Truly a Wife (Free Fellows League 4)

“It should be,” he muttered, aware that Miranda was the only thing keeping him upright. “Thunderation, Miranda, don’t you know you’re beautiful? Have I been so remiss? Haven’t I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

Had she heard him correctly? Did he think she was beautiful? She stopped suddenly, and Daniel leaned on her to keep from falling. “No, Your Grace,” she answered. “You’ve never so much as hinted you think I’m beautiful. Suffice it to say, you’ve been extremely remiss.”

Miranda thought she’d already born the brunt of his weight, but until a few moments ago, Daniel had supported more than she’d realized. That no longer being the case, Miranda gave an unladylike grunt as Daniel’s strength abruptly deserted him and the pressure on her shoulders increased tenfold. “Allow me to rectify the error.” He tried to bow and nearly tipped them over. “Miranda, you are beautiful. From the top of your auburn head to the tip of your toes and everywhere in between.” Leaning forward, Daniel peered down the front of her dress and grinned appreciatively. “Not that I’ve seen everything in between … But I’m a man with ex-tit … exquistit … good … taste, and I can tell from looking at these lovelies that everything else is just as nice.”

Miranda blushed.

Daniel frowned. “Now,” he asked, “how much farther?”

“About ten feet,” she answered.

Daniel braced himself for another wave of pain and nausea. “I think I can make it.”

“That makes one of us,” Miranda replied bluntly. “Because I’m not certain I can.” Her knees were shaking and her heart raced from physical exertion and the effect of his words. “Especially across the lawn in full view of the late arrivals.” She pushed him down onto a stone bench and sat down beside him.

Daniel groaned once again. Damn, but he’d forgotten about late arrivals! “You must,” he ordered. “I can make it with your help. I can’t make it alone.”

Miranda took a deep breath—as deep as her half-corset would allow—and forced herself to her feet, then turned and faced him. “Then wait here,” she instructed, “while I go back inside for help.”

Daniel’s face must have mirrored his alarm, for Miranda gave an exasperated sigh. “I understand the need for discretion, Your Grace, but we need help, and Alyssa told me she and Griff were coming tonight. If I can’t find Alyssa and Griff, I’ll look for Lord Grantham or Shepherdston, or your cousin Barclay. They’re sure to be here.” She named the men with whom she knew Daniel associated, the men she knew he trusted, the men she knew the dowager duchess wouldn’t exclude from the guest list. “Rest a bit,” she urged. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Shaking his head slightly, Daniel reached inside his jacket and removed a pewter flask.

Miranda looked askance at the flask. The plain pewter vessel was at odds with Daniel’s otherwise elegant attire, as was the fact that he carried a flask at all. She’d never known him to carry one before—even on cold mornings in the country, where riding and tramping the moors for grouse and pheasant were the local pastimes. And if he carried a flask, Miranda somehow would have expected the Duke of Sussex to carry a silver one.

“What is it?” he demanded, uncapping the flask and taking a long drink from it.

Miranda spoke her thoughts. “In all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you carry a flask.”

“In all the years you’ve known me, you’ve never seen me shot and bleeding like a stuck pig despite Mistress Beekins’s best efforts. Besides—” He drawled, frowning at the flask. “It’s almost empty.”

“Shot?” Miranda’s voice rose an octave. “You complained of tearing some stitches,” she accused. “You didn’t say anything about being shot.”

“If I hadn’t been shot, I wouldn’t have any stitches to tear.” He took another long swallow from the flask and returned it to his inner pocket, amazed that he had the dexterity to do so. He’d consumed an inordinate amount of whisky during the past twelve hours. He’d needed it in order to sleep through as much of the journey to London as possible, but Daniel had still been awakened by the pain during the trip inland and asked Micah to refill the flask several times. And now Daniel remembered Micah refilling it once more before leaving him at the side entrance to Sussex House, departing to deliver the leather pouches to the Marquess of Shepherdston’s London residence.

Daniel was foxed, but not so foxed that he couldn’t feel pain and know that the wound in his side wasn’t going to be the only part of him aching on the morrow. His head would feel the size of a melon and be accompanied by a full company of drummers.

He focused his gaze on Miranda. There were still two of her, but he was able to see both of them clearly. “What did you think happened?”

“I don’t know what I thought,” she admitted. “That you’d been in an accident of some sort. That you’d cracked a rib, or cut yourself climbing a trellis up to the mysterious Mistress Beekins’s bedroom …” She stared at him. “I never dreamed you’d been shot.”

“Cracked ribs don’t bleed, Miranda. And although a cut generally bleeds, I’ve never had to climb a trellis to gain entry to any woman’s bedchamber. And even if I had, I doubt a cut from a climb up a trellis would bleed like that.” Daniel nodded toward the blotch of crimson marring her bodice and trailing down onto her skirts.

“Good heavens!” Miranda stared down at her dress. The bloodstain on her ball gown had spread. It had grown from a stain the size of a coin and blossomed into a stain the size of a man’s hand. Staring down at her bodice, Miranda realized there were, in fact, two stains on her dress—the original one and a nearly perfect impression of Daniel’s bloodied handprint on the curve of her waist and hip. They had known he was bleeding through his waistcoat, but she was certain that neither she nor Daniel had realized he was bleeding so profusely.

“Surprised you, didn’t it?” He looked at his waistcoat. The blood wasn’t visible on the black brocade, but the garment was wet with it. “Surprised me, too.”

“You need help.” She let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Someone experienced. Someone who knows what they’re doing …”

“You can’t go back in there to get it,” he said, glancing toward Sussex House. “Not looking like that. Not without attracting attention.”

“But, Daniel, you need …”

“The ball went through the back and out the front, and Mistress Beekins cleaned and stitched

the wound,” he said. “I’ll be fine with some rest.”

“Not if you bleed to death first.”