“My lord,” Dr. Ossie Brainard said, “breathe deeply. I need to listen to your breathing. No, don’t jump when I tap your chest. Miss Helen will see to this fellow.”
“Jack, for God’s sake, go behind that screen. I don’t want Arthur to see you. He might start frothing at the mouth. He just might use that gun on Helen.”
Jack wasn’t about to leave his side. She compromised and moved one foot closer to the very old dressing screen.
“My lord, your breathing gallops. It is far too erratic. Please breathe deeply and don’t excite yourself—something men never seem to learn not to do.”
“If you were marrying her less than a day from now, I daresay you would be exciting yourself as well, particularly with her kidnapper not a dozen feet from her.”
“My lord, you shouldn’t speak of such marital sorts of things in Miss Helen’s hearing. And don’t forget, the fellow has to get past Miss Helen, which even her sire can never manage to do, and Lord Prith is a gentleman of great courage and charm.”
“Miss Helen isn’t listening to my outpourings or to yours, so close your mouth. Jack, dammit, get behind that bloody screen.”
“All right,” Jack said and moved another foot toward it.
They heard Arthur yelling just outside the bedchamber door, “Move aside, you big woman. I am here for Winifrede. Is she in here?
“No, don’t even think to lie to me, I know she’s in there. I saw my carriage. She tried to murder me. She actually kicked me out the open door of my moving carriage, then she stole my carriage and my horses and left me for dead. I’ve come to remove her. Give her to me now.”
Helen turned back into the bedchamber at Gray’s call. One very fair eyebrow was climbing upward. “What do you say, my lord?”
“I’ve never met Arthur, just heard of him. Do show him in, Miss Mayberry. This should prove a treat.”
Arthur Kelburn, eldest son and heir of Lord Rye, ran into the room, then pulled up short at the sight of the young man in the bed and the small, older man hovering over him. It was Gray St. Cyre, Baron Cliffe, the bastard who planned to marry Winifrede and her groats. His chest was naked. What was going on here?
Yes, Arthur had seen the baron once outside of White’s on St. James. How was it possible that he was here, and obviously the center of everyone’s attention?
“Lord Cliffe,” Arthur said, trying his best to stride manfully toward the bed, for the large blond woman was watching him, eyebrows raised. Then the large blond woman was directly in front of him. He shouted around her, “What the devil are you doing here? How could you possibly be here when my carriage is also here? Why the devil are you in bed, with this pathetic little bald man leaning over you?”
“Jack,” Gray said, “you may come out now.”
Jack peered around the end of the screen to see Arthur, red-faced and wet, standing toe to toe with Helen. Jack was quite sure that Arthur wouldn’t go anywhere. Sure enough, he was carrying the burlap sack under his left arm, the bounder.
“There you are,” Arthur yelled, waving his fist toward Jack. “Come out this minute. I will punish you with the sack. You deserve it.”
“I’ve never before disciplined anyone with a sack,” Helen said, stroking her chin thoughtfully. “I will observe to see what you have in mind.”
Jack came out. Arthur nearly leapt at her. Helen said to Arthur with absolutely no inflection at all in her voice, “Move back right this instant or I will throw you out of that window.”
“You’re a female, you’re—” Then Arthur, his survival instincts finally engaging, shut his mouth and took three quick steps back. He cleared his throat. He shoved the sack behind his back. He said, in a winsome voice, “Ah, there you are, Winifrede. Come, where’s your cloak? We must leave now.”
Jack could only stare at him. “Are you mad?”
“No, but if you don’t obey me quickly, I just might become very angry indeed.”
“I wouldn’t go with you if you promised me my favorite sweetmeats.”
He pulled out a gun and aimed it in her general direction. “You’re stubborn. So be it. Come, Winifrede. Now. Oh, I understand what you meant. I believed you were calling me insane when you said ‘mad,’ but you weren’t. I’m not as yet mad or angry with you. You are the mad one, what with kicking me out of my own carriage and then stealing the carriage and my horses.”
Jack sat down on the floor, the old too-long gray gown spread out about her. “If you will just look toward the bed, Arthur, you will see Lord Cliffe, my betrothed, lying there. Unfortunately, I ran him down. If I hadn’t escaped you, then he would have caught up with us quickly enough, and he would probably have wrung your miserable neck. All in all, you’ve been very lucky, more lucky than you deserve.
“Now, you will please leave. Go home. Tell my stepfather and your father that neither of them will get their hands on my dowry. All my groats will be in Gray’s hands. Go away, Arthur.”
“Yes,” said Helen, “do go away. I would also recommend that you change out of those drenched clothes. I wouldn’t want you to become ill.”
“Change out of your wet clothes elsewhere, Arthur,” Gray said. “Leave—now.”
16