“Garrett.” Ethan took hold of her from behind, and compelled her to face him. “I’m fine.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. Heaven knows what damage you may have done to yourself.”
“You can examine the altogether of me, head to toe, later on. But right now I’m going to hold you.”
“I don’t need that,” she said, twisting to reach her doctor’s bag.
“I need it.” Ignoring her protests, Ethan pulled her to the bed and sat with her on his lap, drawing her in securely.
She was held against the broad, hairy surface of his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath her ear. The scent of him, raw sweat and maleness, was comforting and familiar. He smoothed her hair and murmured endearments, his arms enfolding her in a warm, safe haven. She felt herself relaxing deeply. Her teeth stopped chattering.
How could he be so gentle with her, right after he’d dispatched two assailants with unnerving skill and ease? On some level, violence came just as naturally to him as it did to the brutal men who’d come here in search of him. She didn’t think she would ever be comfortable with that side of him. But he had proven that he was capable of empathy and selflessness. He was true to his own code of honor. And he loved her. That was more than enough to work with.
“When I heard a sound from downstairs,” Ethan murmured, “the first thing I did was go to your room. I saw you were missing.”
“I went to the library for a book,” Garrett said, and told him about hearing the geese, and being seized by Mr. Beacom. “He broke my whistle,” she finished, pressing her face to his smooth shoulder, her lashes turning wet. “He dropped it to the floor and stepped on it.”
Ethan cradled her more closely, his lips gently brushing the crest of her cheek. “I’ll give you another one, little love.” He ran a tender hand over her back, the warmth of his palm settling at the center of her spine. “And then I’ll settle the score with Beacom.”
Garrett stirred uneasily against him. “You’ve already thrashed him quite soundly.”
“That’s not enough.” Ethan angled her head to have another look at the abrasion on her temple. “He’s the one who hit you, isn’t he? For that I’ll beat him into a bloody puddle on the ground. All except for the head. I’m going to take the head and use the skull for—”
“I don’t want you to do that,” she said, mildly alarmed by his quiet savagery. “Revenge isn’t going to help anything.”
“It will help me.”
“No, it won’t.” She guided his face to hers. “Promise you won’t go near any of those men.”
He didn’t answer, his mouth set in sullen lines.
“Besides,” Garrett added, “there isn’t time. We have to leave for London right away, before Sir Jasper discovers what’s happened.”
Ethan spoke in a deliberately neutral tone. “’Tis best if I go to London on my own, while you stay here.”
Garrett’s head jerked up, and she looked at him with a mixture of surprise and outrage. “Why would you say that? How can you even think of leaving without me?”
“When I saw Gamble holding a gun to your head . . .” Ethan gave her a haunted glance. “I’ve never been afraid of anything in my life until tonight. It would break me to lose you. I’d have to be put down like a lame horse. Let me handle what I must while knowing you’re safe, and then I’ll come back for you.”
“And leave me to agonize every minute that you’re gone?” Garrett asked, shaping her hand to his taut cheek. “I’m no helpless damsel to be kept waiting in a tower, Ethan. Nor do I want to be worshipped like some marble goddess on a pedestal. I want to be loved as an equal partner who belongs at your side. And you need me there.”
Ethan’s gaze sank inside her, down to places in her heart that were reserved only for him. A long moment passed before he looked away, cursed, and scrubbed his fingers through his short, disheveled hair. As she waited for him to come to a decision, Garrett nuzzled her face against the warm column of his throat.
“All right,” he said reluctantly. “We’ll go together.”
She drew back and smiled at him.
“You won’t always have your way,” Ethan warned, seeming none too pleased by the situation.
“I know.”
“And I will keep you on a pedestal . . . if only a small one.”
“Why is that?” she asked, toying with the soft curls on his chest.
“First . . . you are a goddess to me, and that will never change. Second . . .” He curved his fingers over the back of her head, and brought her mouth close to his. “. . . I’m too tall for you to reach the good parts of me, otherwise.”
Garrett’s soft breath of laughter fanned against his lips. “My dear love,” she whispered, “all of you is the good parts.”
By daybreak, they were ready to depart for the railway station in the nearby market town of Alton. Although West had offered to accompany them to London, it had been agreed that he would be of more use staying at Eversby Priory with Jenkyn’s three agents in his custody. They were being kept in the root cellar under the close supervision of the Ravenel servants, who were collectively outraged that anyone would dare force their way into the manor.
“If any of them give you trouble,” Ethan said to West as the three of them walked out to the front drive where the family carriage awaited, “use this.” He handed him the Bull Dog pocket revolver. “It’s a double-action model. You only need to cock the hammer once, and it will fire a round with every pull of the trigger.”
West regarded the gun dubiously. “If any of those louts give me trouble, I have a shed full of farming implements to use on them. You’ll need this if you’re planning to confront Jenkyn.”
“We’ll be armed with something far more powerful than bullets,” Garrett told him.
West looked at Ethan with mock alarm. “You’re taking the spoon?”
Reluctant amusement tugged at the corner of Ethan’s lips. “No. Dr. Gibson means we’ll be armed with words.”
“Words,” West repeated doubtfully, pocketing the revolver. “I’ve always been skeptical when people say ‘The pen is mightier than the sword.’ It’s only true if the pen is glued to the handle of a German steel cutlass.”
“The words will be printed in a newspaper,” Garrett said. “We’re going to the Times office.”
“Oh. That’s fine, then. The Times is mightier than the pen, the sword, and Her Majesty’s entire Royal Army.” West offered his hand to help Garrett into the carriage, and she ascended to the movable step. Pausing to look back at West, who was now at eye level, she smiled with such warmth that Ethan felt a sting of jealousy. He had to remind himself that West had been a friend and ally to Garrett during one of the most difficult times of her life.
“You may not be the most highly trained surgical assistant I’ve ever had,” she told West, her eyes twinkling, “but you are my favorite.” She leaned forward to kiss his cheek.
After Garrett had gone into the carriage, West grinned at Ethan’s expression. “There’s no need to glare daggers at me,” he said. “As delightful as Dr. Gibson is, she doesn’t have the makings of a farmwife.”