Page 70 of Five Nights with a Rakish Duke
What is that?
He turned his head in time to see horses were barreling toward him, with a coach driver sitting behind, his top hat pulled low. He whipped the reins, urging the horses on faster… Only, Asher was in their path.
“Asher!” Dorian’s and Vincent’s cries pierced the air.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Asher couldn’t move his feet. His mind was telling him to, but the drunkenness had made him slovenly as his body wouldn’t respond.
The horses whinnied and neighed in objection, realizing someone was in their way, but the coach driver showed no sign of trying to stop them.
“Asher!” Dorian cried again from somewhere much closer this time.
Asher felt a thud in his side. He was toppled over, stumbling away before clattering to the ground and hitting his head on the cobbles. He was aware of something over him that had knocked him over.
“Good God, are you trying to get yourself killed?” Dorian said loudly from above him and shook his shoulder before rolling him over, revealing his face. “Do not move, Asher. You have hit your head.”
Asher wasn’t bothered about that. He sat up sharply, nearly knocking Dorian over from the sharpness of the movement as he gazed down the road at the carriage as it passed them by, moving with such speed and alacrity that it had clearly never showed signs of slowing down.
“I do not believe it,” Vincent muttered from the other side of the road. Asher felt something being pressed to his head and turned his gaze back to Dorian, seeing his friend was pushing a handkerchief to his temple.
“Bleeding?” he asked.
“Just a little.” Dorian answered him then glanced in the direction of the carriage too, watching the wheels disappear in the gas lamp light.
“Dorian…” Asher lifted a hand from the cobbles, beginning to realize it was trembling with shock. He placed it keenly to Dorian’s shoulder, squeezing it. “Thank you.”
Silence descended between them as Dorian smiled down at him.
“Do you not remember pulling me out of a canal when I fell in after one night of drinking?” Dorian asked, finding the humor in the moment.
“I remember that,” Vincent called as he crossed the road toward them. “You were shivering by the time we got you back to our university rooms, not to mention you would not stop saying a particular woman’s name.”
“I was not that bad!” Dorian complained.
“Oh, you were,” Asher said with a laugh as he took the handkerchief and pressed it to his own temple. His headache was beginning to develop, stinging behind his eyes.
“Well, at least I am not the only one who can be called a fool in the name of love,” Dorian said, hooking one hand under Asher’s arm. “Vincent, help me.”
“One second…” Vincent stopped in front of them, his gaze still on the road where the carriage had left.
“What is it?” Dorian asked.
“Did you not see that?” Vincent asked, whipping his head back round to Asher. “Did you?”
“What?” Asher asked, painfully aware of the bleeding.
“That driver, he didn’t slow down,” Vincent said, bending down to be at both of their eye levels. The seriousness of Vincent’s countenance did not suit him.
“I am so used to you being in jest,” Asher said, lifting the handkerchief and using it to gesture to Vincent. “This doesn’t make sense. I can scarcely tell if you are being serious.”
“Completely serious, and put that thing back on your head. God, you are bleeding.” Vincent pressed the handkerchief back down to his temple. “We need to get him to a physician.”
“Agreed,” Dorian said, “but I think the skin is just cut rather than the skull being cracked at least.”
“Lovely, can we use nicer language please?” Asher said with a wince.
“Sorry,” Dorian said, taking his arm again. “Vincent, come on.” Vincent did as he was instructed and took Asher’s other arm. Together, they pulled him to his feet.
