Page 105 of The Duke's Mysterious Lover
The sound of the gunshot was louder than it ought to be in the confines of the carriage, and Thorne jerked as the bulletstruck the side of his head, gouging a line of fire through his hair above his right ear.
And then he and Fawkes hit the cold ground outside. The driver, clearly spooked by the gunshot and the two bodies flying out of his carriage, finally whipped the team into action.
Thorne rolled off his cursing cousin in time to see the vehicle barreling down the street, door still ajar, with no sign of Blackrose.
Fook.
“Thorne? Good Christ, man, that’s a lot of blood.”
Woozily, Thorne allowed his head to rest on the pavement outside Stroken House. Already he could hear Titsworth yelling orders. “It’s a good thing I ken a chemist, then,” he murmured.
“Chemist, hell, we’re going to need a surgeon!”
“Nay, just a scrat—” Thorne suddenly rolled to one side as his stomach heaved, spewing his dinner beside him. It was likely a result of the excitement and fear, but even he could admit this wasn’t good.
Warm hands took him, cradled him, and he looked up at his cousin. His friend, who had become his family. Just as Kit had become a friend, then part of his heart.
Darkness was edging into his vision as Fawkes snapped directions, but Thorne’s lips curled into a grin.
Friends. Family. Lovers. The categoriescouldintermingle, couldn’t they?
As he closed his eyes and allowed the darkness to claim him, he heard his cousin yell, “Find Kit!”
Aye, find Kit. Kit.Love ye, Kit.
Chapter 21
It wasthe longest night of Kit’s life.
She didn’t think she’d ever forget the horror, the spike of terror deep in her gut, when Fawkes and Titsworth carried a body through the front door, covered in blood.
Thorne.
Kit, running down the stairs because she’d heard her name called, had sat straight down, knees refusing to participate.
“Wh—?” she began, but Fawkes had met her eyes. “He’s alive, Kit,” he’d barked out. “He just fainted.”
“Fainted.” Her whisper was dazed as the man carried her love toward her.
“Aye, fainted,” his cousin growled, “and ye can be certain I’ll be reminding him of that on a daily basis. Go ahead of us, lass, and prepare his bed.”
Meanwhile Titsworth had been snapping orders, acting nothing at all like the elderly man he pretended to be. Glad for a direction, Kit gathered the skirts of one of her new gowns and hurried up the stairs ahead of the trio.
By the time they reached Thorne’s chambers, she felt more in control—of herself and the situation. Issuing orders helpedkeep her calm, but it wasn’t until she pressed her palm to Thorne’s chest and felt his steady heartbeat that she was able to breathe a sigh of relief.
“What happened?” she asked quietly.
“Yer father happened.” Fawkes’s expression was grim as he helped undress the supine Thorne. “He was waiting in the carriage and tried to shoot me. This noble idiot threw himself in front of me.”
The bullet had gouged a line across Thorne’s skull over his right ear and forehead. Less than a half-inch to the left, and he’d be dead.
Staring down at his helpless form, Kit shuddered. Fawkes’s hand covered hers.
When she looked up, the other man—with the nose and smile so like Thorne’s—nodded gently. “He’ll be aright, Kit. Thorne has a thick head.”
Her lips twitched slightly and her gaze dropped down to the man she loved. “Aye, he does.”
When she leaned over to kiss his cheek, he was reassuringly warm, and she held onto that knowledge when she was in danger of losing control again.
