??s incredulous question hung in the air. The sudden rigidity in his large frame was alarming.
“She’s all right,” Jack hastened to reassure him. “The bullet’s lodged in her left shoulder but too high to be fatal. I’ve sent for Thrushborne. He’ll dig it out, and she should be fine.” Jack prayed that was true.
“I’ll have their hides! I’ll see them swing from their own gibbets! I’ll…” Spencer ground to a halt, his face purpling with rage.
“I rather think we should tread warily, sir.” Jack’s quiet tone had the desired effect. Spencer turned on him.
“D’ye mean to say you’ll let the bastards get away with putting a damned hole in your future wife?” Spencer’s wild eyes dared him to confess to such weakness.
“Ah—but you see, that’s just the point.” Jack held Spencer’s gaze. “They don’t know they shot my future wife.”
The silence that followed was broken by a creak as Spencer sank back in his chair.
Jack examined his hands. “All in all, I’d rather the authorities were not made aware that my future wife rides wild through the night dressed for all the world as a man.”
Eventually, Spencer sighed deeply. “Very well. Handle it your way. God knows, I’ve never been much good at hauling on Kit’s reins. Perchance you’ll have more success.”
Recalling that he’d not succeeded in retiring Young Kit as he’d planned, Jack wasn’t overly confident on that point. “There’s a complication.” Spencer’s head came up, reminding Jack forcibly of an old bull about to charge. “Tonkin, the sergeant at Hunstanton, saw Kit without the hat and muffler she uses to conceal her face. He got a good look at her before I deprived him of his wits. When he comes to his senses, he’ll be around here as fast as he can.”
The look on Spencer’s face suggested he’d like to lock Tonkin in a dungeon and be done with it. Grudgingly, he asked: “So what do we do?”
“He’ll come asking questions, wanting to see Kit. The last person he’ll expect to see will be me. He needs my permission to go any farther than questions. The story we’ll tell is that I had dinner here this evening, with you and your granddaughter—a very private celebration of our betrothal. I remained until quite late, discussing the arrangements with Kit and you. Your health is uncertain, so the wedding will be a small affair, to be held as soon as possible.”
Spencer’s expression turned grim, but he said nothing. Jack continued: “Tomorrow morning, I’ll call early to see you alone, to discuss the settlements. That’s my reason for being here when Tonkin arrives.”
“What if he insists on seeing Kit?”
“I doubt he’ll insist, not if I’m here. But if he does, Kit will have gone to visit the Greshams, to tell her friend Amy the news.”
Spencer nodded slowly, mulling over the plan.
The door opened and Jenkins entered. “Dr. Thrushborne’s arrived, m’lord. He’s asking for Lord Hendon.”
Jack rose. Spencer started to rise with obvious difficulty; Jack waved him back. “Kit’s unconscious at the moment—there’s nothing you can do.” As Spencer sank back, softly wheezing, Jack added: “I’ll come and tell you what Thrushborne says.”
His face pale, his lips pinched, Spencer nodded. Jack returned the nod, then strode back to Kit’s chamber.
God—let her live!
Telling Spencer had been bad enough; he shared some part of the blame for Kit’s wildness. But Jack couldn’t excuse his own behavior; he should have acted earlier, more decisively, more effectively. He should have taken better care of her. At least Thrushborne was here. He had been treating Hendons and Cranmers for decades. He could be relied on not to talk. So far, so good. But there was a long way to go before they were out of the woods.
Jack entered Kit’s room without knocking. A small black whirlwind descended on him.
“Out! Monsieur we do not need you! You will be in the way. You’ll—”
“Elmina, do stop that. I asked Lord Hendon to come.” Dr. Thrushborne’s mild tones halted Elmina in mid-stride. Jack sidestepped about her. Thrushborne was wiping his hands on a clean towel. Beyond him, his intruments were laid out on a table drawn up by the bed.
Thrushborne regarded Jack. He waved at Kit’s still form and raised an inquiring brow. “I gather you know this lady rather well?”
Jack didn’t bother answering. “Will she live?” It was the only question he was interested in.
Thrushborne’s brows rose. “Oh, yes. I should think so. She’s a healthy young woman, as you doubtless know. She’ll do well enough, once we get that lump of metal out of her.”
Jack suspected Thrushborne was enjoying himself. It wasn’t often he had a Hendon at his mercy. But Jack couldn’t drag his gaze from the still figure on the bed. He didn’t care about anything—anyone—else.
Thrushborne cleared his throat. “I’ll need you to hold her while I pull the bullet out. She’s barely unconscious, but I don’t want to give her a sedative yet.”
Jack nodded, steeling his nerves for the coming ordeal. He obeyed Thrushborne’s orders implicitly, trying not to bruise Kit as he held her right shoulder and leaned on her left arm to immobilize her. When the doctor’s forceps probed deep, she gasped and struggled, furiously trying to pull away. Her whimpers shredded Jack’s nerves. When tears welled beneath her closed lids and a choked sob escaped her, his stomach clenched. Gritting his teeth, Jack mentally ran through every curse he’d ever learned—and concentrated on obeying orders. Elmina hovered, murmuring soothingly, holding Kit’s head through the worst, bathing her forehead with lavender water. As far as Jack could tell, Kit was oblivious to all but the pain.