Page 43 of The Hired Hero
Lucien reinedhis horse to a halt and stared in frustration at the raging waters.
“Lucien!”
“Over here, Uncle,” he called out. With a last, helpless look at the swollen river, he spurred his mount back to the group of riders that was waiting on the crest of the hill.
“I’m afraid there’s no chance of crossing here,” he reported. “The currents are much too strong.”
The duke’s expression turned even grimmer.
A portly Austrian officer who was accompanying their detachment began to speak in fractured English, drawing puzzled looks all around.
After a slight pause, one of the young adjutants cleared his throat and ventured to speak. “Your Grace, if I understand correctly, the major says that he recalls there is a small bridge not more than a few miles downriver. The rains may not have washed it out.”
The duke waved impatiently at the Austrian. “Well, what are you waiting for? Lead on!”
The young viscount fell in beside his uncle. “I’ve consulted the map with Lieutenant St. John, and once we cross the river, it’s not more than half a day’s ride to the road to Ostend. With luck, we should reach the coast by sometime tomorrow.”
The duke merely nodded, his eyes remaining riveted straight ahead. However, Lucien didn’t miss the subtle clenching of this uncle’s jaw or the fact that his powerful hands tightened convulsively on the reins.
He started to speak again, then thought better of it. He had never seen his relative reduced to such a state. The duke was a man of intimidating presence, whose stoic demeanor might be taken as cold and unfeeling unless one knew better. And even so, there was a certain aloofness to his manner.
It was not always easy to know where one stood with him, mused Lucien. At times, he was almost sure that the duke thought him a dull-witted jackanape and tolerated him only because he was family.
And, in truth, he was fairly certain that Caroline felt much the same.
Caroline.The thought of the danger she was in caused his heart to clench. Lucien knew all too well that she would never shy away from trouble.
If only there were someone to whom she could turn for help.
But alas, he could think of nobody—save for himself—who would understand how to handle her feisty courage well enough to keep her safe.
Lucien gripped his reins harder and slanted a sidelong look at the duke, wondering whether the same fears were plaguing his uncle.
He spurred to a gallop, suddenly understanding his uncle’s overwhelming sense of urgency—as well as the look of worry on his face.
The two of them were all she had.
* * *
Caroline peeled backthe torn fabric and cut through the ragged strips of fabric wrapped around Davenport’s shoulder. She frowned at the sight of the jagged cut, then took up a moistened sponge.
“Ouch!” muttered Davenport.
“Sorry. But it must be done.” She bent back to the task. The wound was actually cleaning up rather nicely, and in the light of day, it didn’t look half so bad as she had feared. After probing gently in a few spots, she was satisfied that no further ministrations were necessary. A liberal dusting of basilicum powder finished off her efforts, and she began to tear the clean length of linen into bandages.
The earl had worn a scowl through the entire process. “I don’t know why females have to make such a fuss over a scratch.”
“A gunshot wound is hardly a thing to treat lightly, sir,” she replied tartly as she wound the last strip into place. “There. Now perhaps you’ll stop growling like a bear at everyone. I’ve asked Lady Davenport’s butler to bring you something to eat. Perhaps that will also serve to improve your disposition.”
The earl made as if to protest, then paused as he took in the dark smudges under her eyes and the sag of her shoulders. “Will you promise me that you’ll lie down and get some rest?” he asked quietly.
Caroline nodded, fighting to keep her eyes from falling shut at that very moment.
A knock at the door announced the arrival of the butler, who was carrying a large tray heaped with food and a steaming pot of tea. The ambrosial scent of grilled ham, eggs, kippered herring and buttered toast filled the room. Following in his wake were two maids with a hip bath, which they placed behind a screen in the corner.
“I took the liberty of asking Dawkins to bring you a full breakfast, as you must be famished by now,” she explained. “He’s also going to try and find you a fresh shirt.” A pause. “Oh—and I thought you might like a bath.”
Feeling a little lightheaded with fatigue, Caroline started to rise, but Davenport caught hold of her arm. He seemed to be searching for words…
