“How bad?” Beekins asked.
“I’m fairly certain it missed my vitals, but I’m losing quite a bit of blood.” For the first time in his life, Daniel was afraid he might disgrace himself by swooning, but he fought to maintain control and kept his hand firmly pressed against his left side to staunch the flow of blood.
“Pick up your oars,” Beekins ordered the rest of the crew. “And put your backs into it, boys. We need to make shore as quickly as possible, for Danny Boy needs a surgeon.”
“No,” Daniel said.
“But, sir …” Beekins began.
“No surgeon,” Daniel repeated more firmly. “Not here.”
“But, sir …” Beekins renewed his protest and tried again.
Daniel cut him off. “Are you acquainted with a trustworthy surgeon?”
“No.”
“Then, it’s out of the question,” Daniel told him. “The risk is too great. We don’t know whom to trust, and it’s imperative that our cargo reach London as soon as possible.”
“You intend to travel all the way to London?” Beekins was aghast at the idea. “Tonight?”
“I must,” Daniel explained. “I have obligations I cannot shirk.”
“Someone else can accompany our cargo to London,” Beekins told him.
“Delivering the cargo isn’t my only pressing obligation,” Daniel insisted. “I have a social engagement later this evening that demands my presence.” Not to mention the marchioness to whom he’d extended his personal invitation.
“But your wound …”
“If your good wife will bind it well enough for me to make the journey back to town, I’ll find someone there to tend it.” Although he couldn’t see him in the darkness, Daniel turned toward the boatswain. “I have to return to town. I cannot miss this particular engagement.” Inviting Miranda to enter the lioness’s den, then leaving her alone to fend for herself, was unconscionable. Not that she couldn’t … He managed a brief grin despite the pain at the thought. Miranda was more than a match for the duchess. But he’d invited her to the party, and it was up to him to see that she enjoyed herself while she was there. And she would no doubt have his guts for garters for abandoning her when she caught up to him, because the dancing at the Duchess of Sussex’s gala was unrivaled and there were only a handful of men in London, of which he was fortunate to be one, with whom Miranda could dance without feeling awkward and graceless at towering over them. And as far as Daniel could tell, the only thing Miranda enjoyed more than dancing with him was sparring with him.
Beekins shook his head. “You’ll not be in any condition to enjoy it,” he warned.
“I don’t have to enjoy it,” Daniel told him. “But I do have to attend.”
Beekins blew out a breath. “If you insist.”
“I do.”
“Then I’ll see to it that the missus patches you up and that you’ve someone you can trust traveling alongside, watching your back.” Beekins thought that nothing short of an order to appear before the King or an invitation to dine at Carlton House with the Prince Regent could induce him to travel all the way to London after crossing and recrossing the Channel and being shot while doing it, but he wasn’t an aristocrat, and he wasn’t burdened by any of the social obligations or responsibilities young Sussex faced.
“Good enough. Thank you, Beekins.” Daniel closed his eyes and concentrated on the soft slap of the oars against the water as the crew of the Mademoiselle made its way to shore.
He only meant to rest his eyes a moment, but when he next opened them, it was to find Mistress Beekins staring down at him. Jolted awake, Daniel attempted to sit up. He still wore his boots and breeches, but he was missing his shirt, waistcoat, and jacket. “Where am I? How? What … ?”
“Not so fast, sir,” Mistress Beekins commanded. “I’ve another stitch or two to finish before I begin with the wrapping.” She finished sewing and carefully knotted and clipped her thread before she glanced back over her shoulder. “Here, help me get him up so I can wrap the bandage around him.”
“Beekins,” Daniel breathed as the boatswain and a young man he had never seen before hurried to oblige.
“Aye, sir,” Beekins replied, lifting Daniel into a sitting position, steadying him while Mistress Beekins wrapped a length of white fabric over the wound she had spent the better part of an hour cleaning and stitching. The young duke was lucky to be alive. The rifle ball had ripped a nasty gash along his right side, entering at the back and exiting at the front below his ribs, leaving an ugly hole in its wake. Beekins nodded toward his wife. “You know my wife. And this is my son Micah.”
“Madam. Micah.” Daniel’s face lost color, and perspiration dampened his entire body, as Beekins’ wife worked over him. “How long was I unconscious?”
“A little over two hours,” Beekins answered. “I brought you home with me,” he explained. “I carried you on my back.”
Daniel grunted in pain. “Where’s the cargo?”
“The pouches are here,” Beekins said. “As are your personal items.” He nodded toward Daniel’s leather purse and pocket watch lying on top of the bedside table. “And I stowed the rest of the cargo in the compartments in your coach.” The boatswain held up his hand to forestall the protest he knew was coming. “Rest assured, sir. My other son, Jonah, is standing guard to keep it safe.”