that the bleeding was sluggish, he placed his hand on Arabella’s breast to feel her heartbeat. It was rapid, but, he thought, steady. He looked down at her pale face, the heavy black lashes laying still against her cheeks. It was the plan of his own face. Except for the cleft in the chin. She didn’t have it. He remembered that long ago day when he had first met her, how she had told him she didn’t have the cleft. He remembered her bitterness, her anguish, her deadening grief for her father.

But now she was his. Now everything had been resolved. He wouldn’t let her die. He wouldn’t.

Finally, he slowly lifted the pad from the wound. He breathed a sigh of relief, for the bleeding had slowed to a trickle.

The earl did not again look up until Dr. Branyon hurried into the room.

“Good God, Justin, what the devil has happened here? Giles told me that Bella had been shot by the comte. What the hell—” The earl gently lifted the wadded pad from Arabella’s shoulder, his eyes meeting Dr. Branyon’s.

Dr. Branyon abruptly turned and held up his hand for Lady Ann to stop. He said curtly, “Ann, I do not want you in here. Go downstairs or go to Elsbeth and keep her with you. We will find out exactly what has happened later. I will come to you as soon as I can.”

“No, damn you, Paul, no! She is my daughter!” The earl said calmly, “Please, Ann, if Paul wants you gone, please go.

Gervaise shot her thorough the shoulder. He himself is very likely dead now. Please, do as Paul says.”

“Please, my darling. You would distract me. Please let me tend to your daughter as I should, Ann. Send Giles up when he arrives with my instruments.”

The earl didn’t say another word. He watched as Lady Ann turned slowly, grief and fear clear in every movement she made, and walked to the open door.

Paul called out, “She will survive, Ann, I promise you.” Lady Ann nodded, then thought: Elsbeth was already here? She had witnessed some of this? She would speak to her. Lady Ann picked up her skirts and ran full-tilt down the corridor.

As Dr. Branyon cleaned the wound and probed the area to determine the depth of the ball, the earl told him all that had happened. His voice was low, his choice of words placing entire blame upon himself, which Paul said, even though he never raised his face to look at the earl, was utter nonsense. “No, it’s true. I was an idiot not to carry a gun with me.”

“No, you feared for Arabella’s safety. Now, is that all?” Dr. Branyon asked, his eyes hard upon the earl’s face.

The earl thought about it. “No, there are other things, but it is not for me to tell you. I think it only fair for Arabella to tell you the rest of it and that only if she wants to. All right?” Dr. Branyon nodded. Then he straightened. “You know that I must remove the ball when Giles arrives with my instruments. You have had experience with wounded men in battle, Justin. You must assist me.”

“Yes, I will assist you. She will live, won’t she, Paul? She must, you know. She is my other half.”

“I know,” Dr. Branyon said, looking at the young earl’s face, a face he had come to know and like during the past weeks, weeks veiled in mystery and danger. And now, his Bella was lying here, close to death. But he wouldn’t say that to her husband.

The earl realized that he was clasping Arabella’s hand. He did not release it.

Arabella moaned.

Both men stiffened at the sound, their eyes meeting over Arabella’s still figure.

“It isn’t fair, Paul,” the earl said, his voice harsh, raw with anger.

“It isn’t. It is too much for her to suffer you removing the ball from her shoulder.”

For an instant Arabella felt only a great weight upon her chest. With an effort she forced her eyes to open and focus upon the faces above her.

She felt bewildered. “Justin—Paul? You are both here? How very odd. Oh dear, I cannot bear this.” She gasped, her back arcing. “I’m so sorry to be such a coward.”

The pain was unbearable, deep and rending. She pressed her head back against the pillow as hard as she could, again arcing her back upward, trying vainly to escape. She felt a damp cloth being daubed against her forehead, strong hands clasping her shoulders, holding her steady.

Slowly she began to gain control over the dizzying, scorching pain. She bit down on her lower lip until her mind focused itself where she wished.

“My dearest, can you understand me?”

Justin’s voice. He sounded so worried. She hated to hear him sound so very worried. She forced her eyes open. “Yes, my lord, what can I do for you? Just tell me and I will fix anything you require.”

“Do for me? Bella, you must be brave now. Do you understand me? The ball in your shoulder must be removed. Dr. Branyon is here. He is quite perfect, you know. He will shortly be your step-papa. He loves you a great deal. He will do a good job of it. He will keep you safe.”

“Gervaise distracted me, Justin. Otherwise I would have killed him. I bungled the job. I am sorry.” Did she hear a laugh? Then suddenly, she was no longer aware of him, only of the vast blackness of the pain that engulfed her.

The earl did not look up from her face until Giles entered on tiptoe bearing Dr. Branyon’s surgical case. He gazed at the sharp, slender scalpel and the array of other equally unpleasant instruments and said in a shaking voice, “God, how I wish we could spare her this.” He had seen so many men in battle, crying out their pain until their voices were but raw sounds in their throats.

Dr. Branyon’s voice was curt. “Justin, you must hold her firmly. I shall remove the ball as quickly as possible. You cannot allow her to move or I might kill her. Hold her very still.” He added more gently as the earl hesitated, “Your pity cannot help her, only your strength.” The earl balanced himself over her, placing his hands upon her shoulders, unwilling at first to bear his weight upon her. He thought perhaps that she had fallen again into unconsciousness until Dr. Branyon, in a sudden sure movement, dug the scalpel into the wound.

She writhed suddenly beneath his hands, a choking cry torn from her throat.

“Damn it, hold her!” Dr. Branyon shouted.

Suddenly, Arabella saw herself whirled away, back into time, years ago.

Her father stood above her, his lips curled derisively, his voice mocking. “A simple fall and you shed tears and cry out your foolish pain.

I am disappointed in you, Arabella.” And he had boxed her ears. “You will not act the girl again. I will not put up with it.” Gradually, her father’s face because Justin’s. And he was here and she knew he wouldn’t leave her. She was biting fiercely down on her lower lip, tasting her own tears, trying to swallow her screams. She licked her dry lips and tasted a drop of her own blood. She gulped convulsively and gritted her teeth. She whispered to the face above her, “I will not be a coward.”

The earl looked down at her helplessly. She was staring up at him. Yet she made no sound.

“Thank God, there, I’ve found it. Hold her firm, Justin, I must draw out the ball.”

As the curved knife closed under the ball, Arabella felt a shattering explosion in her head. It was pain that was beyond anything she could possibly understand. She tried desperately to jerk away from the excruciating pain, to somehow escape it, yet she could not move. She gazed hopelessly into the blurred face above her, choked back a sob, and slid away into merciful blackness.

“Arabella!”

“She’s not dead, Justin, merely unconscious. It is amazing that she bore the pain for so long.”

The earl forced his eyes from his wife’s pale face and gazed at the bloody ball. “It did not splinter?”

“No, thank God. My little Bella is very lucky.” Dr. Branyon placed the blood-covered ball and his knife upon the table beside the bed. He straightened and ran his hand over his perspiring brow.

The earl wet a strip of linen and gently bathed away the blood from around the wound, and then with a grimace, washed away the purple rivulets from between her breasts.

“Hand me the basilicum powder, Justin. Then we will bandage her and fashion a sling for her arm.”

The earl did as he was bid, surprised that his hands went so calmly about their tasks. Soon the bandage was in place around her shoulder and her arm supported in a sling of white linen. Dr. Branyon rose and placed his hand upon the earl’s arm. “Well done, Justin. The bleeding is nearly stopped. With luck all we have to fear now is a fever.” The earl suddenly became aware that Arabella was still naked to the waist, her gown in shreds around her. “Her nightgown, Paul. I must dress her. I don’t want Lady Ann to see her like this.”

“No, not yet. Help me remove the rest of her clothing, then we will place only a light coverlet over her. I don’t want to take any chances that the bleeding could begin again. No nightgown as yet.” After stripping Arabella, who lay as still as a statue, a white coverlet to her throat, the earl straightened. “I’ll stay with her, Paul. Perhaps you should go speak with Lady Ann and Elsbeth.”

“Yes. Then I will bring Ann up to see her presently. Ann’s solid. She won’t break over this.”