He shook his head when he saw young Lord Withers had lost a tidy sum again. He’d recently returned from university when his father died, leaving his title and estate to the lad. It appeared Withers planned on driving his estate into poverty before his twenty-second birthday. He would put the word out at the front door that the young lord was to be brought up to his office as soon as he arrived the next time he visited. It was time for a lecture on responsible behavior. The man had a mother and two sisters to see to.
An hour after starting the ledgers, he slammed the book closed and stretched. It was time to wander the gaming area, make sure everything was going well. He would check in with the security guard and then take a stroll through the dining room and bar area.
He rolled down his sleeves and pulled on his jacket. With a quick brush of his hair, since he’d been running his fingers through it, he left the office, locked the door and descended the stairs.
More than three hours passed while he made his way through the rooms, chatting, sharing drinks, and watching for any hint of a raid, which was always a possibility. One that he was well prepared for.
“Nick.” His bartender, Toby, waved him over from behind the bar.
Nick walked up to the bar. “Pour me a whiskey.”
“Sure thing. But I have something here for you.” Toby handed him a folded paper. “Some man gave it to Mick at the door and said to make sure you get it.”
“Thanks.” He took a sip of the whiskey and opened the note.
Mr. Smith, Please come to the Royal United Hospital post haste. There is a young woman here asking for you.
Nick felt all the blood leave his face. It had to be Pamela. He gulped the rest of his drink and slammed the glass down on the bar. “Toby, I must leave. Have Ernest close for me.”
He raced from the building, unsure whether to ta
ke his horse which would be faster, or his carriage in case he had to bring Pamela with him on the return trip.
Opting for speed, he strode to the mews behind the club and retrieved his horse. He waved the groom aside and tacked Devil himself, not having the patience to wait for someone else to do it.
His heart in his throat the entire ride, he had visions of Pamela broken and bleeding. Or perhaps shot. Or any other number of things that would land her in hospital.
He threw the reins to the lad in front of the mews behind the hospital and raced inside. A woman sat at a desk in the mail lobby. “I received a note that a woman here was asking for me.”
“Who?”
He cringed but said the name anyway since even though he prayed it wasn’t her, he was certain it was. “I believe it is Lady Pamela Manning.”
“Yes. I will take you to her.”
Relieved to hear that she hadn’t died before he arrived, but panicked at the thought that it was her, he followed the woman to a flight of stairs that they took to the first floor. They turned a corner and entered a large room with curtains dividing the numerous beds.
The woman checked numbers written on the floor and then stopped at the one that said eighteen and waved at a curtain surrounding a bed. “She’s here. Please don’t stay long.”
He huffed. Stay long? He wasn’t leaving this hospital without her no matter how long he had to stay. He drew the curtain back and took in a sharp breath.
His beautiful Pamela sported scrapes down the right side of her face and a brace of some sort on her right wrist. A bandage was wrapped around her forehead, most likely covering a gash.
Her eyes were closed, but her steady breathing reassured him. He walked closer to her and laid his knuckle on her soft cheek. “Pamela.”
Slowly her eyelids raised. “Mr. S-smith.”
He smiled at her. Grateful that she was awake and that she recognized him. “Nick, please.”
“Th-thank you for c-coming. I d-didn’t know what to d-do, or who else t-to summon.”
He pulled up a chair, took her uninjured hand in his and sat alongside her bed. “What happened?” Now that he was close to her and could see her injuries better, he was ready to slam his fist into a wall.
A very staunch looking nurse pushed the curtain back all the way and stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, glaring at Pamela. “I hope you have a lot more success finding out what happened to her then we did. She babbled on and on and no one could understand a word she said.”
The termagant gave him the excuse he needed to lash out at someone. Nick stood and faced her, the blood pumping through his body. “Yes, difficult to understand, unlike you who speaks very clearly but with a sour tongue. I demand to converse with the doctor who treated her, and request that you stay as far away from Lady Pamela as possible while still performing your duties.”
The nurse was not to be daunted. “And who are you to this woman?”