Silver Splendor (38 page)

Nicholas’s hand stilled; an abashed look stole over his handsome face. “Have I never mentioned my… our country house?”

She shook her head.

“Well, Countess,” he said, reaching across the horse’s withers to lace his fingers with hers, “we must rectify that. As soon as this is all over, I’ll take you there, introduce you to the beauty of the Downs, show you enough old castles and ruined abbeys to satisfy your artistic soul.”

As soon as this is all over.

Elizabeth shivered despite the hot afternoon. “I can’t stop feeling uneasy about the duchess, Nicholas. Isn’t it peculiar that she’s never sold Caprice? I wonder if Adelaide’s attachment has something to do with the fact that Caprice’s dam belonged to my mother?”

“I can’t answer that.” Smiling, he squeezed her hand. “I don’t suppose it would do any good to tell you to leave the worrying to me.”

The impact of his smile tunneled deep within her. Elizabeth felt her spirits lighten, shedding the darkness of doubts, accepting the balm of love.

“I guess you know me too well,” she admitted. A corner of his mouth lifted rakishly higher. “I’m always ready to enlarge my intimate knowledge of you.”

She pretended shock. “Always? I hardly consider a lack of compsosure appropriate for a romantic interlude with an English earl.”

“This English earl isn’t as priggish as he used to be,” he murmured, his thumb brushing her wrist. “I’d like to take you in the grass, to see the sunshine gild your naked skin.”

“With a score of prying eyes watching me as well.”

Nicholas grinned. “The horses won’t mind.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You’re irresistible.”

“Whatever happened to all that iron willpower you had just a few days ago?”

His fingers grazed her breast. “One taste of you and I lost all strength of character.”

“Behave yourself.” Flushed and aroused, Elizabeth extracted her hand and stepped shakily back. Taking the sketch pad from beneath her arm, she quickly penciled the proud curve of Caprice’s neck, the clean fines of her body. “I’ve never sculpted a horse before. But I may have to start with you.”

Nicholas leaned lazily against the weathered fence. “Watch out, Caprice,” he advised the mare. “Once she gets an artistic notion into her head she won’t let off. She’ll have you posing like a damned basket of fruit.”

At the sound of her name, the mare tossed her head, then resumed cropping the meadow grass.

“Hah,” Elizabeth told him. “You’ve nothing to complain about, Nicholas Ware. You’ve yet to pose for me.”

He smiled. “I’ll disrobe if you’ll do the same. I intend to devote my life to studying your lovely curves.”

The sultry promise in his eyes robbed her of breath. Sunlight illuminated his flawless features, the chiseled sweep of his cheekbones, the firm jut of his jaw, the powerful muscles of the body she knew as intimately as her own. Her heart throbbed with love. How precious he was to her, how happy he made her.

Suddenly he peered beyond her, toward the row of scraggly yews bordering the far end of the paddock. His gaze sharpened and his spine straightened.

“Get down!” he snapped.

She ducked. A sharp
crack
rent the air.

Caprice squealed and reared, front hooves flailing. A red slash bloomed on her silken mane. Blood!

A heavy weight slammed into Elizabeth, knocking her sideways. Her head struck the ground.

The world went black.

Gripped by hideous panic, Nicholas feared she was dead.

Shielding Elizabeth’s limp form with his body, he braced himself for the slash of hooves on his back. Caprice’s hooves slammed to the grass so close the ground quaked. Snorting, the wounded mare galloped away.

Nicholas ran frantic hands over Elizabeth. Her slender body bore no sign of injury, no bloody gunshot wound. Relief poured through him as he spied the faint rise and fall of her breasts.

Trembling with shock, he grasped her shoulders. “Elizabeth!”

She lay still, her eyes closed, the black lashes stark against her white cheeks. The scent of crushed grass tickled his nose. An arm’s length away, a bee droned in the clover. So peaceful.

Yet a killer lurked somewhere nearby.

Kipp pounded into the paddock. “Blimey! I ‘eard a shot! She ain’t dead, is she?”

“No, she’s unconscious.” Nicholas spared only a glance at the boy’s stricken face. “Elizabeth!” he said again, gently shaking her.

She stirred and moaned. Her hand lifted as if to bat him away. Her lashes fluttered.

“Nicholas?” she said, her voice a wisp of sound.

“I’m here, love.”

She blinked. “What happened?”

“You fell. Lie still now.”

“Saw a bloke running away from them bushes, yer lordship, sir.” Kipp pointed to the line of yews. “Don’t see ‘im no more, though.”

Dobson ran up in time to hear Kipp’s words. “I’ll nab the bugger, m’lord.” Brandishing his pistol, the footman raced across the pasture, heading for the wilderness of trees.

‘“Ey, wait fer me.”

“Kipp, get back here!”

But the boy either didn’t hear the command or chose to ignore it. Swiveling back to his wife, Nicholas clenched his jaw against a swamping wave of guilt. Elizabeth needed his protection; he couldn’t leave her alone. If he hadn’t looked up and seen the glint of the sun on metal, a glint in the yews where no one ought to be —

She struggled to sit. “Caprice! Is she —”

“She’ll be fine, love. The wound was only a graze.” Sliding his arms beneath her, he surged to his feet.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Taking you into the house.”

She wriggled against his chest. “I can walk.”

He tightened his hold. “Hush. You’ll do as I say.”

A group of muttering onlookers had gathered, stable lads and scullery maids, grooms and dairy maids. Clutching a paper in her hand, the Duchess Adelaide marched through the throng.

“What’s going on here? I heard a shot.” She stopped, her eyes widening on Elizabeth. “Dear God! Has she been injured?”

“She struck her head.”

Gilbert Marsh elbowed past the horde. “I’d best have a look at her. Bring her into my office.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Elizabeth said. “Really.”

“The doctor’s right,” Nicholas stated. “Lead the way, Marsh.”

When Adelaide made a move to follow, he added, “You’ll want to tend to Caprice, Your Grace.” He nodded toward the far end of the paddock, where a pair of grooms were trying to calm the agitated mare.

The duchess hesitated; then she stuffed the paper into her pocket and started slowly toward Caprice. Was her concern for Elizabeth genuine? Carrying his precious burden, Nicholas could spare only an instant’s speculation before striding after Marsh.

“Put me down, Nicholas.”

“No.”

“I feel ridiculous —”

His raw nerves exploded into anger. “For God’s sake, Elizabeth! Can’t you for once let me take care of you?”

She pursed her lips as if to suppress a retort. Resentment flared in her beautiful eyes before she lowered her lashes to stare at his shirt. His arms tensed; he needed to cradle her sweet, warm life, he needed the doctor to assure him she was unharmed. Didn’t she realize how close to death she’d come? How furious and guilty he felt at failing to safeguard her again? That bullet might have pierced her heart. He might now be carrying her corpse.

Swallowing the knot in his throat, Nicholas followed Marsh through a door at the rear of the manor house and into a small, neat room. The faint disinfectant scent of carbolic pervaded the air. Rows of bottles and jars filled a glass fronted cabinet, and medical tomes crammed a bookshelf. The decor was surprisingly homey for a doctor’s office, with a pair of chintz chairs by the hearth and a vase of wild roses atop a tidy desk.

“Over here,” Marsh said, indicating an examining table.

Nicholas gently settled her on the green leather surface.

“I don’t need to lie down,” Elizabeth said, bobbing up. “I’m perfectly healthy.”

He glared. “You’ll do as the doctor says.”

“It’s all right. Let her sit if she feels more comfortable.” Marsh glanced at Nicholas. “If you’ll leave us, your lordship.”

“I’m staying with my wife.”

“It’ll only be for a few moments. She’ll be more at ease.”

“I’m staying,” Nicholas repeated, his voice steely.

“As you wish, then.”

Nicholas caught a glint of displeasure in those blue eyes before the doctor turned away. Too damned bad if Marsh preferred privacy in which to examine his patients. Under no circumstances did Nicholas intend to let Elizabeth out of his sight.

Prowling the office, he watched as Marsh gingerly felt her scalp.

“Any dizziness?” the doctor asked.

“No.”

“Can you recall what happened?”

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

He lifted her lids to peer into her eyes. “Loss of memory can be a sign of concussion.”

“I was standing beside Caprice when my husband yelled to me to get down. No sooner did I do so when I heard a shot.” Her eyes soft with emotion, she glanced at Nicholas. “He knocked me out of the way of the horse’s hooves just in time.”

“I heard that shot all the way in here.” Marsh waved a hand at the opened medical encyclopedia on his desk, as if to indicate he’d been reading. “Did you see who fired at you?”

“She couldn’t have,” Nicholas broke in, picking up an illustrated drug catalogue and flipping the pages. “The shot came from beyond the yews. I imagine it was a hunter who’d strayed too close to the house.”

Glancing from under his lashes. Marsh nodded. “Undoubtedly.”

Was the doctor revealing all he knew? Feigning an interest in the catalogue, Nicholas watched as Marsh turned back to Elizabeth. Could madness lie behind that mild, boyish face? It wouldn’t hurt to do a little digging…

“Have you a headache, your ladyship?” Marsh asked.

She hesitated. “Only a slight one.”

“I’ll fetch you a bromide to ease the pain and steady your nerves.”

“You needn’t bother yourself —”

“It’s my duty as a doctor. The duke would send me packing if I failed to treat you.”

Taking a key from his pocket, Marsh walked across the office to unlock the medicine cabinet. He looked like the consummate country doctor in his tidy, untailored brown suit.

“That’s quite the dispensary you have there,” Nicholas said, strolling behind the shorter man to study the array of containers.

“Saves me from making a trip into Wrefton each time I need something.”

“Do you use all those potions to treat the duke?”

The doctor aimed an oblique glance over his shoulder. “Of course not, my lord. Besides the estate folk, I administer to the local farm families as well.”

“Do you live here in the house?” Nicholas asked, setting the catalogue on top of the cabinet.

Marsh inclined his head toward a closed door. “I’ve a room through there. There’s a bellpull by His Grace’s bedside so he can call whenever he needs me.”

Elizabeth’s brow furrowed. “Is the duke so ill that he needs a physician close by?”

The doctor slid a look at her. “I mean no insult, your ladyship, but I shouldn’t discuss one patient with another.”

“Hugh Sterling is my father. I’ve a right to know what’s ailing him.”

Marsh’s hand stilled on a cobalt bottle. His face was averted so that Nicholas could not see the expression.

Picking up the vessel, the doctor walked to the desk. “All right, then. I don’t suppose it’s any great secret.” He reached into a drawer and withdrew an empty vial. “As you must have already seen, His Grace suffers from arthritis, as well as cardiac asthma. In layman’s terms, his heart is weak and he’s prone to spells of breathlessness, especially at night.”

Elizabeth slipped down from the examining table. “Is there anything you can do for him?”

Uncorking the large blue bottle, Marsh used a paper cone to transfer white powder into the smaller vial. “Make sure he avoids excitement and gets plenty of rest.”

“How long have you been his physician?” Nicholas asked.

Marsh darted a glance from beneath his pale lashes. “For nigh on twelve years now, since I completed my studies in Edinburgh.”

“Twelve years,” Nicholas mused. “Then you must have grown up around here. You knew Lucy Templeton and it’s been twenty years since she left.”

The paper cone dropped to the desk, spilling a few granules of powder. Compressing his lips in annoyance, Marsh meticulously brushed the white dust into a waste bin. In a flash of humor, Nicholas imagined the doctor, apron around his middle and feather duster in hand, cleaning the tidy office.

“Why the inquisition, your lordship? Do you doubt my ability to administer to the duke?”

“I’m sure my husband means no slight.” Elizabeth sent Nicholas a warning frown, then crossed the room to stand before the desk. “Please, Dr. Marsh, don’t be affronted. I’m interested in anything I can learn about my mother’s life here.”

Marsh lifted guarded eyes. “There isn’t much I can tell you. I was only a lad of sixteen when she left. At the time, my father was gamekeeper for the estate, so we hardly moved in the same social circle.”

“But you saw her, perhaps spoke to her occasionally?”

The doctor shook his fair head. “We shared nothing more than a greeting or a pleasantry. She was too busy with the duke to have time for a mere boy.”

“Was she happy here?” Elizabeth persisted.

He bent his nead and opened a drawer. “I’m sorry, your ladyship. Anything I say would be pure conjecture. I’d suggest you ask your questions of the duke or duchess.” Finding a cork, he plugged the vial. “But do be careful with His Grace. As I’ve said, his heart is weak.”

“I’d never do anything to upset him,” Elizabeth said.

The doctor nodded, then pushed back his chair. “I’d advise bed rest for the next day or so, your ladyship. Let me know if you experience dizziness. To relieve any pain, take a teaspoon of this bromide mixed in water.”

As Marsh held out the bottle, Nicholas saw Elizabeth open her mouth to protest. Quickly he took the vial and said, “Thank you, doctor. How much do we owe you?”

Marsh held up a well manicured hand. “Nothing, please. His Grace pays me amply.”