Page 117 of A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Heirs

“Up here,” the other giant called from a balcony above them.

Ashton took the lead. His medical bag clutched in his fist, he bounded up the stairs as if he were ten years younger.

Hartley—one, two, she couldn’t be sure—pointed to a room.

Juliana sucked in a breath at Victor’s ghostly appearance. The soft glow of lamplight illuminated what the dark shadows of the back passageway had hidden. Stripped to his waist, Victor lay on the bed, pale as death, eyes closed, while Mr. Grey pressed a cloth—dark with blood—to Victor’s side.

Nash leaned against a wall, arms crossed and brow furrowed as he watched the tableau before him.

As they entered the room, Ashton’s gaze snapped momentarily to Nash. “Did you do this?”

“Don’t tell me you’re putting credence in those rags now, Harry. For once, I’m innocent. And although I tried to catch the culprit, he slipped from my fingers.”

“Hmm.” Ashton muttered, returning his attention to Victor. “Putting pressure on it. Good, Grey.”

Mr. Grey stepped aside so Ashton could examine Victor, his voice tense as he said, “Bullet went through him. I packed the wound on his back with a cloth, which appears to be where the bullet entered, but the bleeding . . .” He shot Juliana an apologetic glance.

Dizzy, Juliana grabbed a nearby table for support, the edges of her vision growing dim and her knees giving way from under her. For the first time since everything had happened, a sharp pain lanced at her side.

Nash rushed over and led her to a chair.

Ashton and Mr. Grey’s voices grew distant. “The question is, Grey. If Pratt shielded Miss Merrick’s body, and the bullet when through from back to front, how did it miss her?”

The last thing Juliana remembered was Nash saying, “It didn’t.”

Victor was in hell.Fire licked him from the inside out, searing muscle and bone. His throat burned, but he forced out the one word that mattered— “Juliana”—before blissful darkness swallowed him whole.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity—for what was hell but ceaseless torture—his insides cooled. His eyelids felt glued together and as heavy as lead. Yet he forced them open.

Blurred figures formed in front of him. “Pratt. Do you know who I am?”

The man’s voice was familiar, and Victor struggled to focus his vision, recognizing the duke. “Ashton,” he croaked out, then added, “water.”

The duke disappeared from Victor’s view, then returned and held a glass to Victor’s lips. “Just a sip.”

A sip?!Parched, Victor wanted to drink an ocean, yet he obeyed. Cool and soothing, the tiny bit of water slipped down his throat like a balm. “Juliana? Is she safe?”

“She’s recovering at Burwood’s.”

Recovering?!The word hit like a blade. Pain slashed through Victor’s side as he surged upright. “She’s injured? I thought . . .”

Ashton grasped Victor’s shoulders and pushed him back onto the bed. “Easy. You’ll pull your stitches. We all thought the bullet had missed her. Thanks to you, I might add. But it exited you and nicked her side. It’s a minor flesh wound, and Dr. Somersby is taking excellent care of her.”

Juliana’s home? Victor blinked, his vision slowly sharpening on the unfamiliar room around him—the flocked wallpaper, the soft flicker of lamplight, muffled voices outside the walls. “Where am I?”

Ashton lifted the water to Victor’s lips and allowed him to take another sip. “AtThe Knave. I advised Mr. Grey that you were in no condition to be moved.”

Even Victor’s arms felt limp and useless, but using all his willpower, he grabbed Ashton’s forearm. “I need to see her. To make sure with my own eyes she’s going to be all right.”

“That’s not possible at the moment. But someone is here to see you. Shall I send them in?”

The only person Victor wanted to see was Juliana, but perhaps whoever was there could give him more information. “Very well.”

Ashton opened the door. “Do not upset him.” The sternness in the duke’s voice made Victor lift his head to see who was there, and he quickly second guessed his permission as his mother strode in. Thank goodness Father and Cilla were with her.

His mother held a handkerchief to her bosom. “Victor! Victor! We’ve been waiting for days to see you. What were you thinking doing something so foolish?”

Days?

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