Page 51 of Unmasked By a Captivating Lady
Her eyes widened with shock. The man was clutching his left arm, where a rag was tied haphazardly around it. She saw blood oozing through it. His face was bent low, so that she could not see him properly.
“Mrs. Dinsmore!” called the butler.
The housekeeper rushed into the foyer, looking bewildered.
“The man has been shot,” said the butler. “We need to stem the bleeding.” He turned back to another man, who was standing just behind them, near the door. “The nearest doctor is a mile away, in Frasby village. Do you think you can make it there and fetch him?”
The man nodded quickly. “Of course. I will go straight away.” Without another word, he turned and left, running out of the door.
Ara felt frozen to the spot in horror. What on earth had happened? Had the man been out walking or riding, and accidently gotten in the way of a shooting party intent on game?
She felt the blood drain from her face. At the same moment, he slowly lifted his head, so that she was staring him straight in the eye.
She gasped, clutching the banister for support, as her legs turned to jelly beneath her.
The man who had staggered into her family’s home, clutching his arm from a gunshot wound, was none other than Lord Miles Comerford. The false duke.
***
Ara watched dazedly as Harding dragged him into the kitchen, trailed by Mrs. Dinsmore, the housekeeper. She simply could not believe what was happening. How was he even here, let alone injured? Why was he even in Dorset?
Suddenly, the blood seemed to return to her limbs. She took a deep breath, rushing after the party. Miles didn’t turn around to look at her. She didn’t think he even knew who she was when he had gazed on her, after he had lifted his head. His dark eyes seemed clouded and unfocused.
The butler placed the man in a chair by the fireplace. Mrs. Dinsmore was already in action, grabbing rags and water. Ara hung back, biting her lip, unsure what to do. It didn’t help that neither Papa or Mama were at home. Papa was already at his country club in Frasby, and Mama was visiting Mrs. Scott.
The housekeeper quickly untied the rag around the wound, gazing at it with careful eyes. Then she addressed the man, who was groaning now, tossing his head from side to side.
“The bullet is lodged, sir,” she said slowly. “I will try to clean the wound as best I can, but the doctor will have to remove it when he arrives.”
Miles groaned again. His face was still the colour of chalk, but his eyes were becoming clearer and more lucid by the second. A thin sheen of sweat covered his face.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
The housekeeper nodded. Within seconds she was washing the wound, dabbing at it with a clean rag over a bowl of water.
Ara approached slowly, as if in a dream. Without a word, she grabbed the rag in the housekeeper’s hand. Mrs. Dinsmore glanced at her questioningly.
Ara took a deep breath. “I will take over, Mrs. Dinsmore. Thank you.”
The housekeeper looked puzzled, but didn’t say a word, stepping back. Miles groaned again. Suddenly, he lifted his head, focusing his eyes on Ara, as she slowly dabbed his wound, wiping away the blood.
She heard the sharp intake of his breath.
“My God,” he whispered, his eyes widening. “Is it really you, or am I dreaming?”
Ara felt her heart beating frantically. Even being this close to him in his current condition was doing wild things to her. It was as if her very blood was thickening at the close proximity.
“It is really me,” she answered slowly, in a strangled voice. “I do not understand how or why you are here…”
He moaned again, staring at her with burning, almost feverish eyes. “I am here because of you,” he whispered. “I travelled by carriage, but we were held up, at gun point…”
Ara gasped. “You were held up? And the thiefshotyou?”
He nodded slowly. “I can barely believe it myself,” he whispered. “It happened so quickly, in the blink of an eye.” He paused, grimacing slightly in pain. “I shot at him first, but it did not stop him. I am sorry to say he stole the gift that I had travelled here with, to give to you…”
Ara’s heart hammered harder in her chest. “What gift?”
He gazed at her, directly in the eye. “I purchased an Arabian stallion for you, Ara. It was my way of saying sorry, for everything that happened on the night of the ball.”
