Page 42 of Twice Upon a Midnight

But then, neither was Martin.

“Is there anythin’ else I can help you with, sir?”

Martin slowly shook his head and tucked the book inside his coat. “No, nothing.”

The young man pulled at the brim of his Harris tweed cap and jogged away, around the side of the house toward its private mews.

Martin headed back the way he’d just come, his footsteps heavy.

The attackers hadn’t killed Spenser. But this news about his brother just might.

CHAPTER TWENTY

S

penser glanced at Martin’s reflection in his dressing mirror as the old man appeared in the bedroom doorway behind him. He paused in his attempt to tie his neck cloth. “You’re back. Good.”

Good Lord, even smiling hurt! So did gesturing at the tray the nurse had left on the bedside table while he’d been napping. It sat untouched. Between his concern for Ella and the dull aches in his limbs, he had no appetite.

“Help yourself,” Spenser offered.

He would let Martin have all the food. At least while the old man was here, nursing him back to health in his own way, Spenser could make certain he ate well. Perhaps he could find a way to buy his friend a new coat and pair of boots, too. It was the least he could do to repay him.

Spenser slowly lowered himself onto a nearby reading chair so he could put on his boots, although how he’d ever manage to lever himself back up onto his feet from the deep cushioned seat, he had no idea.

While Martin had been gone, Spenser had finally managed to dress himself. Partially. He was far from decent, with his waistcoat hanging open and still in his shirt sleeves. But he’d managed the rest, including the pair of braces, although he’d sent up a round of curses so fierce at having to bend his arms to pull them on that he wondered how the paper hadn’t peeled off the walls from the force of it.

He was stiff and sore and most likely would be for a couple of weeks more at least, but he couldn’t remain still a moment longer. Movement would be good for his aching muscles. Besides, if he remained in bed another day without working or tending to his business—or contacting Ella—he would go mad.

Martin shook his head at the offer for food.

Spenser’s gut tightened with unease. The old man never refused food. “Did you see her, then? Was Ella home?”

Martin frowned as he finally stepped into the room. “No—that is, she was just leaving as I arrived.”

“But you left the book and the message anyway?”

“No.” Martin slowly reached into his coat and withdrew the slim volume of poetry. He set it down on the dresser.

Spenser finished putting on his shoes and straightened as much as he was able beneath the wrapping around his middle. “Why not? The butler would have made certain she received it.”

“Because she wasn’t alone when she left.” Martin turned to face Spenser like a criminal facing the court, his face drawn. “She has a new beau now, someone officially courting her.”

He steeled himself. “Who?”

“Your brother.”

The news was a gut punch. The world dropped away beneath him, and finally, despite the pain of the wounds, he turned numb clear through to his bones. The only emotion he felt was a flash of searing fury, because he instantly knew why he’d been attacked, why he’d been given the message to leave Ella alone—

“I’ll kill him for this,” he muttered beneath his breath. “I’ll call him out and—”

“No, you won’t!” Martin countered, taking an angry step forward. “It’s one thing to pretend to be him to make fun of all those rich dandies at their balls, to slip in and out of their world and curse them for not letting you be a permanent part of it. It’s another to do what you’re planning.”

“So I should just let him get away with this?” Spenser shoved himself out of the chair and clenched his teeth against a burst of pain. “Is that your answer?”

“No. You deserve to be with that woman. But calling out your brother in a duel won’t solve a damn thing.” His gray brows shot up to make his point. “Lose, and you could spend the rest of your life maimed or bed-ridden. You’d be lucky if you were killed.”

Spenser stopped in front of him, his face level with Martin’s as he promised, “I won’t lose.”