Page 74 of Lady Daring
“Lord Alfred?” Henrietta gasped. “Darien, I told you to leave town! Itoldyou.”
Darien groaned as his friends lowered him to the settee. “ToleyouFreddy was a terrible shot,” he mumbled. “He missed.”
“No, he didn’t,” Henrietta said, unfastening Darien’s cravat with shaking hands while his friends held him upright. “But why the charade? Were you seen?”
“What do you think?” Charley snapped, all to pieces. “Daring insisted on an open carriage, so sure he’d walk away, and that imp of yours had to bring Freddy behind us as we can’t leave him alone. The whole town will know what we’re up to by noon.”
“Imp, now?” James bridled. “Care I don’t inform on ye for dueling!”
“Pitt’s men are too busy tossing people in jail for expressing their opinions in public,” Henrietta said, watching Havering and her brother wrestle Darien out of his coat. “I doubt he has time to arrest duelers. But to bring him here?”
“It was closest, I knew you’d be dressed, and he wanted to see you,” Charley said.
Darien opened his eyes. “Henry,” he slurred. “Kiss me ere I die.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Henrietta put a hand to her chest, wishing it would cease its wild, erratic thumping. “Charley, you’d best fetch Jasper’s brandy. We’re going to need it.”
“I’ll see Freddy home, then call on you,” Havering said, laying the soiled coat aside. “Devil take it, Daring, I wish I’d married the trull to save you this.”
“Who knows where she is,” Darien said. He let his head fall back on the couch. “Bon voyage to her. God, my arm! Someone needs to tell Rufie.”
“I’ll do it,” Havering said. “And get out of Freddy where she went.”
“Or where Perry went,” Darien said. “Someone ought to find him too.”
“Lady Celeste and Mr. Empson have gone where?” Henrietta asked, her eyes glued to the surgeon’s shears as he began cutting Darien out of his waistcoat. She stepped forward to hold his injured arm as the doctor peeled away the thick silk.
“No, we meant—” Havering paused, incredulous. “Celeste andPerry? It can’t be.”
“I’d believe anything of her,” Darien said. “See what Rufie knows. Henry, darling girl, where did you say that brandy was?”
“Charley’s fetching it.” She put a hand to his brow as the surgeon started on his shirt. “Darien, you impossible man, I told you he was going to shoot you.”
Darien slid his good arm around her waist and leaned his head against her bosom. “Don’t let me die, sawbones,” he muttered. “I’m going to marry this girl.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything,” Henrietta said, propping him up so the surgeon could finish removing his shirt. Darien hada chest like a classical Greek statue, strong, lean, every muscle gracefully defined. She couldn’t bear to think of that beautiful form gone still and cold from one reckless moment.
“I shall live to convince you.” Darien grasped her hand. “Henry, you sensible creature, make me the happiest of men.”
“Let the surgeon do his work,” Henrietta said, fighting to keep her voice calm. “Now, lie as still as you can. This is going to hurt like the devil.”
Charley returned with the brandy and gave Darien a liberal portion. Henrietta raided the linen closet for bandages, filled a large ceramic bowl with hot water, and cast in a fistful of salt. Then she wrapped the bowl in towels and carried it upstairs. She could ask a maid for help, but it was best not to advertise to the entire household what they were up to. There was a chance the surgeon would patch up Darien and they could send him home with no one the wiser.
She took a deep breath outside the door of her sitting room. Lord, if that bullet had gone a few inches in another direction—he would have died without giving her a chance to say goodbye, to tell him anything. He would have died, and she would not have known till hours, perhaps days later. The thought made her lip tremble and her eyes sting.
She shook off the attack of sentiment.
“I am furious with you,” she announced, setting the bowl on the table where the surgeon had unrolled his tools. Darien sat bare to the waist, his face clenched with pain. She threw a blanket over the low back of the couch, and he leaned against it while the surgeon probed his shoulder. His good hand fisted in one of the throw pillows, but surprise flickered in his eyes as he looked up.
She swept her hand to indicate the surgery in progress. “You agreed to a duel, you set the date, and you didn’t tell me.”
“Knew you’d fuss,” he said through gritted teeth.
“I am fussing now. Behold.”
“Hold him, please,” the surgeon said with a frown as Darien flinched away from his probing instrument.
“Devil it, can’t you go faster?” Darien snapped.
