Miss Quinn's Quandary (15 page)

This night had been just as warm as the last. A wisp of a cloud
slipped in front of the night’s full moon, illuminating the green of the plants
into silver. Rounding the corner on this side of the crossroads to
Marsgate
, the horses gave a great protest when Sir Randall
brought the rig to a halt.

“Stand and deliver!” announced the booming baritone of a
highwayman dressed in black who occupied the middle of the road atop a black
horse. The black mount pranced in a carefully guided tight circle.
Bussin
’ Billy kept his primed pistol leveled upon his prey.
“I’ll be relieving you of those gems, my lady.”

Larissa’s hand drew to her neck, fingering Lady
Brookhurst’s
garnet necklace before working the clasp loose
and dropping it followed by the bracelet, into her lap.

“You, sir, stay seated. I’ll ask you, my lady, to step down, if
you will.” Keeping his attention keen on Sir Randall,
Bussin
’
Billy dismounted. “If you please, my lord, your valuables and any monetary sums
you may have on your person, hand them to your lovely companion.”

Sir Randall removed his fob from his waistcoat, pulled out his
watch, unfastened his gold studs from his cuffs and pulled out his ruby
stickpin from the folds of his cravat, handing them to Larissa one by one.

“Here, my fair lady, I await a kiss from your sweet lips.”
Keeping the pistol aimed at Sir Randall, Billy held out his other hand for
Larissa.

Sir Randall nudged her forward. “Go ahead, you know he won’t harm
you.”

Larissa stepped toward the highwayman, preparing herself for the
completion of the ritual by delivering a kiss one might bestow upon a hero
instead of a scoundrel. She leaned toward him, the same scent of spice Sir
Randall wore wafted from his cape.

Instead of pulling her close,
Bussin
’
Billy took hold of her arm and tucked it behind her waist, holding her steady
against him. He then took quick but careful aim at Sir Randall and pulled the
trigger.

The pistol spit fire. A blast ripped through the air, echoing
through the night. Larissa could feel the reverberation in her chest. A small
grey cloud of smoke drifted past between her and the stricken Sir Randall, who
fell back against the seat.

Larissa screamed, somehow managed to struggle free, and ran back
to the curricle to Sir Randall’s aid. He lay on the seat, his wounded arm
draped onto the floor. He might have looked as if he were asleep, except for
the growing dark stain on the sleeve of his expensive jacket.

The movement of the horses nearly caused Larissa to lose her balance.
Then the rig lurched forward, sending her toppling over Sir Randall’s leg. She
landed on the seat next to him.

The horses bolted, carrying the occupants of the transport for an
uncontrolled ride. Larissa grasped for the ribbons, sliding from their loose
tether. She managed to gain hold of them and pulled back as hard as she could.

“Stop! Stop! Oh, please stop!” Larissa stood on her feet, leaning
back with all her might, to no avail. The horses ran on.

Sir Randall must have recovered, for the next thing she knew, his
hand came over
hers
and applied the added effort
needed to stop the bolting team. Exhausted, he fell against the squabs.

She secured the ribbons and bent to Sir Randall’s side. “I was
scared to death. I thought he might have killed you.”

“Might have killed me? I knew you would be rid of me, but—are you
disappointed?” Larissa helped Sir Randall sit upright.

“What a horrible thing to say. I would never wish you dead.”

“Well that’s nice to hear,” he managed, gasping for air. She
could see perspiration dotted along his forehead and upper lip. His usual warm
expressive eyes were now vacant and mirrored pain.

“Does it hurt much? Let me see,” Larissa offered. She winced at
the sight of the wound, keeping her touch as light as possible. She lifted his
jacket and pulled it off his shoulder.

“Bloody hell!” he cried through his teeth.

The sleeve of his once smartly tailored jacket lay torn and
soaked with blood. The flesh on his arm Larissa once knew as smooth was torn,
looking angry and raw.

“It hurts enough,” he groaned through clenched teeth.

“I must bind your arm to stop the bleeding.” Larissa lifted the
hem of her gown and tore at her white underskirt. She noticed he chanced a peek
at her stocking-clad limbs. “Really, Sir Randall.” She threw the hem of her
gown over her knees bringing his diversion to an end. “You’re in no position to
make a game of this. You’re seriously hurt.”

“No one knows that better than I. You can’t begrudge me something
to ease the pain.”

“You’ll find that in no way will staring at my garters ease your
pain.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he mused. A gentle smile warmed his ashen
face. “I seem to think my pain has lessened somewhat.”

She pressed a pad onto the wound. “Hold this,” she instructed.
She wrapped his upper arm with the longest strip and pulled the material taut.

“Ouch! Would you please take
care!
”

“Sorry.” She winced in sympathy. Larissa pressed her hand against
his face. His skin was cool to the touch, moist and clammy. She draped his coat
over him for warmth before she took up the ribbons.

Lucky for her, Dorothea had insisted she try her hand at driving
a team. Now she could manage to get them home.

On the way home, Larissa realized how easily she had escaped from
Bussin
’ Billy. And how did they become unwilling
passengers of the runaway rig into the dead of night?

The highwayman must have allowed her to run back to the curricle.
He could have quite easily prevented her from leaving his side. Why did he let
her go?

Turning up the long drive,
Carswell
Castle loomed ahead, looking magical in the moonlight. Larissa knew Sir Randall
needed care as soon as possible, but slowed the horse to navigate over the
narrow bridge spanning the moat. Once inside the fortress walls, she followed
the gravel path to the main house.

Up ahead parked next to the house was a black phaeton. To her
knowledge it was not one Lord Melton owned.

Sir Randall’s eyes opened to narrow slits, managing a brief look.
“Thank God the doctor’s here,” he slurred before his head lulled back on the
squabs.

“The doctor?” She looked at Sir Randall and laid a protective
hand on his shoulder. Something was wrong, she could feel it. Larissa slowed
the horses to give herself time to ponder the conundrum set before her.

She still could not comprehend why the doctor was there. True,
Sir Randall needed a physician, but how had it happened one had arrived? No one
at the Castle could have known of Sir Randall’s plight. The doctor must have
been called to attend to someone else. Exactly what had happened for someone to
need a doctor? Larissa would not allow Sir Randall or herself to be lured into
a trap. The situation called for caution, and careful she would be.

“We’re back at the castle.” She roused Sir Randall. “It’s time to
go in.”

“What?” he groaned, lifting his
head.

“Can you manage to walk into the house?”

A smile waned across his face. “If I can hold onto you for
support, I’m sure I can manage.” He pushed himself upright to disembark.

Larissa pulled his greatcoat over his shoulders, covering the
traces of his injury.

“You might need to steady me. I’m not sure how well I am able to
remain upright.”

“That’s all right.” She coaxed him closer, slipping her right arm
around his back, taking some of his weight. “Just lean on me as much as you
need.” Larissa could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

“How are you to explain my condition?”

“I imagine I shall think of something.” It was the least of her
worries. What concerned her more was what awaited her inside. With Sir Randall
draped over her shoulder, Larissa moved forward.

The front door opened and they entered.

With the light of the foyer, she could see the loss of blood had
made Sir Randall pale. The Marquess of Melton and Lord William emerged from the
parlor. The trill of Lady
Brookhurst
rang through the
hall, permeating the air.

“What has happened?” Larissa asked. The shock on her face could
only be equaled by the shock on Lord William’s when he saw Sir Randall.

“We’ve been held up by
Bussin
’ Billy.”
Lord Melton mopped his brow with a handkerchief.

“Was anyone hurt?” she asked, concerned beyond measure since Sir
Randall had been wounded.

“Lady
Brookhurst
is suffering from
spasms, the physician is attending to her now.” Lord Melton pocketed his fine
linen handkerchief. “It was Dorothea,” the
marquess
explained. “The scoundrel called her for a buss and she shot the cur. Had a
pistol hidden in her
muff.
It was horrible! Horrible!
I saw it all with my own two eyes.”

As if on cue, Dorothea emerged from the parlor, joining them.

“Dorothea was so brave. She saved us all!” He planted a kiss on
her outstretched hand.

Dorothea seemed quite calm with all that had happened. Her wide
eyes inspected Sir Randall’s crumpled form. “Whatever is the matter with Sir
Randall?”

“Nothing nearly so tragic. He has once again overindulged.” Larissa
gave him a loving glance. “I best get him off to bed.”

“Let me give you a hand,” Lord William offered. He took up Sir
Randall’s left side and bore most of the baronet’s weight up the stairs.
Larissa sensed Lord William’s confusion.

Sir Randall had been adamant about their friendship. Larissa knew
he could be trusted. Lord William remained quiet until they had reached the
privacy of Sir Randall’s room.

They laid the groaning Sir Randall onto his bed. His head lulled
back and half fell onto his pillow. It was not the look of someone who’s drunk
deep. He had the look of someone who had lost a lot of blood.

Lord William retrieved the light as Larissa made Sir Randall
comfortable.

“What ails him?” Lord William asked. Something in his voice told
Larissa he hadn’t believed the drinking tale, and now he wanted the truth.

Larissa gave a somber stare and drew aside Sir Randall’s
greatcoat, revealing a large red stain on his right arm.

“My God, he’s been shot! I’ll get the doctor. I’m sure he hasn’t
left yet.”

“No!” Larissa grabbed Lord William’s sleeve before he could get
away.

“Why on earth not?”

“It’s all so confusing, so complicated.” Larissa could not
prevent her tears from spilling. “I don’t think they believe what happened to
him. Don’t you think it’s a bit peculiar Sir Randall and
Bussin
’
Billy were shot on the same night and in the same place?”

“It would seem that someone would want him mistaken for the
highwayman.” Lord William stood his ground. “Do you have proof to indicate
otherwise?”

“You know it isn’t true.” She loosened Sir Randall’s cravat.
“Please, you must help me.”

Lord William drew his pocket knife and sliced the Weston
masterpiece away, exposing the bloodied shirt from the wound. He rolled Sir
Randall onto his side to examine his arm. The ball had torn a good chunk of his
flesh away, but had not hit the bone. “If we clean the wound and keep him
still, he should be all right.”

Lord William moved to the dressing table and dispensed a portion
of water into the basin. He slid aside something and set the pitcher down when
he finished. Returning to the bed he handed a clean towel to Larissa who had
finished removing the blood-caked bandage.

“I don’t know if you’ll ever believe me. We were held up,”
Larissa explained. “The highwayman, it was
Bussin
’
Billy. He stole the necklace and bracelet loaned to me by Lady
Brookhurst
and he took Sir Randall’s pocket watch and ruby
stickpin.”

Lord William glanced over his shoulder, straightened and returned
to the dressing table. “You mean these?” Lord William held out his hand
displaying several glittering objects. A ruby stickpin, gold studs, and a
watch.

Larissa began to feel faint. “It’s impossible, they were stolen.”
Her words came out in a gasp.

“Apparently, they have managed to find their way home.”

Larissa did not know whether Lord William believed her or not,
but he did not hold disbelief in his voice. “Do you suppose Lady
Brookhurst’s
jewels have returned as well?”

“I cannot imagine why not,” William drawled with trepidation.
“Shall I inquire?”

“No,” Larissa answered in a quick burst. “We must see to Randall
first.” A strange feeling came over her. Perhaps she was going mad. She could
not have imagined the horrible events of that evening.

“Ah, yes, ministrations to the needy.” He looked down at his
friend, to the affected arm in particular, at different angles. “It’s taken out
a good chunk but there’s no lead in there. We’ll need to cauterize that wound,
though.” Lord William seemed to know exactly what to do.

“Won’t he cry out?” Larissa didn’t need the entire household
coming to his aid.

“No, we’ll lose him before he gets around to screaming.”

My, he was taking all this casually. “What do you want me to do?”

“Get the brandy, we’ll need to give him some tolerance first.”
Larissa brought back the decanter and a glass while he propped Sir Randall up
onto the pillows. Lord William held the glass while Larissa poured. He
positioned himself next to his friend. “He isn’t pretty when he’s been drinking,”
Lord William said, dribbling the brandy down Sir Randall’s throat.

Sir Randall tried to resist the alcohol.

“Thank you for the warning.” At least that was one aspect she had
been spared, until now.