Page 81 of Maid for the Marquess

“We did.”

Her eyes grew round with anger, and she muttered something under her breath. It was most unladylike and something I was certain she had heard me say.

“That pigeon-livered cad. As useless as a flaccid cock.”

I was shocked and delighted at her anger and choice of words.

“Dr. Atwood is seeing to him at the inn,” I informed her. “I did not want him in this house.”

“Good. But he should be here tending you.”

“It’s just a scratch, my sweet,” I assured her. “Although if you insist on wrenching my arm one more time, it may detach.”

“Hush.”

I gasped as she poured something on my arm, the burn almost as bad as the wound.

“Damnation!” I yelled. “What was that? Brimstone?”

“Whiskey. It will clean the wound. Be still.”

“The whiskey is for my throat, not my arm,” I argued, but did as she requested. I wasn’t used to this demeanor from Maddie. No-nonsense. In charge. It was rather unsettling.

Dr. Atwood walked in, and I heaved a sigh of relief. He would take over now. Except he looked at what Maddie was doing and nodded in agreement. Even the herbs she had brought out from the healer in the village. Together, they wrapped my arm, and Dr. Atwood stood back, satisfied. “We will watch it and make sure it drains and does not become infected. I believe your wife has this well in hand.”

Maddie lifted my head, letting me sip some liquid. It was sweet and light with a slightly bitter aftertaste, but the cool was welcome on my throat.

“And the coward?” Edward demanded.

“I dug out the bullet and left him to his butler and solicitor.” He shook his head. “I asked the innkeeper’s wife to check on him and send for me if needed.” He met my eyes. “I turned after the first shot, thinking it was over. I saw what he did. You had no choice but to fire, my lord. He was aiming to kill you—of that, I have no doubt.”

Maddie gasped, and I reached out my hand to comfort her. The room seemed too hot and bright, and I struggled to reach her, the distance seeming to grow between us.

“I believe he will rest. The draught you gave him will help,” Dr. Atwood stated, nodding. “I will look in on him tomorrow.”

My eyes refused to stay open. I fought the heaviness, needing to talk to Maddie. To reassure her. I was home. I was fine. I would heal, and we would move on from this unpleasantness.

But I lost the battle and drifted.

CHAPTER 22

MADELEINE

“You should rest, my lady.”

The voice, with the gentle French accent, was Geraldine’s, interrupting the vigil I kept over my sleeping husband. Seated in a chair at his bedside where I had been ever since he had arrived this morning, I turned to find her hovering at the threshold, a look of concern etched on her face.

“I am resting,” I told her. “I’m sitting here by his lordship’s side.”

“Perhaps you will take some sustenance, then,” Geraldine suggested. “Mrs. Dougall said you didn’t break your fast this morning, and it is afternoon now.”

I hadn’t the stomach to eat this morning. I had been fraught. And my fears hadn’t been for naught. My father had proven a dishonorable liar and fired a second shot at Alexander, wounding him. Had his aim been any better…

I shuddered, not able to think of the consequences had my father’s bullet hit its intended mark. I would have lost my husband. I would have been devastated, weeping on the floor, screaming at the heavens, instead of sitting by a peacefully slumbering Alexander. I was incredibly thankful that the outcome of the duel had been a mere grazing for the man I loved.

For my father and his injury, I hadn’t spared a thought. He was dead to me.

“My lady,” Geraldine repeated gently. “You must eat.”