First Comes Scandal (Rokesbys #4)(37)

“What does he say?” Wheelock asked.

Nicholas read the few short sentences by the light of Wheelock’s candle. “Not much. Just that he and Georgiana need my help and I’m to go to the old Millston farmhouse.”

“I believe that’s the one—”

“—where Billie sprained her ankle all those years ago, yes. I believe it is still in disrepair, is it not?”

“It is being used for storage, but no one lives there.”

Nicholas yanked on his clothing with fear-fueled haste. “Did Thamesly tell you anything? Is it Georgiana? Is she ill? Has she been injured?”

Wheelock shook his head. “I don’t think so, no. He said that someone else was in need of medical attention.”

“Someone else? Who the devil would be out with her at—” Nicholas looked up toward the clock, but it was too dark to make out the face. “What the hell time is it?”

“Half two, sir.”

Nicholas swore under his breath. Something was very wrong.

“Your boots, sir.” Wheelock held them up. “May I suggest you don them outside, so as to make less noise?”

Nicholas nodded, in both agreement and admiration. “You do think of everything, don’t you?”

“It is my job to do so, sir.”

They slipped out of the room on stockinged feet, moving silently down the grand staircase. Nicholas rarely walked through Crake this late at night. All the Rokesbys tended to turn in early in the country. It wasn’t like London where myriad engagements and entertainments could keep one busy until the wee hours of the morning.

The house was different in the dark. Moonlight whispered through the great hall, casting pale stripes and shadows that slid along the floor and up the walls. Absolute quiet reigned, but the air was oddly expectant, almost as if it were holding its breath, waiting for something—or someone—to pierce the silence.

Nicholas wasn’t sure if he liked it.

At the bottom of the stairs, Wheelock stopped him with a hand to his arm. “Wait for me outside, sir,” he whispered. “I will be there in under a minute.”

Nicholas wanted to argue that they had no time to lose, but Wheelock had dashed off before he could form words, and Nicholas wasn’t about to risk waking the house by calling after him. Instead he made his way outside, pausing on the front steps to finally pull on his boots. A moment later the butler reappeared, his own shoes in hand.

“I am coming with you,” Wheelock said.

“You are?” Nicholas hadn’t expected this.

Wheelock drew back, deeply affronted. “Sir.”

“Can you ride?” Nicholas asked.

“Of course I can.”

Nicholas gave him an approving nod. “Then let’s go.”

ABOUT TEN MINUTES later they approached the old farmhouse, and Nicholas saw a light—presumably from a lantern—glowing from around the side. “This way, I think,” he said to Wheelock, who, it had to be said, was a surprisingly proficient horseman.

They slowed their mounts, made their way around the corner, and Nicholas saw what looked to be three people near the old stone wall that ringed the property. Georgie and Thamesly were both crouching down, tending to a third person who was lying prone, unidentifiable from a distance.

“Georgiana!” he called in a shouted whisper. She looked up, relief evident in her posture.

“I’ll see to the mounts,” Wheelock said as they hopped down from their saddles.

Nicholas handed him the reins and hurried over.

“Georgiana,” he said again. “What is going on? Are you all—” He looked down. “Bloody hell.”

He pulled her aside. “Is that Freddie Oakes?”

Georgie nodded. “He broke his arm.”

Oakes looked ready to spit. “The little b—”

Thamesly stepped on Oakes’s leg. “What did we say about proper language in the presence of a lady?”

“Well done, Thamesly,” Nicholas murmured.

“He also cut his head,” Georgie said. “I’ve slowed the bleeding, but I can’t seem to stop it entirely.” She lifted a bandage she’d been holding against his forehead, near his hairline.

“Bring the light in,” Nicholas said.

Thamesly brought the lantern closer. It was hard to tell with the dried and oozing blood, but Oakes appeared to have a not-too-serious laceration on his temple. The rest of his face was fairly well scraped up but not actively bleeding.

“It seems like he’s lost quite a lot of blood,” Georgie said. “It’s been over an hour since it happened.”

“It almost certainly looks worse than it is,” Nicholas assured her. “The scalp is heavily vascularized. It always bleeds more than other parts of the body.”

“Thank goodness,” she said.

He looked up. “You are concerned for him?”

“I don’t want him to die.”

Nicholas did a quick assessment. He would not be able to make a proper judgment without a full examination, but for now, it looked as if Freddie Oakes was going to be just fine.

“He won’t die,” Nicholas told Georgie. “More’s the pity. Although …” He took a closer look, waving Thamesly closer with the lantern. “I’m a little confused by the discoloration of his blood.”