Page 83 of His Wife, the Spy
“Faster, Lawrence,” she screamed. “Hurry!”
Chapter Twenty
The house wastoo quiet.
Annabel wanted nothing more than to run through the halls and wake everyone just so she wouldn’t be alone in her worry, but Jasper’s last words—his lastcoherentwords—had stuck in her head as Travis and Lawrence had wrestled him up the back stairs and to his room, after Stapleton had rushed the female staff into the front of the house for hastily invented tasks.
Only Barnes knew anything, as she had stripped off Annabel’s bloody clothes, and she’d been as tight-lipped as the grave.
Annabel shivered. She would not eventhinkthat word in this room.
Jasper’s color had returned while he slept, and his third set of bandages remained clean. Travis’s stitches had finally done their work.
Just as there was more to her husband than met the eye, there was more to the men surrounding him. Frederick and Lawrence had already proven their mettle under fire; now Travis was exposed as a medic, if not a surgeon. Even Stapleton was standing guard at the door, a rifle within reach, since slinging it over his shoulder would cause alarm.
She’d stopped bathing Jasper when his skin had warmed. His bandages didn’t need to be changed, and his bedding was dry. There was nothing to do but sit here and watch him breathe while she considered the attack.
Ramsbury House had been under repair for months. There would be no reason for anyone to lie in wait for them there, which meant they had been followed. Jasper had either arrived on foot or in a cab, which meant he’d been one of a crowd or in a carriage that looked very much like any other. It would have made him difficult to find. She had been in the more conspicuous conveyance, and leaving the family home.
The assassin-thewould-beassassin—had followed her to find Jasper. She had crossed Spencer by refusing to spy for him, and then Jasper had crossed him again by paying off her father’s debts and loosening the strings that bound her to his malicious will.
But it had also untied her tongue. There would be no repercussions for her family, at least for the foreseeable future, if she confided in her husband.
The consequences would be hers alone.
A knock sounded a moment before the door opened. Frederick entered, smoothing his dark hair. “My apologies, your ladyship, but Stapleton said to come up without him.” His gaze went to the bed and to his master.
“He’ll be fine.” Annabel had repeated the phrase like an incantation all evening. “Were you able to find the cowardly bastard who did this?”
The young man’s wide eyes flew back to hers, and his cheeks reddened. Annabel ignored the heat creeping up her neck. There was no shame in letting the world know what she thought of the man who had tried to kill her husband.
“I was able to catch up to him, but he slithered away before I could get a solid hold.” He returned to his usual color. “If I hadn’t been in a crowd, I’d have shot him, but…”
Blast.Annabel nodded. “You were right, of course.”
“I did give his right arm a good wrench. I’d imagine he’ll be in pain from either his shoulder or his elbow.”
A man favoring his right arm in a town full of laborers. It would be as useless to search as it had been to give chase in the first place.
Annabel made herself smile as she put a hand on his solid shoulder. Worry and exhaustion clouded his eyes. “Thank you, Frederick. I’m glad you’re back safely.” She opened the door. “Mrs. Elliot should have a warm plate for you in the kitchen.”
“I’ll be happy to spell Stapleton on watch, my lady.”
Once a soldier, always a soldier. “Take that up with Stapleton after you’ve eaten.”
She closed the door and rested her head against it.Safer at home,Jasper had said. No wonder. There was a small private army between them and the street, and Yarwood had hired them all.
He should be here as well.
“Cowardly bastard?” Jasper croaked in a whisper.
Annabel rushed to the bed and to the hard chair that had tortured her almost as much as her guilt. “You’ve been a bad influence.” Tears clogged her throat, garbling the last word. She swallowed them down. He didn’t need to see her cry.
“Help me sit.” He pushed against the mattress to no avail. “I don’t want to stare at the canopy all night.”
“Stop fidgeting before you tear your stitches.” Rather than tugging him upright, Annabel slid pillows under his shoulders until he was reclining. “Better?”
He nodded and reached for her. His fingers were almost as cold as the sheet, but they were always chilled. It was normal.
