Read Rapture Becomes Her Online
Authors: Shirlee Busbee
Rapture Becomes Her (16 page)
Not quite certain what he was going to do about her, he followed her lead and said, “Virginia is warmer and perhaps not as wet as England.”
Feeling on safer ground, Emily glanced at him. “Do you like it here?”
Barnaby shrugged. “I don’t
dis
like it and as time goes by and I become more familiar with the land and the people, I assume that it will feel like home.”
dis
like it and as time goes by and I become more familiar with the land and the people, I assume that it will feel like home.”
Emily steered the talk away from anything personal and kept the conversation firmly on neutral topics. Lord Joslyn seemed perfectly agreeable, but now and then she had the unsettling sensation that he knew precisely what she was doing and was laughing at her.
The ancient birches that marked the driveway and gave the house its name came into view and Emily barely suppressed a sigh of relief. Lord Joslyn aroused emotions she’d never felt before and she was having a difficult time dealing with them. Her heart was behaving in a most unseemly manner and she was experiencing all sorts of other strange physical reactions to his presence. Her entire body tingled, and when she risked a glance at his face, her gaze was irresistibly drawn to his mouth. . . . What would it be like to kiss him? she wondered. Or to feel those strong arms curl around her and crush her against that hard body . . . ? Unsettled by the trend of her thoughts, she was anxious to get away from him.
“We’ll turn off the main road where you see those big birches,” she said brightly, grateful that escape was close at hand. She cleared her throat. “You, um, don’t have to escort me the whole way. I can ride alone from here.”
“And deny me the pleasure of furthering my acquaintance with your charming stepmother and, perhaps, meeting your great-aunt, Cornelia?”
She pulled her horse to a stop. “Jeffery will most likely be there,” she warned. “And no doubt will fawn all over you.”
“Well, it’ll certainly be a novel experience to have someone in your family appreciate me,” Barnaby drawled, stopping his horse beside hers.
Emily’s lips twitched but she managed not to laugh. This man confounded her. She wanted nothing to do with him, and yet . . .
Their horses were side by side, Barnaby’s leg brushing against her. He bent forward, his hand capturing her chin. With his face only inches from hers, he said softly, “I promise to be on my best behavior.”
As she fumbled for a reply, the angry sound of a shot exploded through the cold winter air. She jumped. “Now that was too close—” she began, only to stop in horror as blood gushed from Barnaby’s head and he fell forward into her arms.
She struggled to hold him, but he was too heavy and he tumbled to the ground. Leaping from her horse, she sank to the muddy ground and cradled his head in her lap. Staring down at his bloodstained features, with shaking fingers, she gently touched his forehead. Merciful heavens, she thought wildly, someone just shot Lord Joslyn.
Chapter 9
F
urious and frightened, Emily shouted, “Hold your fire, you fool! There are riders on the road.”
urious and frightened, Emily shouted, “Hold your fire, you fool! There are riders on the road.”
Guessing the shot had been fired by a poacher, she didn’t expect anyone to appear and as the seconds passed, the only sound she heard was the ghostly whisper of the freshening wind in the bare branches of a nearby scraggly stand of trees. They were alone, she realized uneasily. Whoever had fired that shot had vanished. No one was coming to help them.
Her gaze dropped to Barnaby’s bloodied head and anguish ripped through her. Was he dead? Please dear God, no! Her heart thumping in her breast, Emily examined him, almost bursting into tears when she realized that he was alive. She couldn’t determine how dangerous the wound was, but two things were clear: he was alive and he needed a physician.
She gnawed her lip, looking around. The Birches was over a mile away but she dared not leave him here alone. This wasn’t a main road and traffic was never heavy, and late on a winter afternoon the possibility of a farmer or even a servant on an errand coming along was unlikely.
The day was fleeing, the air growing colder by the minute and aware she was wasting time, Emily reluctantly laid his head down and staggered to her feet. She glanced frantically around for the horses: without the horses there would be no hope of moving Lord Joslyn or of her riding for help.
The animals had not gone far and she quickly caught them up and tied them to a pair of saplings at the edge of the road. Hurrying back to where Barnaby lay so still and pale, she struggled to drag him out of the mud to the grassy verge adjacent to the road. She was strong for a woman, but he was a big man and she despaired of being able to move him. Yet inch by precious inch she made progress until at last he was stretched out on the sparse brown grass, with the white flannel petticoat she’d worn beneath her habit tucked under his head.
He was still unconscious and that worried her more than anything else did. Staring down at him, she shivered in the wind, wondering at her next move. If he was awake, even wounded he would have been able to help her and she might have been able to get him on his horse, but that wasn’t an option. The wound had bled copiously and that added to her anxiety. The severity of the damage done by the bullet had to be assessed by someone with more knowledge than she possessed and that meant a physician
had
to see him and soon.
had
to see him and soon.
Fighting panic, she bit her lip. How bad was the wound? It was still bleeding sluggishly. She looked around again. No one in sight. Her gaze swung back to him. She watched the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and that encouraged her. Perhaps the wound wasn’t serious. . . . She swallowed. There was only one way to find out.
Dropping to her knees beside him, after stripping off her gloves, she ripped off a small piece of the soft flannel petticoat and gingerly wiped away some of the blood. She worked cautiously, fearful of making a bad situation worse, and after she had removed most of the blood, she could see that the bullet had dug a deep furrow across the side of his head, the thick black hair hiding the extent of the wound. Her heart shook. The wound was serious, but if the bullet had been an inch or two lower . . .
With shaking fingers she caressed the lean cheek and the wide mouth. This man, this stranger, could so easily infuriate her and just as easily make her laugh. And with a desperation that surprised her, she wanted him awake, teasing and mocking her. Until this moment, she hadn’t realized how much she looked forward to seeing him—even if he made her want to comb his hair with a stool! Lord Joslyn had become in some indefinable way, she admitted dazedly, vitally important to her. . . .
Fighting back tears and terror, she leaned forward and hissed in his ear, “Don’t you dare die on me! I will never forgive you if you do!” She shook his shoulder. “Do you hear me? Don’t you dare die!”
He remained motionless and, feeling silly, she lifted her head and went back to soaking up the blood that trickled from the wound. The bleeding appeared to be slowing and she took that as a good sign.
She cast an anxious glance up and down the road, her heart leaping when she saw a horseman riding in their direction. In one bound she was on her feet, and picking up the skirts of her riding habit she ran down the road toward the approaching horseman.
Still some distance from the horse and rider, she shouted, “Sir! Oh, please hurry! I beg you lend us assistance. Lord Joslyn has been shot. Come quickly!”
The man heard her words because he reacted instantly, kicking his horse into a gallop and nearly knocking Emily down as he sped by. Emily spun on her heels and stared astonished as the man, a stranger to her, sprang from his horse and knelt by Lord Joslyn’s side.
“God damn you, Barnaby, I warned you to be careful,” the newcomer snarled, confidently examining the wound. “But do you listen to me? Oh, no. Someone may be trying to kill you and you have to do things your way—and just look where the bloody hell it gets you. I’ve a mind to murder you myself.”
His words alarmed Emily. Good God! Was the man mad? Was he about to do Lord Joslyn more harm? Ready to intervene, although what she could do against a brute this size escaped her, she ran back to Lord Joslyn’s side. Seeing the gentleness of the big man’s hands as they moved over Barnaby’s head, the idea that he meant Lord Joslyn harm vanished. She knelt beside the stranger, only to gasp when she looked into his face. His resemblance to the members of the Joslyn family was stunning, but he was no Joslyn she had ever met. It occurred to her that this impressively big and exceedingly handsome man looked more a Joslyn than Lord Joslyn himself did and that he could have passed for Mathew, Thomas or Simon’s brother. His skin was darker and the black hair possessed a tighter curl, but the stunning Joslyn azure eyes and the chiseled cast to his face smacked of Joslyn ancestry.
Aware of her reaction, Lamb said testily, “Yes, yes, I know, I look like the rest of that pack of Joslyns, but tell me what happened to Barnaby.”
Emily swallowed and quickly related the events. The whole time she was talking, the stranger was busy assessing the extent of the wound, his hands moving quick and sure over Barnaby’s head.
Sinking back on his heels, he frowned. “I want to get him cleaned up and comfortable. Where can we take him?”
“Uh, my home, The Birches, is not more than a mile away,” Emily said, bowled over by the way the newcomer had taken command. Hesitantly, she asked, “Are you Lamb?”
He smiled a singularly dazzling smile and she blinked. “Yes, I am Lamb and I apologize for my rudeness. You are Miss Townsend.”
“Er, yes,” Emily said, beginning to have a glimmer of understanding of the relationship between Lord Joslyn and his servant.
Barnaby groaned and both Lamb and Emily looked down at him. Barnaby’s eyes fluttered and he groaned again. “My head,” Barnaby muttered, reaching up to touch the wound. “Christ!” he swore, and with Lamb’s help struggled upright. “What the devil happened?”
“Someone accidentally shot you,” Emily said, relief flooding through her at his return to consciousness.
She saw the look that Barnaby and Lamb exchanged. Glancing from one grim face to the other, she asked, “What?”
Ignoring her, Lamb said, “How do you want to handle this? Do we return to Windmere? Or are you going to try to keep this attack a secret too?”
Emily’s breath caught. Attack? Too?
Frowning at Barnaby, she demanded, “What do you mean ‘attack’? Are you saying that this wasn’t an accident?” When Barnaby remained silent, she said slowly, “You think that someone deliberately shot you. That they tried to murder you.” The idea that Lord Joslyn had just missed being murdered was incredible to her, but he and Lamb seemed to have no trouble believing it. Thinking over Lamb’s outburst and recalling the night they had first met, how close he had come to death, her eyes widened. “You don’t believe that it was an accident that you nearly drowned in the Channel either, do you?”
Barnaby shot her a glance almost of dislike. “Sometimes you are too damned clever for your own good.”
“Better to be clever than jackass stubborn,” she snapped. “Lamb is right: if someone is trying to kill you, you should listen to him.”
Barnaby glared at Lamb.
Lamb shrugged his shoulders and murmured, “I may have, ah, allowed my tongue to run away with me when I came upon you lying bloodied and lifeless on the ground.”
Emily didn’t understand everything, but it was obvious that both men were convinced that Lord Joslyn’s dip in the Channel had been no accident, or that this afternoon’s shooting had not been a chance incident. They believed that someone was trying to kill him. Her heart sank, knowing who would be their leading suspect.
Like everyone else, Emily knew that Mathew had been furious at having the title snatched from his hands. Was he attempting to murder his winning rival? Mathew Joslyn could be arrogant and autocratic and when aroused he had a vile temper, but did that make him a murderer? Ordinarily she would have laughed at the notion, but seeing the expressions on the faces of the men before her, she admitted that as far as they were concerned, it was not a subject for laughter.
She shivered and looked around at the few winter-bare trees that dotted the undulating countryside, uneasily aware of the easy targets they made standing here at the side of the road. If Lord Joslyn had, indeed, been marked for murder, whoever had shot at him could still be out there. . . .
“We have to get him to the house,” Emily said abruptly. “If someone is trying to kill him, standing out here with no protection will only make the task easier.” When neither man made a move, in a voice laced with sarcasm she added, “It’s a simple decision. Either remain here like grouse before a scenting hound or follow me home. Which is it?”
Barnaby sighed. “She has a point.” He glanced at Emily, and despite the seriousness of the situation and the throbbing pain in his head, he smiled. She looked, he decided whimsically, as she stood before him with her eyes flashing and her challenging stance, very much like the Amazon Lamb had called her.
His
Amazon, Barnaby thought possessively, and he was very sure that she was wreaking havoc with every plan he’d ever had for a long and exuberant bachelorhood.
His
Amazon, Barnaby thought possessively, and he was very sure that she was wreaking havoc with every plan he’d ever had for a long and exuberant bachelorhood.
Dizziness washed over him. He fought it off and when he felt more in command of himself, he said, “She’s right—we cannot stand around here.”
“My home is not far. Do you think you can ride that far?” Emily asked. “Or shall I go and get a farm cart to carry you?”
Thinking of the brutal jostling of a cart and his aching head, Barnaby replied, “Let’s try the horse first.”
It was no easy task, even with Lamb’s great strength and Barnaby’s willingness to get himself on his horse, but they managed it. By the time they had him firmly in the saddle, Barnaby’s face was even whiter and his wound was bleeding more heavily.
Dizzy, and fighting off nausea, Barnaby swayed in the saddle. Through gritted teeth, he said to Emily, “This is your parade, so lead the way.”
They proceeded slowly, Emily in front, Lamb keeping his horse close to Barnaby’s to ensure Barnaby stayed in the saddle.
They turned at the two huge birches Emily had indicated marked the drive to her home. Though she was riding ahead of them, she was aware of the low-voiced and vehement conversation being held between the two men. They were arguing and she suspected that it had to do with her and their belief that someone was trying to murder Lord Joslyn. The first attempt, and she wasn’t entirely convinced there had been an attempt, had been passed off as an accident, so it was apparent they were trying to keep their suspicions a secret. Until Lamb’s unwise comments when he had first come upon Lord Joslyn and the later exchange between them, she assumed today’s incident had been an accident. But now . . .
They traveled about a half mile when conversation between the two men abruptly ceased and Barnaby called a halt.
Emily wasn’t surprised. They’d come to some conclusion, she guessed. Swinging her horse around to face him, she asked, “What?”
Barnaby was in no condition to be clever and he muttered, “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep Lamb’s unfortunate words to yourself and forget any mention of murder. I’d prefer that everyone think that this afternoon was simply an accident.”
He looked awful. A trickle of blood crept down one side of his face and his color was so pale, she was alarmed—and angry that he felt he had to ask her not to reveal their suspicions. Her mouth tightened. Good God! Did he think she was so addle-brained she’d gossip about what they suspected?
Under different circumstances Emily would have given him the sharp side of her tongue and probed deeper, but getting Lord Joslyn safely abed and having a physician examine him took precedence over everything else. Nodding curtly, she said, “I know how to keep my mouth shut. You don’t have to fear that I shall blurt out anything that was said between the three of us this afternoon. As far as I know, what happened was a dangerous accident.”
Barnaby dredged up a smile, faint and pale though it was. “Thank you.”
“Now, before you tumble out of the saddle,” she grumbled, “can we continue?”
After taking one look at Lord Joslyn and hearing Emily’s hurried explanation, within minutes of their arrival at the gracious old manor house, Walker had seen to it that Barnaby was ensconced in the second best guest bedroom—Ainsworth, unfortunately, occupied the best guest room. To her frustration, Emily had been banished from further proceedings by Lamb.
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