Shot? Raine barely noticed as the housekeeper scurried to the door, her own feet carrying her toward the bed. Halting nex

t to Carlos, she gazed down at Philippe, her heart freezing in horror as she caught sight of the dark blood spattered over his pale cheek and staining his jacket.

“Philippe,” she whispered softly, her hand reaching out to touch the tousled dark curls. “Good Lord.”

“Does anyone in this household ever sleep?” Carlos muttered as he firmly moved Raine back from the bed and set about cutting the thick jacket from the motionless Philippe.

She licked her dry lips as she pressed a hand to her stomach. “Is he…?”

“Dead? No, he will live.” With a ruthless efficiency he had cut through the fabric of the jacket and the linen shirt beneath to expose an ugly wound on Philippe’s upper arm. “The bullet passed cleanly.”

Raine battled her instinctive flare of panic at the sight of the torn flesh. Instead she forced her gaze to move to Philippe’s pale, lifeless countenance.

“Then why is he not awake?” she demanded.

“He fell from his horse when he was shot and hit his head on the pavement.”

“We must send for a doctor.”

“There is no need, anjo.” Carlos turned his head to flash a wry smile. “His thick skull has taken worse blows than this and he survived with his wits intact. Besides, it will be a blessing if he remains unconscious until I am done cleaning the wound.”

Raine bit her lip as she wrapped her arms about her waist. “How did this happen?”

Carlos shrugged. “We were following the trail of Seurat. Regrettably he was one step ahead of us yet again.”

A surprising anger flooded through Raine. Was there ever a man born who did not believe that he was utterly impervious to danger?

First her father. And now Philippe. Really, it was enough to make any sensible woman long to slap some sense into them.

“The fool,” she muttered. “The stubborn, idiotic fool.”

Carlos did not bother to argue as he pressed a clean handkerchief to the wound. Raine watched him in silence until at last Madame LaSalle returned with a heavy tray that she placed on the table next to the bed.

“Here we are.” She straightened and struggled to catch her breath. “Hot water, towels and a bottle of brandy. And I am making a nice, rich broth for when the monsieur awakens.”

Carlos ignored the servant as he reached for the brandy and poured a large measure into the wound. Raine winced in sympathy despite the fact that Philippe did not so much as twitch beneath the rough treatment, and she turned her attention to the woman silently inching her way toward the door.

“Thank you, Madame LaSalle,” she said with a smile. “You have been very kind.”

The round face flushed with pleasure at Raine’s soft words. Raine had swiftly discovered that the housekeeper, despite her rather prickly nature, possessed a tender heart and a motherly ferocity when it came to protecting the young maids in her care.

She also possessed a girlish delight in the least display of appreciation for her services.

“Oh, it is nothing.” She reached out a plump hand to pat Raine’s cheek. “Now, you don’t be wearing yourself to the bone; there is barely enough of you as it is. If you need someone to sit with the master, you call for one of the maids.”

“Yes, I will,” Raine promised.

“And leave that tray where it is,” she sternly commanded. “I will collect it in the morning.”

Raine watched as the woman left the room,, before returning to stand beside the bed. Thankfully Carlos had finished cleaning the wound and was wrapping a linen bandage around Philippe’s arm.

Keeping his gaze on his task, the handsome devil allowed a faint smile to curve his lips.

“You seem to have made a staunch friend in the old tartar.”

Raine stiffened. “And why should I not? She happens to be a lovely woman.”

His smile widened at her prickly tone. “And what of the maids? Are they lovely, as well?”

Tags: Rosemary Rogers Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net