“I couldn’t agree more,” came a soft-spoken female voice. Looking up, Daniel saw that it was the dowager duchess who’d spoken, her mouth set in a firm line of determination. “And since we’ve no way of knowing how serious the lady’s injury is, I suggest we hurry.”
Fresh panic descended over Daniel. His whole body was trembling with it. Dear God, she couldn’t die so easily. The injustice of it was overwhelming. No, he had to save her. She had to live.
Scooping her up in his arms, he ignored the fear that clutched at his heart. Only clearheaded resolve would help her. As he held her close, her head resting against his right arm, he quickly strode toward the stairs leading up to the terrace. There was no need for him to look over his shoulder to know that Lord Winston and the duchess were following in his wake, their faces grave with concern.
Stepping onto the terrace, Daniel headed toward the French doors leading into the ballroom. He’d almost made it when a plump, elderly woman stepped forward, blocking his path. “What is the meaning of this?” she asked, eyes razor sharp as she looked from Lady Nuit’s face to Daniel’s and back again. A stout gentleman stood beside her with a deep frown upon his forehead.
“The lady has been shot. Please move out of my way,” Daniel said, his tone rough with the frustration of being delayed.
“Show me,” the lady demanded.
Who the devil was this rude and thoughtless person?
“Why don’t you join us inside?” the duchess suggested. Daniel quietly admired her calm. If it had been up to him, he’d have tossed the impertinent lady aside and been on his way. Did she not understand the urgency?
Eyes meeting Daniel’s in a hard glare, the lady nodded and stepped back, allowing him entry. Anger flaring as he strode across the ballroom floor, he looked forward to giving the woman a proper set down. How dare she put Lady Nuit’s life at further risk by detaining them?
Climbing the steps leading up to the foyer, Daniel was met by Kingsborough, who was looking a bit out of sorts, suggesting that he’d had little success in locating the shooter.
“This way,” he said as he led Daniel down a corridor and into a parlor that had been furnished in various shades of green. “You can set her down over there, Neville. I’ve sent for a doctor, but in the meantime . . .” He hesitated a moment. “Is she alive?”
Daniel felt his throat tighten as he placed Lady Nuit on one of the silk sofas. Unable to speak, he just nodded.
“It appears so,” Winston said.
The dowager duchess, who’d followed Daniel over to the sofa, gently urged him out of the way. She then began pulling Lady Nuit’s sleeve down over her shoulder. “The least we can do is try to clean this,” she explained. “Would you please give me some brandy and another cravat? This one’s soaked through.”
Eager to assist, Daniel hastily undid his cravat while Kingsborough poured a measure of brandy into a glass and placed it on the table next to where the duchess knelt. He then held out his hand toward Daniel, who dropped the long piece of linen into it. The duke handed it to his mother, who dipped the length of fabric into the glass and pressed it against Lady Nuit’s open wound. “I thought she was—” the duke said, sounding confused.
“Quite,” the plump lady snapped, cutting him off. “Apparently she pulled the wool over all of our eyes.”
For a moment it looked as if the duke might argue the point, but then his features softened as he addressed both the plump lady and her husband. “Unfortunately, I have no idea who did this. It appears the culprit fled the premises before I could apprehend him, but I have sent for the constable, so hopefully the matter will soon be resolved. In the meantime, I take full responsibility for the incident and hope that you will accept my sincerest apologies.”
The couple gave a curt nod and the duke turned to everyone else, saying, “I ought to go explain the situation to our guests, but I’ll be back soon. Can you manage until I return?”
“We’ll be fine,” the duchess assured him, upon which he exited the room.
Daniel stood rooted to the floor, his gaze moving first to Lady Nuit’s shoulder, the wound there flashing angrily in and out of view as the duchess dabbed away at it, and then to the bitter expressions of the lady and gentleman, whom he did not recognize. The only reason he could think of to explain why they’d questioned him, and why the duchess had suggested they follow, was that they were Lady Nuit’s parents or related to her in some other way. But if that was the case, then why would they have been invited to the ball without her? It didn’t make any sense . . . unless, of course, what she’d told him was true. He considered the plump lady’s words with a frown.
Intent on finding answers, he stepped toward the couple and bowed. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said, aware of the sharp scrutiny that befell him the instant he did so. “I am Mr. Neville.” Attempting a slight smile, he waited warily for any sign of recognition his name might bring. None, as far as he could tell. They were just as unaware of his identity as he was of theirs.
“Lord Grifton,” the stout man responded. “And this is my wife, Lady Grifton.”
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Daniel said, aiming for the most polite tone he could manage.
Lady Grifton, who looked on the verge of an apoplectic fit, narrowed her eyes on him like a hawk zeroing in on its prey. “I can’t say that I share your sentiment,” she said. “Had it not been for you, she probably wouldn’t have gotten herself shot.”
Daniel wasn’t sure how she’d drawn that conclusion. “We were just dancing,” he explained, determined not to be cowed by her. “I don’t see how—”
“Then it is entirely your fault, Mr. Neville. You, sir, clearly led her into the line of fire,” Lady Grifton hissed. She turned to her husband. “I cannot wait to have a few choice words with her when she comes to.”
Daniel took a deep, steadying breath. The insinuation that Lady Nuit—correction, Lady Rebecca—had been shot because of him made him sick.
“An explanation is most certainly in order,” Lord Grifton agreed.
“Right.” Lady Grifton crossed her arms and raised her chin, her expression scornful. “And as soon as she’s recovered, she’s marrying one of those suitors. Why, it’s clear as day what she’s been playing at these past two years. Well, the game’s up. She’ll do her duty if I have to drag her to the altar myself!”
The dowager duchess raised her head, eyes wide with alarm. “Lady Grifton, I understand that you must be stunned to find Lady Rebecca here. I have to admit that it is unexpected. But please try to calm down. She needs rest and medical attention. In fact, she’s welcome to remain here until she recovers if that would be—”
“Thank you, Your Grace, that’s very generous of you, but it’s also completely out of the question,” Lady Grifton said. “We’re taking her back to Roselyn Castle with us as soon as the doctor has seen to her. She can get the same amount of rest there as she can here, and I can assure you that now that I’m aware of her scheming ways, I’ll be keeping a closer eye on her. The next time she gets into this sort of mischief, her husband will be the one to deal with it.”
Daniel gaped at her. He couldn’t believe the venom with which Lady Grifton spoke of her ward. “How can you say that?” he asked, his voice low as he fought for control. “She could have died tonight. She still might.”
Lady Grifton stepped toward him, looking not the least bit intimidated by his greater size. Staring up at him, she smiled. “I take it you’re smitten with her? Well, I suggest you get that fancy out of your head, sir.” Her eyes swept over him with distaste. “She is a lady of breeding. I would be a fool to waste her on an untitled gentleman when an earl and a duke are showing great interest in her.”
“If I may,” Lord Winston said. “I think—”
“Quite right,” Daniel clipped, sensing that it wouldn’t matter one whit to this woman that he was next in line to the Marquisate of Wolvington. At present, he was untitled, and that was apparently all that the arrogant woman cared about.
He considered her words. Lady Grifton had spoken of Lady Rebecca as scheming. Daniel quietly recalled reading about Lady Rebecca’s riding accident two years earlier. She’d taken a severe blow to the head, the papers had said, and had since been declared mad. It wasn’t as if everyone talked about her though—at least not anymore—but everyone knew of her, although Daniel had to admit that he probably knew less than most. His interest in the drama surrounding Roselyn Castle had never been great, so he’d never really given it much thought.
Was it possible that Lady Rebecca’s entire illness had been nothing but a front? And if so, then how did the shooter fit into the scenario? He couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to harm Lady Rebecca, but on the other hand, he had to acknowledge that he knew very little about her. Perhaps she’d done something far more terrible than feign insanity—something that had resulted in someone wishing her dead.
Daniel tossed the idea aside with a shake of his head. It was ludicrous to imagine such a thing when instinct told him that she would make him an excellent match. He decided then and there that he would still try to win Lady Rebecca’s hand, and, being the reckless man that he was, Daniel was not about to walk away from the challenge that doing so would pose. On the contrary, he looked forward to it with great anticipation, because if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that she would rather marry him than whoever the Griftons had in mind, and now that he knew where to find her, all he had to do was think of a way in which to gain access to her.
Really, how hard could it possibly be?
Chapter 4
Heaven help her, she was in pain. While the doctor had assured her aunt and uncle that she would survive, having a lead ball extracted and getting stitched up afterward had still hurt like blazes.
“Did you at least enjoy yourself last night, my lady?” Laura asked. The maid was sitting at Rebecca’s bedside, eyes filled with concern.
Rebecca took a deep breath and exhaled it. “Yes,” she said, her eyes closing at the memory of it. She could still see Mr. Neville’s handsome face as he smiled back at her. “It was spectacular.”
“Well, I suppose that’s something,” Laura said. She shook her head. “I never should have agreed to let you go. Lord, you could have been killed!”
“It would still have been worth it,” Rebecca muttered, too low for Laura to hear. After returning home, she’d been locked inside her room with a promise from her aunt that the next time she ventured outside, it would be to entertain Lord Topperly and the Duke of Grover.
“You will marry one of them,” her aunt had said. “Naturally, we will decide which of them will suit you best. After everything you’ve put us through—embarrassing us by showing up at the ball the way you did—I daresay we’re looking forward to being rid of you!”