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“Have Baker hitch up the traveling carriage. And prepare an additional horse. I may need him to ride for Mason.”
“Yes, m’ lord.”
“With haste!” the lord yelled after his servant. He turned back to Giulia. “I will meet you out here.”
“Sir?”
He spun back around, irritation written on his face.
“We may need blankets too. To protect your seats.”
The man stared at Giulia and she smiled, trying to ease his irritation. He only grunted and moved back into the house. But not before slamming the door in her face.
* * *
Burning. All Nick could feel was the tight, hot sensation of burning in his left shoulder. Pain clouded his vision and made it difficult to count. And he needed to count. He needed to do something, anything to pass the time, for waiting was going to kill him. Possibly literally.
He would even welcome back that chatty little thing that had helped him if it meant the waiting was over. He nearly yearned for the girl’s unceasing monologue. What an odd creature she was. Though, if he had to be honest, he’d hardly had time to consider his pain when she’d been about; he was too busy listening to her rambling and questioning whether she was meant for Bedlam or was just this side of eccentric. Regardless, her distraction—for surely that’s what all the chatter was—had worked. Whoever she was, she definitely knew what she was about. He’d give her that.
Now, for the waiting.
Nick struggled to open his eyes. The pain clouding his judgment caused dark splotches to close in whenever he opened them. He had done it for her, longer than he probably should have, because she’d needed to know he wasn’t a hopeless cause. But that had taken all of his strength. Or so he had thought.
Who knew waiting could be so much work? The struggle to remain awake was sapping every ounce of energy he had managed to retain. Slowly, the life was draining out of him. The sensation was palpable and certain.
What was taking her so long? Halstead could not be more than two miles down the road. She had mentioned she was a fast runner, had she not?
A soft rumble shook the ground, steadily growing until he could hear the pebbles beside his head jumping to and fro. A carriage was coming.
Oh please, please let it be Little Miss Chatty and not an unknown vehicle.
He braced himself for the possibility that the oncoming team of horses did not know he was there. Moments later, and vastly to his relief, the pounding slowed. There were a few voices, all decidedly male, and then a moment later a lone horse thudded past his head and down the lane at great speed.
He had to assume they were sending for a doctor.
Footsteps crashed toward him and the pounding in his head increased tenfold. He had the woman to thank for that nice kick in the head. But given her role in saving his life, or so he hoped, she could be forgiven.
“Nicholas? Is that you?” a deep voice questioned, panicked. Robert. It must be Robert. Nick grimaced and tried to nod but couldn’t move his head. He opened his mouth to answer but no words would form. He was losing control of his faculties.
Robert was satisfied, apparently. Most likely due to the moon that the woman wanted to thank. Thank! She actually wanted to thank the moon. He had most definitely leaned toward deeming her loony in that particular moment.
And what reason did she have for thinking the moon a her?
“Wells! Come!” Robert snapped. “We must move him to the carriage. Girl! Can you hold the horses?”
Girl? She had returned with Robert then. She’d told Nick her name during her monologue, but he couldn’t call it forward now.
She must have answered Robert favorably, for within a moment four hands were under him and he was being lifted and carried. Pain seared his shoulder and sliced down his torso and arm. His head throbbed painfully. He wanted to speak but could not find the energy to open his mouth. Never before had he felt such fatigue, pain, and complete, utter exhaustion.
Before he knew it, he was being laid across a plush seat.
“Wells, let us be off!” Robert barked.
“Sir, my luggage,” a feminine voice called. “I must retrieve it from the road.”
There was silence and then a grunt. Little Miss Chatty must have retrieved her belongings. A moment later, the carriage rocked with the motion of someone entering. A heavy someone—it must have been Robert. A thud on the boot of the vehicle and a motion behind him. Her trunk being tied on to the back.
“Wells, be quick about it,” Robert snarled. If the irascible earl was so bothered, Nick’s condition must appear as dreadful as he felt. He swallowed against the dryness of his throat. If only he’d seen the man who had shot at him; if only he could think of a single person who wanted him dead.
