Page 56 of Fatal By Design
Carrigan removed his jacket and ripped the sleeve of his shirt, tearing the threads at the shoulder seam. “Here, use this.” He handed the strip of cloth to Thornton, who took it and wrapped it around Audrey’s thigh. He tied it off in a knot, and when she answered with a gasp of pain, her cheeks draining of color, Hugh gritted his teeth. “Well? Her leg, Thornton, do you need to remove the bullet?”
“No. It seems to only be a deep graze. Sutures will be necessary, but it can wait until we are back at Greenbriar. You will be just fine, Your Grace.”
Hugh closed his eyes with relief, and Audrey leaned against him, her head resting against his chest. As she took deep breaths, he gave up resisting and brushed his lips to her forehead. He didn’t care who saw what.
“What about Mr. Faradiddles here?” Sir asked, gesturing toward Henley, who had indeed been brimming over with all his lies. He lay unmoving in the ferns. Fournier crouched and rolled him over. A moment later, he shook his head.
“Dead.”
Hugh disregarded the clenching in his chest. In all the years he’d been a Bow Street officer, he’d only shot and killed one man—his own half-brother, Thomas. Now, Henley. He did not regret what had needed to be done. Had Henley lived, he would have only been sent to the noose anyhow.
“Come.” Hugh wrapped his arms around Audrey and lifted her to her feet, though she hissed and moaned when she finally stood. “Hold onto my neck,” he instructed, and then as gently as possible, hooked her legs, lifted them, and cradled her in his arms.
“I can walk.” Her protest was predictable. She hated being vulnerable. Despised admitting she was fragile. But she was. As strong and fierce and courageous as she was, she was far from impervious. His desire to protect her, shield her, had only increased since their night together. And yet, he also knew she would never have permitted such mollycoddling had she not been bleeding from a gunshot wound.
“I know you can,” he told her. “You are a marvel. But even marvels need assistance once in a while.”
She opened her mouth, to object again, most likely. But Lady Redding cut her off.
“Let the viscount carry you, sister.” She glanced over Cartwright’s shoulder as he guided her into the woods, toward the road, and smiled warmly at Audrey. “You’ve been brave enough for one day.”
ChapterNineteen
“Why is this so much worse than when I was shot in the shoulder?”
Audrey’s fingers, laced with Hugh’s, squeezed as Lord Thornton made a final suture and knotted the thin black floss. While she’d seen the deep, angry path the bullet had made along her outer thigh during Lord Thornton’s thorough cleaning of the area, and knew the injury was a mere four-inch graze—an extremely lucky graze that could have been far worse—her whole leg burned and throbbed.
“I suspect it is because you are conscious this time,” the physician said, glancing up from his work with a wry arch of his brow.
When she’d been shot in the shoulder at the Thames, the bullet had torn through, front to back before she’d plunged into cold water. She’d been near delirious when Hugh had delivered her to St. James’s Square, into the care of his trusted friend.
“I think you must be correct,” she said, at least grateful the suturing process was now over.
Nausea had made her dizzy, and she collapsed against Hugh’s side, shivering in a cold sweat as Lord Thornton next began wrapping clean cotton linen around her thigh. She and Hugh sat on her bed at Greenbriar, with Lord Thornton perched on the edge as he worked. Hugh had held her the entire time the wound had been cleaned and stitched. Lord Thornton had cleared the room of all but Greer, who had refused to leave and instead, dutifully assisted with bringing hot water, clean cloths, and fetching certain items from Lord Thornton’s medical bag.
Audrey’s ruined stockings and drawers had been removed for the procedure, and her skirt positioned as modestly as possible, but she was unexpectedly at ease with Lord Thornton’s ministrations. If Hugh trusted him explicitly, then so would she.
“There,” Lord Thornton said, finishing with the cotton linen. “That will need changing tomorrow morning. I will check on the state of the sutures then. We will also watch for a fever. But I am confident you will heal well, Your Grace.”
Audrey reached for his hand as he made to stand. “Please, call me Audrey.”
He glanced at Hugh briefly, as if seeking approval, and then nodded. “With pleasure. And I would be honored if you would call me Grant,” he said, then cocked a sly grin. “Though generally, Iamon first name terms with every patient I’ve treated north of the ankle.”
It might have been the pain or the release of tension, but his quip brought out a spate of giddy laughter.
“All right, all right,” Hugh said when she failed to smother it. “He isn’t that humorous.”
A knock landed on the closed door to the bedchamber and when it opened, Cassie swept inside, concern etched on her stricken face. “It’s been ages,” she said. “How is she?”
Lord Thornton stood and plunged his hands into the basin of water on the bedside table as Cassie hurried toward the bed.
“There is no need to worry, I promise,” Audrey said as she lowered her skirt to cover the wrapped thigh.
“Her Grace was very lucky,” Lord Thornton said while drying off his hands.
Audrey knew it was true. Mr. Henley had been about to shoot Millie in the leg when Sir’s rock had come sailing through the window and his pistol had discharged without aim. That bullet could have gone into one of their hearts or heads.
Cassie let out a long exhale as the worry that had plainly been torturing her lifted. Perhaps the same sudden and giddy relief that had caused Audrey to laugh at Lord Thornton’s teasing comment was to blame for what Cassie did next: She went to the physician and threw her arms around him in an embrace. Lord Thornton stood rigidly, the towel still grasped in his hand and surprise searing his expression.
