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“I’m sorry. Sod it, I have to go.” Lord Rafe raced for the window and lowered himself out, leaving Mina with an agonizing choice: follow him and demand he take her wherever he was going, so that they could vanquish the foe together...
Or stay and make sure the duke wasn’t dead.
Chapter10
Mina chose the duke.
Well she couldn’t just leave him sprawled on the leaf-patterned carpet like a mighty oak tree felled by lightning. What if the blow from the candlestick had drawn blood? It was her fault, after all.
She’d reached down her bodice to retrieve the threatening letter in an effort to make both brothers pay attention to her—and only one of them had taken the bait.
Thorndon had been so distracted by her bosom-baring tactics that he hadn’t even noticed his brother approaching with the candlestick, and neither had she.
She’d been too distracted by Thorndon’s heated gaze.
A fine pair of fools.
Now she’d lost her chance to find out where Lord Rafe was going and which target he was after.
She sank to her knees beside the duke. He was breathing, so there was that. She used both her hands to lift his head—no blood in his hair. No blood on the carpet. She lowered his head carefully. He would be badly bruised, no doubt.
She loosened his dressing robe and set her ear to his chest. His heartbeat was strong, his skin warm beneath her cheek. She inhaled the delicious, masculine scent that made her want to lick his throat.
Where were her smelling salts? Apparently she might require them more than the duke.
What had they said about loss of consciousness in the training class she’d eavesdropped upon at her uncle’s estate?
Elevate the knees.
The duke’s knees were so heavy she had to take them one at a time. And they wouldn’t stay propped up once she’d placed them where she wanted. She grabbed a cushion from a chair and pushed it under his legs.
One of his knees kicked up, tumbling her off balance. She landed face-first in a heap on top of his chest.
“Oof.” The breath left her lungs. Before she had a chance to right herself, an enormous hand clamped over her right bum cheek.
“Your Grace,” she squeaked. “Your hand.”
An involuntary spasm? Or was he faking unconsciousness? If he was faking...
“If you’re only pretending, Your Grace... I swear.” She struggled out of his grasp and was nearly free... until his other hand clamped on her other bum cheek, gluing her hips to his unyielding frame.
The door opened. “I heard a crash.” A tall, hook-nosed man wearing a tasseled, red-striped nightcap stopped just inside the door. “Pardon me, Your Grace. I do apologize. I wasn’t aware that you had company.”
The servant backed toward the door.
“No,” cried Mina. “Don’t go. I require your assistance.”
“My... assistance?” asked the servant.
“His Grace had a mishap,” said Mina, finally managing to pry the duke’s fingers off of her nether regions. She staggered to her feet, prepared to run after the servant if he attempted to flee. “You must help me revive him and convey him to bed.”
“Ah.” The servant nodded his head and the tassel on his nightcap swayed decisively. “I understand completely. Say no more, madam. During a feat of impressive athleticism, perhaps involving the desk, His Grace’s limbs gave out from under him.”
What was the man on about? “It wasn’t his limbs, he had a blow to the back of the head.”
“You accosted the duke, madam?” asked the servant sternly.
“Certainly not. It was—”
