2
Philip Blade, Baron Eaglestone, regretted his moment of weakness last night when he paid a visit to his mistress, as soon as he had climbed into her bed. He had already bidden farewell to her for good last month. Veronica was a passionate lady and as such was hard to let go, even if she was a candidate for Bedlam. Tonight’s episode proved his theory correct. Next time he wouldn’t be swayed! He might also decide to stay off the drink…or at least off champagne as it tended to make him forget his resolve to stay clear of her. Yes, he’d stick to brandy from now on. That was a much better idea.
Philip bit back a silent groan. His head was pounding to high heaven. What had he done? The naked woman beside him warmed his bare chest. In fact she warmed his entire body. As he lay in her bed, he watched the gentle rise and fall of Veronica’s breath until he was absolutely sure she was in deep sleep. He gingerly slid his arm out from underneath her neck and crept out of the bed. He didn’t dare breathe in case he woke her.
His head didn’t help matters. The room swayed in and out of focus as he made his way around it collecting various items of his clothing. He pulled on his trousers, cursing fashion’s current love of the figure-hugging pantaloons as they were dastardly to get into in a hurry. He shoved his shirt over his head and thrust his arms through the sleeves. Every few seconds he chanced a peak at Veronica’s sleeping form. Once he’d shrugged into his coat, he went in search of his boots. They had to be somewhere! This was ridiculous, they couldn’t have just disappeared. He got down on his hands and knees and searched under the bed and the many flouncy chairs in the room. Nowhere.
Damn. He stood up. Where the hell had they gone? He looked about the room once more. Veronica favoured the floral side of decorating. There were roses everywhere. In fact the multitude of flowers springing from the wall coverings, the chairs, the cushions and the bedspread did nothing to abate the queasiness in his gut. Alcohol he consumed earlier that evening threatened to make a reappearance on Veronica’s beige carpet, the one object in the room that was not covered in the God-awful roses.
Breathing shallowly through his mouth to stop any regurgitation, Philip finally remembered what had happened to his boots. With one last glance at Veronica’s sleeping form he crept from the room and down her stairs, retrieving his boots along the way. How he had managed to get them off while climbing the stairs without breaking his neck, or dropping Veronica, was beyond him.
At last he stepped outside and closed the door softly behind him, thankful that he had managed to make a clean getaway. He cut through Hyde Park to make it home before his sister found him missing. She was liable to put a search party out for him. The last thing he needed was his friend, Lord Bingham, finding out he had gone back to Veronica. Not after last time. He still hadn’t heard the last of it, and he had no desire to add to his torment.
A thundering of hooves broke into his reflections. “Who in their right mind would be out riding at this hour?” he muttered to himself. “They’ll kill themselves running their horse at that speed in the dark.”
He climbed a small rise and stopped dead at the sight that greeted him. A lone rider was riding hell-bent-for-leather with three others chasing after him. The rider in the front skirted around a row of trees while the three others split up and circled around to the front. The lone rider didn’t stand a chance.
Philip’s blood ran cold when he saw one of the trio raise his arm. Philip called out a warning. But he was too late. A shot rang out and the horse fell. A woman’s scream startled him into action. They had just shot at a woman! She flew from the saddle and landed hard. She didn’t move. What the hell was going on?
He took off down the hill, running faster than he ever thought possible, his heart pounding in his chest. He cut through the garden, the smell of roses thick in the air, the scent practically choking him with their aroma. He doubted he would be able to smell roses again without reliving this moment.
The men approached the fallen horse and dismounted. There was something wrong about them. Something other than chasing down a woman in the middle of the night and shooting her horse, that is. There was something about the way they rode, something about the way they approached the fallen woman and her horse. Philip couldn’t put his finger on it as he ran faster across the manicured lawn.
One of the men bent down and patted the horse on the neck. The man’s soothing whisper carried clearly through the crisp night air. The horse’s whimpers settled at his calming words and it lay quietly before the man.
Another shot rang through the air and the horse gave one last jerk as the bullet entered its head.
Philip supposed that along with the bullet hole, the poor creature had broken its leg when it fell. If that was the case, there was nothing that could be done for it.
The man rose and walked slowly, calmly towards the fallen woman. This time he crouched close to her and whispered in her ear. Philip couldn’t hear his words but pushed himself harder when he saw the woman stir. The man ran his hands over her body, whether he was looking for something or obtaining some sick pleasure from the situation, was unclear in the half light. The man pressed the muzzle of his gun to the woman’s temple.
“Stop!” Philip panted. He didn’t think he could make it to her in time. “Stop!” he yelled louder when they didn’t hear him. With his heart in his throat, Philip shouted as loud as he possibly could across the remaining distance. He forced himself to run faster still towards them. He had no weapon, but he could not watch while they killed a defenceless person, and a woman at that.
The man crouching over the woman lifted his head at Philip’s shout. He very calmly rose and considered Philip as though he had all the time in the world, but then he drew back his foot and kicked the woman in the head. A sickening crack rang through the air. The man turned and remounted his horse and left. The other two men got back in their saddles, swung their horses around and followed him through the park just as the sun broke the surface of the horizon.
Bile rose up Philip’s throat as he came within reach of the fallen woman. Was she even still alive? There’d been no movement since she had been kicked. Philip stumbled the last few steps, not able to run any further. Considering his bloodstream was full of liquor, he was amazed he’d made it this far. He crumpled to his hands and knees, gasping for breath as he took in her appearance.
She was lying on her side facing away from him. Her hat had fallen off and was a few feet away from her. She was wearing the latest fashion, but not a riding habit. The fact that it was a carriage dress did not escape his notice, even in his distress. What was she doing wearing an afternoon walking dress at this time of day? Her pelisse was dark in colour and didn’t catch the light of the rising sun. The bust was torn, as was one of the sleeves, showing the pale fabric of the dress underneath. It was high quality and well made. From his sister’s trips to the modiste, Philip knew how expensive such an ensemble was. This was no ill-bred woman, but a lady of quality. Questions as to who she was and where she had come from bombarded him.
Her black hair fell across her face. He gently brushed it aside and saw it was covered in blood. His breath stuck in his throat. Her face was a mess.
The one blue eye he could see was almost swollen shut, the skin around it turning black. Blood covered the lower half of her face and was still seeping out of her nose. There was a cut under her chin, but it was hard to tell with all the blood as to how deep it was. All of this was nothing compared to the large contusion emerging just under the hairline behind her ear. Blood oozed from her ear, trickled down her delicate throat, the red a vast contrast to the pale skin. A surge of protectiveness for this vulnerable stranger consumed him. His hands knotted into tight fists at the sight of what those men had done to her.
Philip wasn’t sure what to do. He ran his hand softly along her arm and whispered soothing words to her eerily still form. “It’s all right…I’m here now… You’re safe now, I’ve got you.” The words were meaningless, but nevertheless offered him comfort, even if she couldn’t hear them.
He needed to get her out