The Wicked Governess (Blackhaven Brides Book 6)(61)

“I do?” she said, enchanted.

He smiled, raising her hand to his lips and kissing her fingers, then her knuckles. “I love you, Caroline Grey. Please don’t leave me again.”

She frowned. “I didn’t leave you, precisely. I had to…” She broke off, her eyes widening. “Peter! Peter is ill. I had to go to him this time. Have I missed the mail coach? Where am I?”

She struggled to sit, but his hand on her good shoulder pressed her back into the pillows.

“Be still,” he said severely. “I know, Richard explained to me. Yes, you have missed the mail coach, because we haven’t yet made it to Carlisle. We brought you to the nearest inn, where, not three hours ago, I dug a rifle ball out of your arm. Which explains why you are not going anywhere for a couple of days.”

“But I feel fine,” she protested. “And Peter—you don’t understand—he cries for me when he’s ill, for my sister cannot abide sickness and goes to pieces and my mother… Well, she was used to servants doing her bidding and has no idea how to nurse, and Peter might die!”

“Drink this,” he said, sliding one arm under her shoulders and holding a cup of water to her lips. She drank it obediently, though it tasted peculiar, for she was very thirsty. And besides, there was something beguiling in being held in his strong arm against his chest. It did strange things to her heart and her stomach.

“I understand from Richard,” he said calmly, easing her gently back on to the pillows, “that your sister asked for money rather than your presence, so we doubt Peter is actually at death’s door. However, since you are clearly worried, either Richard or I will go there for you if you wish and see what is to be done. For, as I said, you are not going anywhere until I am assured you are well.”

She frowned, trying to make sense of all of this. Somewhere, she liked him commanding her, for though she was used to people’s orders, they weren’t normally given for her benefit. She found the novelty curiously sweet. However, in some things, she, too, was immovable.

“You are not a physician,” she pointed out. She frowned. “So how is it you took the ball from my arm?”

“Practice,” he said. “My men didn’t always have access to a surgeon. Don’t look so impressed. Once you’ve taken a ball out of your own body, extracting one from someone else’s is a blessed relief.”

In spite of herself, she laughed, just as the door opened and Richard sauntered in with a large tray of food.

“Ah, that sounds more like our Miss Grey,” he said cheerfully, although his glance was piercing and more than a little anxious. “I’ve brought food.”

“So I see,” Javan murmured.

“The boy’s following with drinks,” Richard said. He cocked one eye at Javan. “Do you want to feed our prisoner?”

“Lord, no, let him stew.”

“Prisoner?” Caroline asked, intrigued.

Richard’s lips twisted. “Killer Miller,” he said with contempt. “The man who shot you.”

Her eyes widened. “You caught him? Shouldn’t you have handed him over to the authorities?”

“Probably will,” Javan said without much obvious interest.

“Is he an infamous highwayman?” Caroline asked, accepting a little bread and butter. The ache in her arm seemed to have eased just a little and she felt very sleepy, but there were things she needed to know.

“He’s an infamous rogue for hire,” Richard said grimly.

“But how did you capture him?” Caroline demanded. “I want to know everything!”

“Javan just rode up the hill and fetched him,” Richard said. “Having taken the earlier precaution of knocking him cold with his own rifle. We needed to be sure there were no other gunmen around taking pot-shots at us.”

“And were there?” she asked breathlessly.

“No,” Richard replied, taking the tray of ale and coffee from some unseen person at the door. “You see, he isn’t a highwayman, but a ruffian hired by our old friend Marcus Swayle.”

“Who will pay,” Javan said in a cold, dangerous voice, all the more chilling for its absolute certainty.

“We assumed this Miller had mistaken me for Javan,” Richard said, “and hit you by accident. Turns out, his orders were to shoot you.”

“Me?” She dropped her nibbled crust on the plate. “I’m the governess! Why would Swayle want me dead?”

“To further discredit Javan,” Richard explained. “Put the blame on him and hope he hanged for it.”

Caroline gazed from him to Javan. “But that’s…”

“Unforgivable,” Javan finished for her. “Even Miller seems to think so, for he’s quite happy to land his paymaster in the soup. Apparently on Swayle’s instructions, it was Miller who hired Nairn for one more howling at the hall. Also, according to Miller, he told Swayle he wouldn’t kill you if he could help it.”

“You would have made it easier for them by being there,” Caroline speculated. She frowned at Javan. “Why were you there? Why were you following us?”

Richard grinned with unabashed mockery. “He thought we were eloping.”

A gurgle of laughter broke from Caroline. “Truly?”