Page 5 of Master of Games
Fear beat in her chest as she lifted her head. “Missus Banks!” she cried. “Help!”
CHAPTER TWO
Tabbie grabbed the sides of Ironheart’s face. “Dear lord, please don’t be dead.”
“I am a god among men, but praying to me is hardly necessary.” His gray-green eyes opened to meet hers, his lips tugging at the corners.
Despite her fear, she huffed out a breath. “You’re all right then.”
“Hardly,” his eyes closed again, pain pulling at the edges. “But if anyone can see me through, it’s you.”
“You’ve that much confidence in me?”
“I have a great deal of faith in your stubbornness and tenacity,” he answered. His eyes remained closed, but one corner of his mouth tugged up in an attempt at a smile.
“You are incorrigible.”
“But you still love me?”
Tabbie clucked her tongue even as she wrapped an arm under his shoulders. “All the world loves you, Ironheart. You don’t need my affection.”
“I disagree. There is never enough.” His hand lifted up to cover hers, which belatedly, she realized was resting on his chest.
His fingers closed in around the back of her hand and despite the dire situation, she felt her pulse skip at his touch.
“Oh my goodness, gracious!” Mrs. Banks cried from the stairs.
“Missus Banks,” she said, her head snapping up. “Please gather as many footmen as you can to bring His Grace inside and send one of them to fetch Dr. Merigold as quickly as possible.”
“His Grace?” Mrs. Banks cried, her eyes going wide.
“Quickly,” she replied, knowing that time was of the essence and she’d wasted enough of it.
Mrs. Banks spun on her heel, lifting her skirts as she rushed back into the house.
“See,” Ironheart murmured through pale lips, “I feel better in your care already.”
But Tabbie didn’t answer as she trailed her eyes over his body looking for the cause of all the blood.
She found it, blood oozing in alarming amounts from his arm. “What happened?”
“Shot,” he answered, his fingers sliding across the back of her hand.
“Where?”
“My arm.”
She huffed, even as she smoothed the blood-covered sleeve over his arm. “I can see that. I meant where were you in the country of England that you ended up in Dover, of all places, with a gunshot wound?”
“Kingsdown,” he answered with a sigh.
That told her almost nothing. Part of her wished to ask why he’d been in Kingsdown, but she tried a different line of questioning instead.
“Who shot you?” Her fingers slid up to brush his hair back from his forehead as worry pulled at her gut. She just wanted to keep him talking. If she could do that, perhaps she could keep him alive.
“Whitehouse, of course.”
She gasped. But that meant that the fugitive, Lord Severus Whitehouse, was close.
