The Hopeless Hoyden (28 page)

             
“Good heavens, Gab" Emily cried, clutching at her heart with one hand.  "You scared me half to death.”

             
“What are you doing here, and, might I add, without a groom?"

             
“Oh, Gresham made sure I had a groom.”  Emily looked over her shoulder and shrugged.  “Guess Jeb couldn’t keep up.”              

             
“I thought we'd agreed that you weren't to go about on your own."

             
“We did, but when Tom told me you were out looking for gypsies. . . well, it is plain as pikestaff that this is a trap Cecil has set for you."

             
“And knowing that, you came out to warn me--alone.”

             
“But I wasn’t alone,” Emily said.  When Gabriel gave her a skeptical look, she added, “I had to find you.”  

             
“Emily, did it occur to you that you might be setting yourself up as well."

             
She didn't pay him any mind.  Her head twisted side to side, her eyes darted about.  “It is spooky in these woods, Gab.  Listen to the quiet.  I wonder, would gypsies make the birds disappear?"

             
“There are no gypsies, Em."  He flicked Ajax's reins and began to lead the way out of the spinney.

             
“Do you have a pistol with you?" she asked.
              “I do."

             
“Oh.  Where are we going?"

             
“I'm escorting you back to the main road where you'll hopefully meet up with Jeb.  Otherwise, you are to hightail it back to the stables and wait until Jeb finds and rejoins you."

             
“But what about the gypsies?  They could capture me.  I could be shipped off to a far away land."  Her violet eyes danced with excitement as she warmed to her topic. “They might even sell me to a sheik."

             
Another time and he would have willingly encouraged her.  But he was upset that she'd ridden about on her own against his express orders.  Danger could be lurking around the next tree, for all he knew.  “Spin your tales on someone else, Em."

             
As they came out of the wood, Gabriel pointed his riding crop down the road.  “The Park's that way."

             
“Where are you going?"              

             
“I need to check a tenant's field for drainage problems.  It's causing the crops to rot."

             
“Ugh, now you are talking mud.  That is the one thing I cannot abide."

             
He laughed at her sally yet mentally recalled that no matter how rough and tumble she might be, he had seldom seen Emily dirty. Disheveled, yes, but not dirty.  “Off with you, minx," he growled playfully.

             
“You will regret this when the gypsies cart me away," she grumbled as Gabriel slapped Marabell's rump and set the mare to a brisk trot.
              Turning Ajax around, Gabriel intended to cut across the woods for the Potts' farm.  As he rode, though, he considered Emily’s words.  It was strange how abnormally quiet the woods were.  Mentally he castigated himself for letting his wood sprite's vivid imagination work on him.

             
At that moment, a shot rang out.

             
Ajax went down.  Gabriel barely managed to jump clear.  Rolling a few feet, he pulled the pistol from his belt and swung around.  The sight of his fallen mount momentarily stunned him.  The huge stallion lay motionless, one glassy eye sightlessly staring up.   Blood trickled from a clean hole in the middle of the horse's head.

             
A second shot whizzed by his left ear, and Gabriel dove for cover behind the dead horse.  Next, he heard galloping hooves.  Turning, he saw Marabell approaching.

             
“Emily, get out of here!" he shouted.

             
“Not without you."  She drew the mare to a halt beside him.  As she kicked her left foot out of the stirrup, she reached down with one hand.

             
Gabriel didn't argue but accepted her hand and replaced her foot in the stirrup.  Another shot rang out, and Emily cried out.  He threw his leg over the mare and pulled Emily into his body, hunching over to shield her from the sniper. 

             
“Hold on," he said, grabbing the reins from her listless fingers.  He kicked Marabell's flanks, and the mare bolted ahead, cutting a swath through the brush.  For several minutes, Gabriel raced the horse, weaving between the trees.  Coming out on the main road, he urged Marabell into an all out gallop before looking back over his shoulder. 

             
There was no sign that they were being followed.  So he allowed the mare to slow up, then realized how rigid Emily was, pressed to his chest.  She was holding her side, and when he looked down, he was appalled at the amount of blood soaking the front of her habit.  Jerking off his cravat, he pressed it to her side, making her cry out. 

             
“It's going to be all right, Emily."

             
Her pale face was set, her lips compressed together.  Still, her chin quivered.  Somewhere in their flight she'd lost that silly hat with the white feather.  He nuzzled her hair with his cheek and whispered in her ear, “Cry if you want, Em.  I won't mind."

             
She nodded her head twice and whimpered as tears spilled down her blanched cheeks.  He felt helpless as her warm sticky blood soaked through his cravat and leather glove.  He didn't dare rush the mare because it would jostle Emily more.  All he could do was encourage her to hang on and whisper endearments as her life's blood seeped through his fingers.

             
When they reached the Park, he guided Marabell to the front door and dismounted.  Drawing Emily down into his arms, he cradled her close to his heart and took the steps two at a time.  He arrived at the door just as Pickering opened it.  Throwing orders at the flustered butler, Gabriel rushed up the stairs as Emily swooned in his arms.

             
He passed her room, deciding to place her in the suite next to his own.  He intended to oversee every bit of her recovery.  Gently, he laid her down on the big four poster and, with shaking hands, unbuttoned the bodice of her habit.  The white cambric blouse, crimson with blood, followed.  He grabbed the flimsy muslin of her chemise with both hands and rent the fabric neatly in two to expose the ugly wound, still oozing blood.  Quickly he reached around and ripped the waist of her skirt, further exposing her side.

             
“Milord, what are you doing?"  Mrs. Hopkins rushed in with a maid right behind her.  If either woman was appalled with the liberties he'd taken with the unconscious Emily, neither said as both stood, opened mouthed and wide-eyed, observing his attempt to stem the flow of blood.  When the housekeeper started to leave, Gabriel called over his shoulder.  “Where are you going?"              

             
“To get bandages, hot water and balsam powder, milord."  Her eyes narrowed slightly before she added, “And I think I had better find a gown for the young miss."

             
He gave her a curt nod and thanked her before turning back to his work.

             
He drew up a light wool coverlet at the foot of the bed and draped it around her so he still had access to her wound.

             
When he put a hand on her forehead, Emily moaned. 

             
“I'm sorry, Emily, but you’ll feel more pain before this is over.  You've my promise, though," he said between clenched teeth, “when I get my hands on the blackguard who's responsible for this, his life won't be worth a farthing."

             
There was a commotion in the hall.  The young maid, standing nervously in the doorway, stepped aside to let Tom and Freddy enter.  Hard on their heels were Chesterfield--and Cecil.

             
At the sight of his cousin, something snapped inside of Gabriel.  He swung around and in two strides had his hand about Cecil's throat.  In two more strides, Gabriel slammed Cecil into the wall, wiping his cousin's arrogant complacency from his reddening face.

             
“You blackguard!"  Gabriel growl was guttural as he put everything into trying to tighten his hold about Cecil's throat even as Chesterfield and Tom each grabbed an arm to stop him.

             
“Hold up, man!"  Chesterfield said.  "You'll kill him!"

             
“I mean to."  Gabriel felt a hint of satisfaction with Cecil's purplish hue.  But the combined efforts of Chesterfield and Tom as well as Caldwell's own frantic hold on Gabriel's hands were weakening his grip.

             
“This is murder, Lindemann," Tom shouted in Gabriel's ear.

             
“He tried to murder your sister," Gabriel ground out though clamped teeth.

             
“Gab, Gab."  It was a weak, almost pathetic cry, coming from the bed.  “No, Gab."

             
Slowly, sanity began to work through the red haze of hate.  With an extreme effort, Gabriel gave a final shove against Caldwell's windpipe, applying as much pressure as he could with three men pulling on his arms.  He stepped away, breathing hard, clenching and unclenching hands that felt empty and cheated as he glared at Cecil, slumped against the wall, gasping for breath.

             
“Are you mad?"  Chesterfield put himself between Gabriel and Cecil.

             
“Yes, for justice.  This knave is responsible for Emily being shot."  His words brought all eyes to the bed where Emily lay.  Her eyes met his, looking even larger in her colorless face.

             
“Gab," she whispered. “Please."

             
He was beside her in an instant, smoothing back the curls from her frightened face.  She brought her hand up, and he took it lovingly, tenderly.  She stared at his hands, hers dwarfed, lost between his two, the same two he'd just used to try to strangle the life out of his cousin.

             
“Remember," she half whispered, “you have no proof.  Cecil still wins, even if you kill him."

             
“What nonsense is this," croaked Cecil.

             
Gabriel didn't turn around.  “Get out of here, Caldwell, before I call you out."

             
“Why you--"

             
Gabriel heard sounds of a struggle behind him.  Chesterfield and Tom were obviously restraining Cecil.  Then, Chesterfield said, “Do as Lindemann says, Caldwell."

             
“Bad
ton
, this," Ellison said, standing just inside the door.

             
“Go to hell," Cecil answered in a gravelly voice.  “You liver bellied tulip, get out of my sight!"

             
Tense moments passed, but in the end, Tom and Chesterfield forcefully escorted Cecil to the door and shoved him from the room.  Chesterfield slammed the door closed, leaving the anxious little housemaid out in the hall.

             
Tom hung over Gabriel's shoulder.  “Emily."

             
“Pickering's sent for Doc Larson," Gabriel said, still holding his wood sprite's cold hand.

             
“What happened?"  Chesterfield walked around the other side of the bed, and Freddy and Ellison came around to flank him.

             
“My cousin's henchman achieved success at last," Gabriel said by way of beginning.  He started with the attack on his person in London.  No one interrupted to ask questions, and when at last he concluded with the ambush on Emily and him that afternoon, the silence was almost palatable.

             
“You must not turn him away," she whispered, breaking the silence.

             
Gabriel shook his head.  “Don't talk, Em."

             
“She's right, Gabriel," said Chesterfield.  “You, yourself, must see how preposterous your story sounds.  Without evidence of Cecil's treachery, the
ton
will see you as the blackguard, turning off your cousin and his sister without a sou."

             
“You expect me to be cordial to those two," scoffed Gabriel.

             
“At least until we have hard evidence against them," Chesterfield replied.  “Best way to do that is to keep Caldwell and his sister under our noses."

             
Gabriel could see the justification of Chesterfield's argument.  Still, it was a bitter pill to swallow.  Tom was the one who decided the matter for him.

             
“I want the man who did this to my sister to pay," Tom declared.