Love In The Library (20 page)

At first Catherine had been most solicitous of Miss Steffington, but as time dragged by she found herself wishing Sir Elvin and Miss Steffington would leave so she could clear up matters with Mr. Longford. She therefore quit addressing comments to the sweet young lady.

It was obvious to Catherine that Mr. Longford also wished to be alone with her because he too began to exclude the Steffingtons from his remarks.

But Sir Elvin was oblivious to any snub and seemed content to spend the afternoon at Number 17 Royal Crescent. "I say, Mrs. Bexley," he said, "did you know that the Blankenships will be in Bath tomorrow? We're all to meet at the Assembly Rooms. Will you feel up to going?"

She smiled. "Nothing could keep me away. I haven't seen Glee in an age."

"Delightful creature," Sir Elvin said. "Did you know she and Blanks are expecting Child Number Two?"

"Yes, Felicity told me."

"Blankenship needs a son," Mr. Longford said. "All men need a son."

"But think how much fun it will be for them to think of more mirthful female names to go with little Joy Blankenship," Catherine said.

"Perhaps she could be known as Happy," Miss Steffington added, smiling broadly.

"Daresay it's time we got a little Gregory or Richard or some such proper name," Sir Elvin said. "At least those Pembrokes haven't foisted those mirthful names on the male side of the family."

"I suppose, being a baronet," Mr. Longford said to Sir Elvin, "you've got the responsibility for continuing your family's long, prestigious line upon your shoulders."

Sir Elvin held up a palm. "Whoa! I'm in no hurry to get meself shackled."

Mr. Longford's eyes narrowed as he turned back to Catherine. "Is Melvin Steffington still assisting you on that mysterious matter you think would bore me?"

"Not any longer," she said.

His demeanor brightened. Surely he wasn't jealous of Mr. Steffington! What an utterly ridiculous notion.

Catherine found herself looking at the clock upon the mantle. The four of them had been together for more than an hour, and none of them showed signs of wrapping up the visit. What was she to do?

* * *

After he finished his correspondence, Melvin decided to walk to the lending library. He had ordered a new translation of Marcus
Aurelius and wanted to see if it had come in. Though Elvin would not deem him properly attired, Melvin thought he looked perfectly acceptable for a stroll along the streets of Bath.

It wasn't as if he would see anyone he knew. He knew so few. The ones he'd been friends with had married and set up nurseries far away from this enchanting town.

Donning his beaver hat, he departed the house on Green Park Road and began to walk toward the town center to his favorite of the city's lending libraries. As he walked, he found himself wondering how Elvin and Annie were getting along with Mrs. Bexley. He hadn't expected them to be gone this long.

He wondered if Mrs. Bexley was happy that he'd not come. In spite of their differences of opinion, he thought she did not dislike him. (Except when she threw things at him.) Would she feel badly if she saw the goose egg she'd put on his forehead? His experiences with her told him she would be remorseful. The woman was possessed of a tender heart.

The pity of her entertaining callers was that she wasn't free to continue looking for the
Canterbury Tales
. It was a shame she was such a mutton head. Could she not see she really needed a man? Too much rested on her dainty shoulders. Melvin would have been happy to take away some of her burdens.

But of course he couldn't deal with a hard-headed woman who made nonsensical decisions of which he would never approve.

There were so many patrons at the public house on Pierepont Street, they were spilling from the doorway. It seemed to him a bit early in the day for tipping the old bumpers.

It was while he was passing the crowded, noisy public house that he became aware that someone was trying to get his attention.

"Sir! Sir! Could you please lend me a ’and?" A grizzly fellow with white whiskers, portly frame, and servant's garb approached him. "It's the lady. She needs yer 'elp. She's fallen, and there's a prodigious amount of blood."

"Where?"

"Just into this lane." The man pointed toward an alley as the two men started in that direction. Melvin was too concerned about the bloody woman to question why she would be down a dark alley. He was too concerned to notice the portly man had dropped behind him.

It wasn't until a rope slipped around his neck from the rear that Melvin realized what a stupid thing he'd done. As the rope pulled tighter, he tried to yank it away. It was cutting off his windpipe. What the deuce?

The man shoved Melvin into the brick wall and spoke to him in a guttural voice. "This is a warning, Mr. Steffington. If you continue searching for the Chaucer, you'll be killed." The man twisted at the rope once more as he slammed Melvin's head into the bricks.

Until everything became black.

Chapter 15

Mr. Longford had launched into one of his colossally boring stories about the groom to the Duke of Bedford complimenting him on his four perfectly matched black horses. Catherine really wished Sir Elvin and his sweet sister would leave so she could disavow Mr. Longford of the misunderstanding about their betrothal.

Her attention was drawn away from the Soliloquyist by a rapid pounding upon her staircase. Even Mr. Longford stopped in mid-sentence, his eyes rounded, his gaze—like the rest of those in the chamber—darting to the doorway.

The door flew open, and a winded Simpson said, “Sir Elvin! A servant from your house has come to fetch you. Your brother's met with some terrible calamity.”

Miss Steffington screamed and leapt to her feet, as did her brother. It was only then that Catherine realized she too had screamed. She watched in terror as Miss Steffington clutched her brother’s arm and cried out, “Is he . . . alive?”

Simpson nodded. “He’s been taken back to your house.”

Catherine felt as if she could drop to her knees and offer a prayer of thanks.

Sir Elvin spun to her. “We'll bid you a good day.” Then he raced from the room.

She hurried after him. “Pray, allow me to come. Perhaps I can be of some meager assistance. I spent a great deal of time in my husband’s sickroom.”

“Oh, please come,” a tearful Annie Steffington said, tossing a beseeching gaze to her brother.

He nodded and began to speed down the corridor. “We must hurry.”

All them, including Mr. Longford, flew down the stairs, and a Steffington servant met them in the entry hall.

“What’s happened to my brother?” Sir Elvin demanded.

“We don’t really know, sir. He’s not gained consciousness.”

“Come,” Sir Elvin said. “Jackson, ride in the coach with us.”

She bid farewell to Mr. Longford before climbing into the carriage. He stood there looking rather forlorn, but he most definitely was
not
her concern.

Once the Steffington coach was rushing back to Green Park Road, Sir Elvin asked his footman for a more detailed accounting of what had happened to his twin.

“Lord Henderson said 'e was riding along in his coach when he noticed a crowd gathered around an injured man, and he stopped when he recognized the injured man was one of the Steffington twins. His lordship had him placed in his carriage and brought him to Green Park Road."

“I shall be indebted to Lord Henderson," Sir Elvin said. "What is the nature of my brother's injuries?” Sir Elvin inquired.

The footman shrugged. “’e was bleeding from the head.”

Miss Steffington winced.

“Does anyone know how he was injured?” Catherine asked.

“Since ’e was found in an alleyway, Lord Henderson believed he'd been attacked and robbed.”

“But Melvin never carries large sums of money.” Sir Elvin gasped. “Dear God! The thief must have taken my poor brother for me!”

As soon as they reached Green Park Road, Sir Elvin threw open the coach door, raced up the steps, and entered the house, Catherine and Miss Steffington directly behind him. Catherine’s slow pace was at odds with her racing heartbeat. Terrified that Airy had died, she was once again incapable of stanching the tears that beaded in her eyes.
Please let him be alive
.

She wasn’t the only one so affected. Even tall, strapping Sir Elvin was fighting back tears as he attempted to communicate with the first servant to greet them. At that same moment, an incredibly pretty young lady of Quality raced from behind a closed door, then fell into Sir Elvin’s arms and wept uncontrollably.

Oh, my God, he’s died
.

“What’s happened, Lizzy?” Sir Elvin's deep voice cracked with emotion.

“There's such a lot of blood.”

Sir Elvin's face blanched, then he surged toward the room from which Lizzy had just come.

It seemed to Catherine her heart stopped beating, yet she was compelled to go after him. She had to see if there was something she could do. As she entered the chamber, the first thing she saw was Airy’s long legs stretched out on a silken sofa, splotches of fresh blood on his buff colored breeches. Her pulse pounding prodigiously, she forced her gaze to ever so slowly move to his face, and she could see the source of the blood wasn’t his face—though it was a profusion of blood. She was almost certain he had suffered some kind of blow to the side of his head. Had he perhaps fallen from a horse?

Was he alive? She could drop to her knees and pray fervently that his life be spared, but if there was any way she could help, that must be her first priority.

Sir Elvin just stood beside the sofa, staring down at the twin to whom he was so close. It was a heartbreaking sight. She moved up to Airy and began to feel for a pulse. As her thumb pressed into his flesh, he began to stir. Her gaze connected to Sir Elvin’s for a fraction of a moment, both of them buoyed with hope.

“Pray, Miss Steffington," Catherine said to Annie, "can you procure some cloths so that I can try to clean away the blood?”

A moment later Catherine was removing the blood which had begun to dry on his face. His lids began to lift, and her heart soared. The next thing she knew he was looking at her, a puzzled look on his face.

It happened that her right hand was gently stroking his brow as his eyes came fully open and connected with hers. For a long moment their gazes locked and the two of them seemed to blend together like a curious liquid. He swallowed, his hand slowly moving to his neck and coiling around it. "You look like an angel."

"Thank God you're all right!" Sir Elvin exclaimed. "What in the bloody hell happened to you?"

Mr. Steffington's gaze flicked to his brother, but it was a moment before he could articulate. "It was. . .I was called to help a maiden in distress, but it was a ruse to get me in the alley. . ."

"So you
were
robbed!" Sir Elvin nodded. "I knew it. They mistook you for me."

Melvin Steffington shook his head. "Not they. He. . ." His voice lacked stridency, and his words came slowly. He had started to say something else, then stopped and shifted his gaze back to Catherine.

"What did the beast do to you?" Catherine asked. "There's a terrible knot on your forehead and a gash on the side of your head."

"He somehow came up behind me and as quick as a cat roped my neck." His hand went to neck.

Without saying a word, she began to untie his cravat. Were she a maiden, she would have been prevented from disrobing a man's upper torso, but she did not give a tuppence about propriety at that moment. Once she removed the linen that was caked with dried blood and little tufts of hemp, she saw that the flesh of his neck had been rubbed red. "Thank God you're neck's not blue."

He tried to smile. "Thank God he didn't succeed in strangling me."

"And thank God Lord Henderson happened by when he did," Sir Elvin said.

Airy looked puzzled.

"He came by the scene of your injury and brought you home in his coach. Daresay, your blood's all over his seats. I shall offer to have them replaced."

Airy's voice was already gathering strength. "If I hadn't been taken by surprise from the back, I could have beaten him. He told me . . ." He stopped, eying Catherine intently, then shook his head. "As to the lump on my forehead, you caused that, madam."

She detected a teasing gleam in his eye. Then she realized this was no teasing matter. "Surely you don't mean I caused that bruise . . . oh no, the apple!" She was mortified. "Can you ever forgive me? I feel like the worst sort of criminal. Oh, Airy, I'm ever so sorry."

Sir Elvin cocked a brow. "Airy? I take it, that's short for Aristotle?"

Catherine nodded shyly. "Aristotle's much too formal." She had thought to add
for friendly traveling companions
but thought better of it in front of the Steffington maidens.

The baronet also must have realized her need to avoid speaking of their recent journey for he changed the subject. "Did you know your attacker?"

Airy shook his head.

Catherine kept looking at the oozing gash on the side of his head. "How did you get this?" she asked as she gently blotted at it.

"He. . .slammed me against the wall. I think it was the wall of the public house. It's bloody embarrassing that I wasn't better able to defend myself."

"So you're saying this ruffian lured you into the alley with the made-up story of a woman in distress, then dropped back behind you and slung the rope around your neck?" Sir Elvin asked.

Melvin Steffington nodded. "I wasn't able to defend myself because I had to use my hands to keep the rope from tightening more around my neck."

Annie moved closer to the sofa. "I'm going to send for a surgeon."

Airy sat up. "No, I'm fine."

"I'd feel better about it, old chap." Sir Elvin nodded at Annie, and she started to move from the chamber.

"How did it feel when you sat up?" Catherine asked, her voice soft.

"I said I'm fine," he grumbled, his eyes narrow as his gaze flicked from her to his twin. "Don't send for a surgeon."