Realm 06 - A Touch of Love (59 page)

One second Dylan Monroe had held a gun upon Carter, and the next the man turned away. Carter did not wait to learn the reason. It was his opening. He caught the back of the prince’s finely tailored coat and yanked hard as he shoved Prince George to the side. The double ring of exploding gunfire from above announced a change in the situation, but Carter had no time to consider his actions. As he tumbled after England’s future monarch, a third shot caught his right shoulder, but Carter held on tightly to the prince, instinctively, covering the future George IV’s body with his own.

Screams filled the room, both before and after a loud thud, which vibrated the wood around him. With a sharp inhalation to ward off the pain shooting through his shoulder, Carter’s head popped up to survey the scene. The sound of retreating footsteps and additional screams had him turning to see the elder “Monroe” racing toward a side entrance.

“I have the prince,” Kerrington ordered from beside him, as Carter worked to free himself from Prince George’s amazingly strong grasp. “Catch the attacker.”

Carter broke the prince’s hold and rolled away from the rotund Regent, sprawled upon his back. “Swenton!” Carter called as he scrambled to his feet to give chase. “The other entrance!” He pointed to the servants’ passage. Carter held no doubt his friend would respond.

Blood dripped from his shoulder, but he ignored the wound. He chased the prince’s attacker through passages he did not know existed. He could not understand how with the prince’s many servants, no one appeared to slow the man’s progress.

Although years older than Carter, the elder “Monroe” had had a significant start upon him, and Carter’s wound prevented him from using both of his arms to balance his run. The man overturned expensive statues and vases, leaving Carter to vault the debris. The water from the flowers turned the marble into slippery footing, but he refused to abandon the gambit.

The man turned to his right, and Carter followed only to see the elder “Monroe” bursting through a patio door leading to the garden. As he ran, Carter fished his gun from its holster, but he thought only to use it if he knew a clear shot. The prince’s attacker followed the groomed path, while Carter forced his way through potted palm, rose briars, and clinging vines. A small wall announced the Carlton House stables on the other side, and his assailant deftly climbed the bricks at its lowest point.

Carter could hear the man drop to the other side several moments before he vaulted the wall with more energy than he possessed.

Jumping down from the barrier, Carter raced toward the stables, making the ready assumption the culprit had had a horse waiting for his escape. It might have been better for his attacker if the man had turned toward St. James’s Park, which fronted the prince’s home–more room to hide, but Carter was thankful for the confined space of the stables for their confrontation. With gun in hand, he raced into the prince’s stables to search the stalls. Moving cautiously along the closed gates, he quickly surveyed each enclosure, some with animals and some without.

Heart pounding from his run, as well as from fear, Carter slowed his steps: The man he chased had nothing to lose–the elder “Monroe” would fight fiercely. Reaching the last of the stalls, he caught the gate’s latch, but a sound behind him told Carter he had missed the obvious. His attacker broke from one of the first gates, running along side the saddled horse to prevent Carter a clear shot.

“Damn!” he growled as he gave chase. Exiting the stables, Carter scanned the area. In the distance, the elder “Monroe” pulled himself into the saddle. Carter’s heart knew instant regret; the man would escape. However, before he could return to the stable to claim a mount, a shot rang out, and the man who had created havoc within the prince’s palace slumped over the saddle’s horn. With the man’s lose hold on the reins, the animal bucked, throwing the prince’s attacker to the ground with a bone-crushing slam to the hard dirt.

“Mrs. Warren…” Lord Godown urged. “Look!”

Lucinda turned to see Sir Carter fighting his way to his feet, and her heart soared. Lords Worthing and Hellsman, Viscount Lexford, and a man
she did not recognize had surrounded the prince, guns evident in their grasps. Although pandemonium reigned, her heart celebrated the fact Sir Carter lived. However that moment of elation quickly faded when she noted the blood upon Sir Carter’s shirt and dress coat. “He in injured!” she gasped and turned to race to the baronet’s side.

Lord Godown caught his arm. “Where do you think you are going?”

From her eye’s corner, Lucinda saw Carter race from the room. “Wherever the baronet goes,” she said defiantly.

The marquis warned. “It is too dangerous. I will go.”

Lucinda held his gaze. “Did you not see the blood?” she demanded. “Sir Carter requires my assistance.”

“Lowery is trained for such conflict,” he argued.

Never before had she felt such urgency. Any delay could cost the baronet his life. Tears filled her eyes, but Lucinda held them at bay. She whispered hoarsely, “Do you not understand? Sir Carter could die without my telling him…” Her voice broke, and despite her best efforts, a single teardrop slid down her cheek.

He stared at her for several elongated seconds before understanding dawned. The marquis examined her countenance closely, and Lucinda permitted him to see the depth of her unspoken affections for the baronet.

“We will go together,” Lord Godown insisted. However, he did not immediately release her. Instead, the marquis turned to the disorder below them. Leaning over the balustrade, he called, “Grace!”

The woman Lucinda had learned to be the Marquise of Godown looked up. She certainly was not the most beautiful woman in the room, but even to Lucinda’s untrained eye, she took note of the lady’s natural elegance, a trait that would easily attract a man such as Lord Godown. “Yes, my Lord?”

“You hold my deepest regard,” he said intimately as the room looked on.

“As you do mine, my Lord,” Lady Godown said boldly.

The marquis nodded his acceptance. “Assist Lady Worthing, Lord Lexford, and your sister,” he told her. “I will return soon.”

Lady Godown’s chin rose in command. “Be safe, my Lord. Renard and I await your presence.”

He bowed to his wife before turning Lucinda’s steps toward the narrow stairway. She had never experienced anything so beautifully tender between a
man and a woman. Across a crowded ballroom and in the midst of commotion, the Marquis and Marquise of Godown had openly declared their love. No artifice. No censure. No care for the opinion of others. Just pure emotion. Lucinda prayed Carter Lowery felt even half what the Godowns shared. If so, their future would be secure.

She tripped along behind him, the marquis never releasing her hand. Reaching the still open window, they stepped through to stand upon the still deserted terrace. From within the ballroom, they could hear various servants and what sounded of Lords Worthing and Lexford barking orders to the prince’s guests. “Please follow Lady Lexford into the circular dining room.” “This way, please.” “The prince will recover. There is no reason for alarm.”

The marquis meant to lead her through the throng, but Lucinda pulled him toward the terrace’s balustrade. “Look there!” She pointed to where the moonlight broke through the tree limbs to form a circle. Within it, a solitary figure crossed without stopping. Within seconds, another figure appeared, this one holding his right arm with his left.

“Carter…” she whispered.

The marquis tugged her to the far side of the raised terrace. “We do not have time to chase after the baronet through Carlton House’s many passageways. We will take a shorter route.”

“We cannot,” Lucinda protested.

“You wished to speak honestly to Lowery. That action requires we overtake him.” Without Lucinda’s permission, the marquis lifted her to cradle Lucinda in his arms before draping her over the terrace’s edge. “Avoid the rose bushes,” he warned before he dropped her to the ground clutter below. Lucinda had not had enough time to be frightened or even outraged. She landed like a cat on all fours. It was an exhilarating sensation. Since having the baronet’s acquaintance, she had faced multiple situations only a lady author of a Gothic novel could devise. She found she liked the challenges, which proved she was much more of a competent woman than Matthew Warren could ever have imagined. Colonel Roderick Rightnour would have been extremely proud of her. “I am coming down,” the marquis cautioned, and Lucinda scrambled to her feet. Within seconds, he stood beside her.

“Some day I wish to know how you move so quietly,” Lucinda said with a smile.

He presented her a cocky grin. “Only Lady Godown is privy to my most intimate secrets.”

Lucinda answered his taunt. “Then I mean to make Lady Godown my dearest friend.”

He smiled his most beguiling smile. “You will do very well for Sir Carter. Lowery should have a bit of mayhem in his well-ordered life. The baronet spends too much time making plans for all contingencies. Let us find the man and tell him his bachelor days are numbered. Somehow, I suspect, he will not mind.” He led Lucinda in the direction the two figures had gone.

She double stepped to keep abreast of the marquis’s long strides, but even then, Lucinda struggled not to fall flat upon her face. Within a minute, he boosted her over a low wall. Her hand came away from the bricks smeared with blood, likely Sir Carter’s, and the realization caused her knees to buckle. “Which way?” she asked numbly. Carlton House stables followed one path and St. James’s Park the other.

“The stables,” he declared with confidence and strode away. She followed until they drew near the building. “Wait here,” he ordered. “And remain from sight.”

Lucinda wished to find Sir Carter, but she did as the marquis said. Obviously, Lord Godown was not a man accustomed to having his instructions denied. She squatted behind a row of hedges, ones where she could view His Lordship’s cautious search. Yet, before he could examine the building, a rider less horse emerged through the open door.

From her vantage point, Lucinda could see a man running beside the animal; however, before she could warn the marquis, the baronet burst through the door to give pursuit. He staggered–his gait indicating his exhaustion and loss of blood. Immediately, she was running toward him–the danger the least of her worries.

The baronet swayed in place, and she meant to steady his stance; but the sound of a gunshot froze the marquis, Sir Carter, and her in place. To her horror, the man the baronet sought tumbled from his horse to strike the ground hard. Lucinda stifled her scream with a fist to her lips. Instantly, she looked to Lord Godown, but he held his gun loosely at his side: He had not had time to take aim. Then her eyes rested on the man she loved; yet, Sir Carter could not have delivered the fatal shot. He was too weak.

Godown pushed past Carter to investigate the shooting, and for once, the baronet did not follow. Instead, he sank to his knees. Lucinda rushed to his side. “Carter.” She braced him to the ground.

“Lucinda?” he asked as he lay back.

“I am here,” she said unbuttoning his dress coat. “God,” she prayed aloud. “Assist me to stop this blood flow.” Her fingers tore open his waistcoat, sending the buttons flying. She tugged his shirt from his breeches. “Your knife,” she demanded.

“A pocket in my boot,” he murmured weakly, not protesting her forwardness, which told her he was severely injured.

Lucinda caressed his cheek, her fingers leaving streaks of blood upon his skin. “No leaving me, Carter Lowery,” she said adamantly. “I shall not tolerate it.” She clasped his face in both her hands. “Your games end here.”

He gave an exhaustive sigh, but Lucinda thought she recognized a hint of a smile upon his lips. Frantically, she wrestled the knife from his boot and cut strips of cloth from the tail of his shirt. Without asking, she worked his dress coat from his shoulder and down his arm, cutting parts of it away. Although they cleaved at her heart, Lucinda ignored his groans of pain and his guttural protests.

Using the knife, she slit the shirt’s sleeve to his shoulder. “Oh, Carter,” she moaned. “You are the most stubbornly infuriating man of my acquaintance.” As she spoke, Lucinda folded the cloth strips across the seeping wound and used her weight to press it hard enough to staunch the blood flow. “Do you realize how many times I have tended your wounds?” she asked, but he did not respond. Anger coursed through her. She could have lost him on this night–lost him before they had truly known each other.

Frustrated, she placed the palm of one hand over the back of the other to hold the bandage in place. “Assistance will arrive soon,” she encouraged, but he lay lifeless upon the ground.

“I swear, Carter, if you die on me, I mean to revive you and kill you all over again. How could you be so foolish?” Despite her words, Lucinda bent forward to kiss his lips softly.

“Harp…harp…harp,” he said through a weak smile.

His expression eased her worried heart. “You must admit you have missed my harping.” Her words came upon a cracked whisper.

“Absolutely.”

“Please do not force me to spend my life worried for your safety,” she pleaded through her tears.