More than a Masquerade by Adele Clee

Chapter 19

Blood seepedthrough Rachel’s blue pelisse, leaving an ever-growing stain on the sleeve. Expecting another imminent attack, Eli dropped to his knees beside her unconscious form, shielding her with his body as fear chilled him to the bone.

“R-Rachel.” He choked on the word, his throat closing amid the battle to suppress painful emotions. Such a man proved useless in desperate situations. “Rachel.” Gently, he touched the ragged hole in her sleeve, had to suppress another wave of panic upon seeing his fingers glistening red, wet with her blood.

Daventry knelt beside him. “Quickly. Get her inside the Observatory. You need to inspect the wound, remove the lead ball and any fragments. Do you hear me? You know what to do. Hurry.”

Eli heard him, but his world had come crashing down. Yes, he knew what to do, but he had never been in love with the person he hoped to save.

“Hunter!” Daventry grabbed his arm and shook him. “I’ll take Meyer and find the shooter. Young will help carry Miss Gambit into the Observatory.” He turned to Miss Dutton. “Help Hunter. Miss Wild, you’re tasked with guarding Lady Meyer. As she’s not with child, use force if she attempts to escape.”

Anger surfaced. Eli might have blamed Young for this sorry mess, but logic intervened. Saving Rachel was his only objective.

Eli scooped her up into his arms and turned to Young and Miss Dutton. “Mr Pond is Astronomer Royal at Greenwich. Race inside and find him or his assistant, find somewhere we can lay her down and work on the wound.”

“I’ll go with them. I’m good at asserting my authority.” Lady Meyer seemed desperate to begin her penance, and so followed Young.

Miss Wild was hot on their trail.

Given an ultimatum, Lord Meyer had no option but to help Lucius Daventry question the bystanders for information about the shooter.

Trying to ignore the harrowing sight of Rachel’s pale lips and limp body, Eli carried her into the grounds of the Observatory. Numerous buildings lined the courtyard. Miss Wild stood waiting outside a door on the left.

Young and Lady Meyer appeared, accompanied by an older man dressed in black. “Hunter! You can attend to Miss Gambit in here.”

Eli hurried into the room containing astronomical equipment. A large desk flanked the fireplace. A giant sextant stood near the open window.

“Clear the desk,” Eli cried, and the assistant hurried to gather papers and place them into a pile on the floor. “I need warm water and linen, brandy and tweezers, needle and thread. And light the lamps. It will be dark soon.”

Miss Wild and Lady Meyer went with the assistant.

Eli placed Rachel gently down on the desk and unbuttoned her pelisse. Miss Dutton appeared at his side. Looking calm, considering the gravity of the situation, she helped Eli pull Rachel’s arm free of the blood-soaked sleeve.

“Rachel has nine lives, Mr Hunter. There’s nothing to fear.”

“Find her knife, Miss Dutton. It’s in her reticule. You know the one.”

“I believe it’s in her pocket, sir.” Miss Dutton slipped her hand into the pocket, removed the small blade, and handed it to Eli.

“Hold her sleeve while I cut the material.” The blade was surprisingly sharp and sliced through the fabric with ease. The sight of inflamed skin, of blood oozing from the wound, had nausea rolling in his stomach. “Hurry with the damn brandy!” he shouted over his shoulder.

Miss Dutton removed an ornate looking glass from her pocket, leant closer and examined the wound. “The ball just nicked the surface. I can see the lead is intact. I doubt there’s any lasting damage.”

“When did you become an expert on gunshot wounds?”

“My father was shot on four separate occasions before he died.”

“Shot?”

“When one owes money to villains, it’s an inevitable consequence.”

Lady Meyer and Miss Wild came hurrying into the room, carrying some of the requested items. The assistant followed behind, hugging a decanter of brandy.

“Miss Dutton, use brandy to clean the needle, knife and tweezers. The rest of you come closer. You must hold her still while I remove the lead ball.”

Miss Dutton proved an efficient assistant.

Miss Wild and Lady Meyer held Rachel’s legs while Young secured her uninjured arm.

“Who would do such a thing?” Lady Meyer sounded shocked. “I pray it’s not one of Mary’s devout followers with a gripe against me.”

Mary did have a host of people willing to support her claim.

“I know who shot her,” Eli said darkly.

Jacob Hanaway was unstable. A cruel man obsessed with inflicting pain. Rachel was right. Eli should never have given the bastard his address. He’d expected the man to come under cover of darkness, not mingle with the crowd and fire in front of witnesses.

There was no time to wallow in guilt.

Eli beckoned the assistant forward. “Pour brandy over the wound while we hold her.” He pressed his lips to her brow. Hell, her skin was so cold and damp. “In the name of God, be quick about it.”

The man’s hands shook as he followed Eli’s command.

As soon as the potent liquid touched the damaged tissue, Rachel jerked awake. She writhed like a woman possessed, cursed as if the devil had taken command of her tongue.

“Hold her still! Miss Dutton, talk to her. Keep her calm.”

Miss Dutton stroked Rachel’s hair from her brow. “Honestly, Rachel, you’ll do anything to gain Mr Hunter’s attention. Can’t you see the man is in love with you?”

Love was too mild a word. Eli’s heart burned for her. “This will hurt, but I’ll be as quick as I can. Hold her hand, Miss Dutton. Grip it tightly.”

With tweezers, Eli dug into ragged flesh.

“Agh! S-stop!” Pain distorted Rachel’s pretty features as she tried to wriggle free. “No! Stop!”

“Give her brandy. Pin her down.”

The assistant darted away, found a mug and came racing back. He pressed the vessel to Rachel’s lips and made her drink.

Eli stroked her face. “Love, I’ll be quick. But if we’re to have any life together, I must remove the lead.”

“Then hurry, Eli.” Tears trickled down her cheeks. She gritted her teeth.

As long as he lived, he hoped never to see her suffering like this again.

He set to work and managed to remove the ball intact. “Thankfully, it missed the bone. I need a needle and thread.”

When prompted, the assistant cleaned the wound and threaded the needle.

“The good news is you’ve solved the case,” Miss Dutton said, distracting Rachel while Eli pulled thread through the inflamed skin, keeping the stitches neat. “And now, Mr Daventry will give you another task.”

The comment filled Eli with dread.

How did he tell a woman who thrived on adventure, working for the Order was a mistake? How could he suggest she marry him and settle into a comfortable life when he’d heard her impassioned speech to Lady Meyer?

He looked at Young, wondering what Daventry planned to do with the traitor. “Find an opium tincture to numb her pain. It’s best she sleeps for the next few hours.”

“Rachel carries one in her etui,” Miss Wild said, “made for her by a chemist. It’s quite strong, so I suggest one drop in watered-down brandy.”

“Then make the concoction, Miss Wild.”

While Daventry’s female agent rooted around in the reticule, Eli took hold of Rachel’s hand. “You’ll be fine, love. Miss Wild will give you something to ease the pain, and then you can rest.”

Her eyes fluttered open. “Did they catch him … catch the shooter?”

“I’m awaiting Daventry’s return. Sleep now. When you wake, I’ll have news for you.” He stroked her hand until Miss Wild appeared with the tincture. Even then, he struggled to let go. He whispered comforting words while she closed her eyes and let the potent liquid take effect, then he covered her with a blanket.

All was quiet until a breathless Bower came bursting through the open door. “Mr Daventry is on his way, sir. He got waylaid with an incident in the park.” He noticed Miss Gambit sleeping on the desk. “The lady’s all right, isn’t she, sir?”

“She’ll be fine, Bower. Did Daventry catch the shooter?”

“The fellow went tumbling down a steep bank and broke his neck, but Mr Daventry will tell you more.” Bower glanced at Lady Meyer and Young, who were huddled together near the open window, conversing in irate whispers. “I’m to take Mr Daventry to Westminster once you’re done here.”

Daventry came striding into the room with a dishevelled Lord Meyer in tow. He tapped Bower on the arm. “I’ve left D’Angelo dealing with the constable, but it will be an hour until someone returns with the magistrate. Wait with him.”

Bower nodded and left the room.

Daventry frowned at Young before giving Eli his full attention. “How is Miss Gambit? With the pistol fired from such a distance, I doubt there’ll be lasting damage.”

“She’ll survive but will have a permanent scar.”

“We must watch for a fever.”

Eli had no intention of letting her out of his sight. “You caught the shooter. Was it Jacob Hanaway?”

Daventry nodded. “The man appeared deranged. We caught him dancing about and muttering gibberish. He threatened a family with the pistol when he saw us approaching, but hadn’t reloaded the damn thing. Meyer wrestled him to the ground, and the fellow tumbled down the bank.”

“Bower said he broke his neck in the fall.” Eli couldn’t hide his relief.

“Yes, by all accounts. He was dead when I reached him.”

Something about Daventry’s expression said he’d given Hanaway a helping hand. “You’re sure his neck is broken?”

“Quite sure.” He looked at Young. “The whole thing is a damn mess. Will you take Miss Gambit to Howland Street? I want her to rest there. Miss Trimble is capable of caring for her, and I would rather have her somewhere safe. Peter Hanaway has your direction.”

Eli thought to argue, thought to tell Daventry to go to the devil, but he was right. There was no telling what Peter Hanaway would do when he discovered his brother was dead. Protecting Rachel was all that mattered.

“What will you do with Young?”

“His only crime is falling in love with the wrong woman. As long as he keeps his oath and swears to reveal nothing of what he knows about Themis, he’s free to leave.”

“And Lady Meyer?”

Daventry sighed. “We both know the outcome. They’ll have no choice but to set Mary free. They will feed the broadsheets a story to appease the people, and Lady Meyer will donate a ridiculous sum to charity.”

They spoke about Mr Belton’s confession, about Miss Gambit’s ability as an enquiry agent, and when she would be fit to resume her duties. Eli considered telling Daventry that he hoped to marry Rachel but decided to wait.

“And what if Peter Hanaway proves to be a problem?” Eli hoped the man came to Blackstone tonight, for he would be waiting in the shadows. “Might he accidentally suffer a broken neck, too?”

A slow smile tugged at Daventry’s lips. “Undoubtedly.”

* * *

The room was dark, the blankets so heavy they might be made of lead. A film of brandy coated Rachel’s lips, though the spirit’s potency had done little to numb the throbbing ache in her arm. She inhaled deeply, longing for the masculine scent that stirred her senses. Instead, the smell of rosemary and some other herb wafted from an open pot on the nightstand.

“Eli,” she called out to him. “Eli!”

Silence.

Despite the searing pain from the gunshot wound, she sat up in bed.

She wasn’t sure what distressed her most. The fact she suddenly remembered she had been shot. The fact she had no notion if Eli had caught the villain or that she was alone in her bedchamber in Howland Street.

Howland Street!

Panic ensued.

Had she spoken to Eli after he’d pressed his lips to her brow and dug tweezers into her wound? No. She’d not seen him since. Had he raced away to find the shooter? Had he failed to return?

“Eli!” She pulled back the blankets and dragged herself out of bed.

The quick pounding of footsteps on the landing brought Miss Trimble, the thirty-year-old manager of the Order’s house. She raced into the room, still knotting the belt of her wrapper.

“Rachel! You should be in bed.”

“Where is Mr Hunter? Why I am here and not at Blackstone? Is he hurt?” The next words choked her before they left her mouth. “My God, is he dead?” She clasped her hand to her eyes as she burst into a sob.

“No, no, goodness no. Mr Hunter is alive and well.” Miss Trimble drew her into an embrace and stroked her hair. “There’s no need to cry. Mr Daventry insisted you return to Howland Street to rest and recuperate.”

Relief settled over her like a warm blanket.

“Don’t you remember Mr Hunter carrying you to bed?” Miss Trimble said. “He stayed for an hour. You asked him who shot you.”

It was Jacob Hanaway. She remembered now.

“Tell me again. Tell me Jacob Hanaway is dead.”

“I know what it’s like to live in fear.” Tears welled in Miss Trimble’s eyes. “Rest assured. The man fell and broke his neck.”

Rachel released a long sigh. It was like she could finally breathe again after all these years. She stepped back and dashed tears from her face. “It’s imperative I speak to Mr Hunter. I must visit him before Mr Daventry sends him to St Albans.”

He might be gone for days sorting out problems with the Council. What if Mr Daventry kept him there permanently, fearing repercussions from Mr Young?

“St Albans? Rachel, you’ve been shot. It’s imperative you rest.”

Rachel pressed her fingers to her upper arm and winced.

Hell, it hurt like the devil.

“I must go.” Rachel grabbed Miss Trimble’s hand. “I’m in love with Mr Hunter. He loves me, too. I must see him tonight.” Indeed, she was possessed by love’s delirium. “I’m not asking permission.”

Being her usual cautious self, Miss Trimble shook her head. “Men can be disingenuous when they feel a physical attraction to a woman. Words do not often reflect their true intentions. Best wait—”

“Facta, non verba. It’s Mr Hunter’s motto.” Rachel cast a confident smile. “I know you understand Latin. I have every reason to mistrust men, but I trust Mr Hunter. Now the case is solved, I must discover what he means to do about our relationship.”

“You seem determined.”

“Most determined.”

Miss Trimble sighed. “Mr Daventry will probably dismiss me when he discovers I’ve let you leave. Lord knows how he expects me to deal with such strong-minded women.”

“Does that mean you’ll not wrestle me to the floor in protest?” Miss Trimble carried herself with the utmost grace and would never do anything so uncouth.

“It means I’m accompanying you to ensure you arrive there safely.”

“I shall come, too,” Eliza said from the doorway. “Someone must help Miss Trimble hunt for a hackney.”

They woke Honora, who agreed she should remain in Howland Street in case of an emergency. They dressed quickly and hurried towards Fitzroy Square, armed with numerous weapons, shivering to their bones.

“There’s always a hackney in the vicinity of the square at midnight.” Eliza’s teeth chattered, and her lips were tinged blue. “If not, we’ll hurry to Regent’s Circus.”

Miss Trimble glanced heavenward. “There’s a chance of snow.”

It was so cold they’d be forced to turn back if they didn’t find a hackney.

Music drifted through Fitzroy Square, an enchanting melody to rouse passion in the coldest heart. They moved past the row of carriages, hoping to locate a cab. Instead, they crashed into an elegantly dressed gentleman busy fussing with his cuffs.

“Will you mind where you’re going, sir,” Miss Trimble cried.

The handsome gentleman straightened, a slow smile playing on his lips when he realised they were acquainted. “Miss Trimble. Miss Gambit.” His dark gaze slipped over Eliza. “And the delightful Miss Dutton. It seems you can’t keep away from me, my dear.”

“Trust me, Lord Roxburgh, had I known you were lingering in the square, I’d have taken a different route.” Eliza gestured to the mansion house, the home of much gaiety. “Though I should have known to find you at a party for drunken debauchers.”

Lord Roxburgh clutched his chest as if mortally wounded. “On my oath, I’ve not touched a drop of brandy all evening.” He looked at the cane she carried. “Perhaps you should dispense with the walking stick and take a strong man’s arm. I trust you’re heading inside.”

Eliza gave a mocking snort. “If I knew a strong man, I might. Besides, it’s a swordstick, and I’m a woman of sensible pursuits. I find these affairs quite tedious.”

“Then what do you do for pleasure, Miss Dutton?”

Miss Trimble stiffened. “Lord Roxburgh. We’re in somewhat of a hurry.”

The lord appeared captivated by Eliza’s bow-shaped lips. “Tell me where you’re going, and I’ll have my coachman deliver you there promptly.”

“Never mind. We’ll take a hackney.”

Desperate to reach Blackstone quickly, Rachel said sheepishly, for she knew how Eliza felt about the arrogant lord, “It’s so cold tonight. Perhaps we might accept Lord Roxburgh’s kind offer.”

Eliza’s eyes widened, and she shook her head vehemently.

Lord Roxburgh laughed. He raised his hands in surrender. “I’ll not accompany you if that’s your fear. Take command of my carriage and when you’ve commenced your business, have my coachman return here.”

“What if we plan to use it in a highway robbery?” Eliza teased.

“Then you should know there’s a brace of pistols beneath the seat.”

“I’d be afraid to look in case I found a lady’s discarded undergarments.”

“Should you look and find me lacking, feel free to leave your own.”

Miss Trimble gasped.

After some deliberation—where Rachel argued in the name of necessity—they agreed to the lord’s offer and thanked him for his generosity. They gave the coachman their direction and settled into the fine conveyance, but Lord Roxburgh held the door open.

“Don’t forget you owe me a boon, Miss Dutton.”

“Expect me to ignore the debt.”

“Expect me to persuade you to pay.”

Eliza was still grumbling about Lord Roxburgh long after he’d closed the door and watched them ride away, long after they’d passed the Oxford Street turnpike.

Upon seeing Blackstone, Rachel thumped the roof and called for the coachman to stop. “Mr Hunter lives here.”

“Shall we wait for you?” Miss Trimble asked while shivering beneath Lord Roxburgh’s fur throw. “Will you be long?”

Eliza chuckled. “I expect she’s staying the night.”

“Wait until the butler welcomes me inside before leaving. Rest assured, I shall return to Howland Street tomorrow.”

Rachel bid them farewell and approached Eli’s abode.

To the unknowing eye, the house still looked like a sad, lonely place. But there was nothing cold and lifeless beyond the walls. Never had she met a more passionate man.

It took Jacobs five minutes to open the door. He didn’t ask what she wanted, didn’t insist on summoning the master, who, he informed her, had already retired to his bed.

She entered the house, dark but for one lit candle lamp. Jacobs took receipt of her outdoor apparel before locking the door and ambling away towards the servants’ quarters.

Her arm throbbed, but it was the delicious shiver of anticipation that left her panting as she climbed the stairs. Love was the antidote to pain.

Eli’s chamber door was unlocked. She slipped inside and closed the door as she’d done the night of Vauxhall. Amber flames danced in the hearth, casting shadows about the room. The bed hangings were open, but Eli was not lounging in Lucifer’s bed. The intoxicating scent of his cologne hung in the air. He wasn’t far away.

“Miss Gambit, what a pleasant surprise.” The words drifted from the darkness. “You seem to make a habit of catching a man unawares.”

“Were you not expecting me, Mr Hunter? I thought a hunter possessed keen eyes and sharp perception.” She noticed the rumpled bedsheets. “I see you favour black in all things, sir.”

“I’m of a mind to change to red.”

“Red for danger?”

“Red for lust. Red for love.”

Lord, her body ached, and she’d not laid eyes on him yet. “I heard you wish to hire a woman. I came to tell you I’m the woman you need.”

He appeared from the shadows and stalked towards her wearing nothing but his loose-fitting trousers. “What makes you qualified?”

Rachel stepped back against the door, desperately wanting to be this man’s prey. “You need a woman who has courage abound, who can make swift decisions. Despite being shot today, I left my bed and ventured across town at night to see you.”

He came closer, braced his muscular arms above her head. “What else?”

It was hard to rouse a coherent thought when his mouth was an inch from hers, when his warm breath breezed across her lips. “I can bring you pleasure with the mere brush of my hand.” She touched his chest, trailed her fingers down to stroke the hard length in his trousers.

Eli hissed a breath. “What else?”

“No other woman loves you like I do.”

He bent his head. She expected him to kiss her, but he moved past her mouth to graze her ear. “Do you want another test?”

“Yes.”

He looked at her, pinned her to the door with his hungry gaze. “Persuade me, Rachel. Show me why we’re meant to spend the rest of our lives together. Show me why I’m so desperate to make you my wife.”

She’d been thinking about kissing him, not anymore. “Your wife?”

“I’m in love with you.” He claimed her mouth in a wildly passionate kiss that left her breathless. “Marry me. Be my wife. Let us spend our days seeking adventures, our nights a hot tangle of limbs.”

The words she’d uttered to Lady Meyer flitted into her mind. “Are you willing to take a wife who’s considered unconventional? I can’t change who I am, Eli.”

“I don’t want you to change. I want you, exactly as you are.”

“You’re willing to accept I work for a living?”

He smiled. “You’ve no need to work for a living, but you can work for the pleasure.”

Love filled her heart. Marrying him was a dream beyond her expectations.

“I’d like to work for the pleasure now.” She slipped her left hand over his shoulder. “Have you ever been seduced by a one-armed woman?”

“Minx! You’ve not accepted my proposal.”

She laughed. How could he not know the answer?

“Eli, I love you. I’m counting the minutes until you make me your wife.” She captured his mouth in a ravenous kiss, a kiss that conveyed lust and longing and a love soul-deep.

“You’ve achieved things few women do?” he said.

“Because I persuaded a cold-hearted bachelor to marry?” How could she have ever thought him cold?

“No, my love. You’ve challenged convention and snared a hunter.”