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How was he to rescue the fortunes of his family-and safeguard the retainers in his care?
Well, he might be a farce of a "hero," who'd puked his stomach dry before every engagement and barely been able to hold the reins, his hands shook so badly before the charge, but somehow he'd managed to get through years of war with most of his troopers alive. Even better, England held no adversaries wishful of putting a bullet through him.
Except perhaps, he thought with a grin, Jenna Fairchild.
As if his thoughts had conjured her, suddenly he saw in the distance a lady whose graceful carriage on horseback proclaimed her identity as loudly as a herald's trumpet. Signaling Pax to slow, he gave himself up to admiring her.
A little voice whispered that Lady Fairchild's fortune would go a long way to restoring his shattered finances. But attractive as the idea might be of wedding-and bedding-the delectable Jenna Montague, he couldn't imagine a fortune hunter in London who'd have less chance than he of getting his grubby fists on the Montague wealth.
Though he might-depending on just how dire was the news soon to be imparted to him by the family solicitor- be able to stomach cozening up to some Cit's daughter more interested in his title than his person, Jenna Montague's kindness, valor and integrity demanded more in a partner than a half-crippled man with a sordid past. She would want another Garrett, a man of substance, courage and impeccable reputation-none of which virtues Tony had any pretense of possessing.
Best to think of her as his battlefield angel and leave it at that. As he'd learned long ago, depending too much on one's paragons was a mistake.
A memory suddenly flooded back, bringing a slight smile to his lips. He hadn't thought of Miss Sweet, his much-older sister's governess, in years. Probably because the young man he'd become after leaving childhood had not been looking to angels for his model.
She'd been the only friend he could remember from his lonely childhood, scolding when he tormented his timid tutor, challenging him to prove he could learn Latin and Greek, praising his efforts, laughing with him.
Listening to him.
And then one winter night, Miss Sweet had suddenly left Hunsdon Park without a word of goodbye.
Gathering his courage, he'd inquired about her, prompting his father to a diatribe on the perfidy of females in general and Miss Sweet in particular. Giving almost no notice, the ungrateful jade had abandoned them, his father said, to accept a better-paying position.
Tony had been devastated.
Yes, admiring from afar allowed one to focus on the inspiring illusion that perfect goodness existed.
Heaven knows, he could use some inspiration.
Despite the sensible conclusion that he ought to keep his distance, as always, something about Jenna drew him irresistibly. Knowing no one would forestall his approach-her groom was grazing his horse at the opposite side of the park-he couldn't help but follow her.
She was riding a different mount this morning-surely not her own, for even now that she'd reached the open expanse of Rotten Row, the placid beast seemed disinclined to exceed a trot. Wondering how long so intrepid a rider would content herself with so stodgy a pace, he had to grin when, a moment later, she gave the mare a light tap with her riding crop.
The smile faded when the horse jerked to a halt, then reared up, lunging and bucking as she attempted to unseat her rider. Before he could even shout a warning, Jenna tumbled sideways out of her saddle and landed facedown on the rocky path.
*CHAPTER SIX*
Spurring Pax to a gallop, Tony reached Jenna before her groom even noticed his mistress had fallen.
Quickly he secured his horse and limped as fast as he could to where she lay, still ominously unmoving.
Awkwardly he lowered himself to the ground, the familiar taste of fear bitter in his mouth. "Jenna!" he called, patting her shoulder. "Jenna, can you hear me?"
There was no response. He touched her wrist, overjoyed to feel a faint pulse against his shaking fingers. Though she lay with her face in the mud, he dare not move her until he knew the extent of her injuries.
Detachment settling in, he traced down her limbs, then up from the base of her neck. Relief flooded him when he determined that, as best he could tell, the spine appeared intact and no bones had been broken.
By this time the thunder of approaching hoofs told him the groom must have finally seen his fallen mistress. A moment later, a panic-faced lad skidded to a stop beside Tony. "Cor, m'lord, be she dead?"
"She breathes still-no thanks to your diligence," Tony said acidly. "Help me turn her-gently!"
Tony discovered, as he'd suspected, a purpling contusion on her temple. Her even breathing and steady pulse reassured him somewhat, but he knew a brain injury could be as dangerous as a fracture to the spine. She might also have suffered other, not yet apparent hurts.
Though he was tempted to wait for a carriage to convey her home more gently, his battlefield experience argued that the longer she lay on the cold ground, the greater the danger that she might never recover consciousness or that the chill might settle in her lungs.
Horseback it must be.
"You-" he gestured to the boy "-fetch my horse, over there. Once I've mounted, you must hand Lady Fairchild up to me as gently as you can and lead us back to Fairchild House. I don't want to jostle her any more than necessary, but we must get her home as quickly as possible and summon a physician.
Return for her mount later."
While the lad did as he was bid, Tony thanked God he had his horse available. With his arms well-developed from wielding a saber, lifting Jenna from the groom and balancing her before him in the saddle proved easy enough a task. He knew he'd never have been able to support her weight, slight as it was, were he on foot.
For an instant Tony wondered why Jenna's seemingly docile mount had suddenly turned so fractious.
Far too worried about her condition to spare more than that moment on the thought, he hugged her limp body to his chest.
The transit home seemed to take an age. By the time Upper Brook Street came into view, he was sweating, even his well-trained muscles strained by the effort of holding her as motionless as possible.
Just as they reached the townhouse, Jenna moved at last. Eyes still shut, she murmured and nestled against Tony, as if snuggling into his warmth. Or as if, slowly rousing from sleep, she were seeking her lover.
His body stirred at the thought and, despite his worry, he had to grin. Often as he'd dreamed of having Jenna Montague in his arms again, he'd never envisioned it happening quite like this.
Finally a Fairchild servant noticed them. "Someone from the house will assist us now," Tony called to the groom. "Ride with all speed for the doctor."
A moment later, a procession of servants began streaming out, among them Sancha, the Spanish maid who had accompanied Jenna all through the Peninsula.
"Madre de Dios, mi pobre senora!" she cried as she ran down the steps toward them. "What happened?"
"She fell from her horse," Tony answered.
As the maid's gaze lifted from her mistress to the man holding her, her eyes widened. "The Evil One!"
she gasped.
So much for Sancha's good opinion. But concern for Jenna outweighing his chagrin, he continued, "Get her into a warm bed as quickly as possible. A doctor was sent for."
After carefully handing Jenna to a stout footman, he dismounted to follow. "Nay!" Sancha cried, stepping forward to block him and making the sign of the cross, as if to ward off the Evil Eye. "You may not enter!"
Before Tony could remonstrate, Lane Fairchild trotted down the stairs. He paused for a moment as the footman carrying Jenna passed him, his grim gaze scanning her pale face, then proceeded to halt before Tony.
"What outrage is this? If you have harmed my cousin, I shall call you out, even if you are a cripple!"
"Lady Fairchild fell while riding," Tony said, ignoring the jibe about his condition and trying to hold his temper in check. "I assisted in carrying her home."
Fairchild raised his eyebrows. "Jenna fell from her horse? Do you really expect me to believe that?"
Tony shrugged. "I don't give a damn what you believe. Question the groom about it-indeed, I'd like to ask him myself how such a thing happened. But for now, Sancha, go to your mistress. The doctor should be here any moment."
Fairchild looked as if he would comment further, but chose to refrain. "I do thank you for seeing her home," he admitted grudgingly. "Now I must tend to my cousin."
With that, Fairchild ran back up the stairs. As the front door shut behind them, the rest of the servants dispersed. For a few moments Tony stood alone, debating whether or not to continue up the stairs and demand entry. But given Fairchild's plainly demonstrated animosity, it was unlikely he'd be able to inveigle his way in. Though it galled him to leave before finding out how she was, there seemed little point in remaining.
He'd return later after the physician had examined her, he decided. He'd done all he could for Jenna, save keep vigil until the doctor came. What happened now was in the hands of her maid, her physician-and Jenna herself.
"Fight like the good soldier you are," he murmured. And then, shoulders aching, he mounted Pax and set off.
Two weeks later, Tony sat in one of the new hells off Pall Mall, an untasted drink at his elbow as, hand after hand, he raked in the guineas of his opponent, a lad too drunk to count the cards in his unsteady grip.
He felt a bit ashamed, relieving this castaway stripling of so much blunt. But the grim news imparted by the family solicitor when Tony had finally consulted him, after being turned away three times from the Fairchild mansion after Jenna's accident, made the necessity of finding an immediate source of income starkly clear.
