Well, Beatrice would see about that for herself. She tugged at his coat.
He hissed, and Beatrice froze immediately.
“Oh.” Her throat tightened at once. “I’m sorry. I—Gideon.” And then, with exasperation and worry, she reminded him, “You have been shot.”
His expression turned from pained to amused, which she supposed was a good thing, all told.
“I noticed.”
“Do not be charming.”
“I am grievously wounded. Any resulting charm is entirely beyond my control.”
She exhaled, blowing some of her hair out of her eyes.
This time, he smiled properly.
With far greater care, Beatrice eased the coat down his arm and away from his shoulder. His sleeve beneath was torn just above the elbow, the fine white linen dark with blood. Her stomach lurched at the sight, but she forced herself to look closely.
It was indeed a graze.
A bloody, ugly graze, but the bullet did not appear to be lodged in his flesh.
Thank God.
“We need to clean this.” She took his uninjured hand. “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“Just come.”
She led him from the folly, around the side of the house, keeping hold of his hand as though she might lend him strength by sheer force of will. Which was absurd, of course. Gideon was walking steadily enough.
Still, she did not let go.
She watched him from the corner of her eye as they moved through the shadows—his color, his breathing, the set of his mouth. Looking for any sign he was hurt worse than he would admit.
“Almost there,” she murmured.
“I am not expiring.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
They entered through a side door and slipped up the servants’ stairs, avoiding the main hall and the flow of guests moving toward supper. At the top, Beatrice paused only long enough to be certain no one saw them, then hurried him down the corridor and into her bedchamber.
Gideon stopped just inside the door.
“I shouldn’t be in here, Beatrice.”
“Sit.”
He stared at her. And she knew exactly what he was thinking. About propriety. About Dash.
She pointed to the chair near the washstand. “Sit, my dear Lord Hawkins, or I shall wrestle you into submission. Don’t test me on this.”
After a beat, he sat.
Which was possibly the first sensible thing he’d done today.
