“I suppose I'm going to have to save you now,” she grumbled. “You're certainly not worth the gallows.”
“You're too kind.”
Caroline shook a pillow out of its case, wadded up the cloth—the highest quality linen, she noted, probably purchased with her money—and pressed it against Percy's wound. “We have to stop the bleeding,” she said.
“It appears to have slowed down,” Percy admitted.
“Did the bullet go straight through?”
“I don't know. Hurts like the devil, but I don't know if it's supposed to hurt more if it goes through or gets stuck in the muscle.”
“I imagine they're both quite painful,” Caroline said, lifting the wadded pillowcase and examining the wound. She turned him gently and looked at his back. “I think it went through. You've a hole in the back of your shoulder as well.”
“Trust you to injure me twice.”
“You lured me into your room under the pretense of needing a cup of tea for a head cold,” she snapped, “and then you tried to rape me! What did you expect?”
“Why the hell did you bring a gun?”
“I always carry a gun,” she replied. “I have since … well, never you mind.”
“I wouldn't have gone through with it,” he muttered.
“How was I to know that?”
“Well, you know I've never liked you.”
Caroline pressed her makeshift bandage against Percy's bloody shoulder with perhaps a touch more force than was necessary. “What I know,” she spat out, “is that you and your father have always quite liked my inheritance.”
“I think I dislike you more than I like your inheritance,” Percy grumbled. “You're too bossy by half, you're not even pretty, and you've the serpent's own tongue.”
Caroline clamped her mouth into a grim line. If she had a sharp way of speaking, it wasn't her fault. She'd learned quickly that her wits were her only defense against the parade of horrible guardians she'd been forced to endure since her father's passing when she was ten. First there had been George Liggett, her father's first cousin. He hadn't been such a bad sort, but he certainly didn't know what to do with a small girl. So he'd smiled at her once—just once, mind you—told her he was happy to meet her, and then tossed her into a country home with a nurse and governess. And then he proceeded to ignore her.
But George had died, and her guardianship had passed on to his first cousin, who was no relation of hers or her father's. Niles Wickham was a mean old miser who'd seen a ward as a good substitute for a serving girl, and he'd immediately given her a list of chores longer than her arm. Caroline had cooked, cleaned, ironed, polished, scrubbed, and swept. The only thing she hadn't done was sleep.
Niles, however, had choked on a chicken bone, turned quite purple, and died. The courts were at a bit of a loss as to what to do with Caroline, who at fifteen seemed too well-bred and wealthy to toss into an orphanage, so they passed her guardianship on to Archibald Prewitt, Niles's second cousin. Archibald had been a lewd man who'd found Caroline entirely too attractive for her comfort, and it was then that she began her habit of keeping a weapon on her person at all times. Archibald had had a weak heart, however, and so Caroline had only had to live with him for six months before she attended his funeral and was packed off to live with his younger brother Albert.
Albert drank too much and used his fists, which resulted in Caroline's learning how to run fast and hide well. Archibald may have tried to grope her on every occasion, but Albert was a mean drunk, and when he struck her, it hurt. She also became quite adept at smelling spirits from across a room. Albert never raised a hand against her when he was sober.
But, unfortunately, Albert was rarely sober, and in one of his drunken rages he kicked his horse so hard that his horse kicked him back. Right in the head. By then Caroline was quite used to moving about, so as soon as the surgeon pulled the sheet over Albert's face, she packed her bag and waited for the courts to decide where to send her next.
She soon found herself residing with Albert's younger brother Oliver and his son, the currently bleeding Percy. At first Oliver had seemed the best of the bunch, but Caroline quickly realized that Oliver cared for nothing so much as money. Once he learned that his ward came with a rather large portion, he decided that Caroline—and her money—would not escape his grasp. Percy was only a few years older than Caroline, so Oliver announced that they would marry. Neither of the prospective couple was pleased by this plan, and they said so, but Oliver didn't care. He needled Percy until Percy agreed, and then he set about convincing Caroline that she ought to become a Prewitt.
“Convincing” entailed screaming at her, slapping her about, starving her, locking her in her room, and finally ordering Percy to get her with child so that she'd have to marry him.
“I'd rather bring it up a bastard than a Prewitt,” Caroline muttered.
“What was that?” Percy asked.
“Nothing.”
“You're going to have to leave, you know,” he said, abruptly changing the subject.
“Believe me, that fact is quite clear.”
“Father told me that if I don't get you with child, he'll take care of it himself.”
Caroline very nearly threw up. “I beg your pardon?” she said, her voice uncharacteristically shaky. Even Percy was preferable to Oliver.