Exiting the carriage on High Street, Amelia thanked Thomas for his assistance before continuing up the front steps of the house. She did not wish to keep his company today. Indeed, she had no desire to be in the same city as him or even the same country. But she did want to see what progress had been by made by the workers since her last visit to her property, which left her with very little choice. She would simply have to accept his escort even though the events of the previous evening filled her with discomfort.

“Amelia.”

His voice reached her in a whisper and with a great deal of urgency. She chose to pretend she hadn’t heard him since she’d no desire to engage in a lengthy discussion about scandal and duty, and what they must do now in order to preserve their reputations. It would probably involve a proposal, which was something she did not wish to endure when his heart wasn’t in it.

So she stepped forward and glanced around. “Oh look. The staircase is almost finished. A bit of sanding and varnish will probably do it. What do you think, Coventry? Should we have a runner put down or shall we leave it as is?”

“It will probably be easier to keep clean without the runner, and since this is to be a school and not a house, I do not believe there is a need for one either. But that is not what I wish to discuss at the moment.” She hurried on through to the ballroom, leaving him to follow in her wake if he wished. Or not to, as she hoped. He chose to follow. “Amelia. Can we please—”

“The windows are being nicely prepared.” Crossing to where a couple of laborers were repairing the window ledge with a fresh layer of brick, she addressed them with a smile. “I see you have removed all the wood casing that was here before.”

“It was either burned or rotted, me lady,” one of the men said as he smoothed out a blob of cement. “No need to worry though—this’ll be good an’ ready by the time the new windows arrive.”

Thanking him, she hurried onward before Coventry had a chance to stop her. “Watch your step,” she said. “There are some gaps in the floor here.” It looked as though all of the damaged planks had been removed in the dining room. Fresh ones sat in one corner, ready to be put into place.

“Can you please stop?” Coventry’s voice hinted at severe exasperation. “We need to talk about last night, Amelia.”

“I do not wish to.”

“That much is obvious,” he grumbled.

She reached the dining-room door, hoping to escape on through to the hallway beyond and continue from there to some other part of the house. But he’d apparently had enough of the chase and reached out to grab her wrist. A gasp escaped her as he pulled her back straight into him, his other arm circling her waist and holding her close while his breath warmed the side of her neck.

“Release me.” They were in a house full of other people for heaven’s sake. Anyone could walk in on them at any moment and minimize her chance of avoiding marriage. “This isn’t proper.”

“Neither was last night,” he murmured, his voice a low vibration that skittered through her and tickled her senses. “You did not seem to mind my closeness then.”

“That was different.” Heavens, she sounded so breathless, and she felt . . . she felt as though she might melt right here in his arms.

“How?”

Closing her eyes, she did her best to gather her thoughts. He’d made no promise of marriage until they’d been caught. He had not spoken of love or even of affection. Desire was what drove him, but that would not be enough to last her a lifetime.

You can have what you’ve wanted for so very long.

Don’t throw it away.

She forced a good deal of steel into her bones and, pulling away, she turned to face him. “The cover of darkness prompted me to be reckless, but it was a mistake. The kisses we have shared, both last night and before, were mistakes.”

He frowned at that. “Are you certain?”

“Absolutely.”

“And there is nothing I can say to dissuade you?”

“No.” She crossed her arms for good measure.

His eyes held hers. “That is a pity.” Without elaborating further, he strode around her and exited the room.

It was her turn to follow. “What do you mean by that?”

He shrugged. “I thought you would make an excellent mother for Jeremy. He likes you a great deal.”

That he would sink so low as to use an innocent child as a bargaining tool . . . Still . . . “I like him a lot too, but I cannot allow myself to consider marriage on that basis alone.” They’d reached the foyer where Heather stood waiting.

“Then explain it to me. Tell me what you need me to do, and I will see to it immediately.” His expression had turned rather desperate. “Christ, woman.” He looked about ready to give her a good shake. “Do you not see that your entire family’s reputation hinges on us doing the right thing now?”

She stared at him, the last hope of a happy resolution to this problem crumbling. “And therein lies the problem.” She turned away from him and headed for the door before he could see the emotion that stung her eyes. “Come along, Heather.”

“You have to accept the consequences of our actions,” he called after her, prompting her to swing back around and glare at him.

“No, I do not. As long as I quit Town for a while, I have no doubt that everything will be fine. My siblings and I have survived worse than the gossip a private conversation with you at Vauxhall Garden might cause.”

“It was more than a conversation, Amelia.”

“Nobody knows that yet. But if we marry, they most certainly will.” She was trembling now with the anger and hurt he was causing. “The matter is closed. I will not discuss it any further, and right now, all I want to do is to return home. Will you please escort me?”

He hesitated a moment while she held her breath. Eventually, he inclined his head. “Of course.” He extended his arm, gesturing toward the door and she happily hastened toward it, desperate once more to be free of his company.

How was it possible to love someone so deeply and yet dread their nearness? She didn’t quite know, but that was how it was now. Four weeks had changed everything. Her heart was no longer her own. It belonged to him. But with no assurance that he would ever feel for her what she felt for him, risking a lifetime in his company was not an option. How could it be when five minutes alone felt like endless torture?

She had no answer, but as she started down the front steps, she could hear him say, “We will revisit this issue when your brother returns. I am confident that he will agree with me.”

She feared he might be right. But the fact that Coventry was willing to threaten her with such inevitability only confirmed her worst fears. His proposal had nothing to do with how he felt about her. Had she been any other woman, he would have done precisely the same thing. Because that was what was proper and because protecting one’s reputation trumped everything else. Scandal had to be avoided at all cost. Such was the aristocratic dogma.

Reaching the pavement without acknowledging his comment, Amelia saw that Heather was already waiting for them inside the carriage. A couple of pedestrians were approaching from the left and another three from the right. One was a laborer who turned toward the house. She heard him greet Coventry.

“You must be new,” Coventry said. “I do not recognize you.”

An exchange of words followed. Amelia waited for the other pedestrians to pass, but when one of the approaching men came up alongside her, she was shocked to find his arm winding tight around her waist and pushing into her back while another man stepped close, hindering her movements.

“Ye’re to leave this buildin’ alone, do ye hear?” The gravelly warning raked over her. “This is so ye take us seriously.”

She felt something sharp prick her side, then the sting and the pain of it sliding in deep. A scream tore its way past her throat, mingling with the cruel laughter of those who had hurt her. They pushed her aside, causing her to stumble. A shout followed, then the rapid clattering of shoes hitting the ground at a run.

Clutching herself, she felt sticky wetness seep through between her fingers. A quick inhale filled her lungs with breath, and then a hand caught her elbow.

“My lady.” The coachman’s steady voice was followed by Heather’s more anxious tone.

“Coventry.” She needed him now, her eyes frantically searching for him as she swung back toward the house. Her legs grew more and more wobbly by the second.

A hunched-over figure caught her attention. There. He was clutching his head and attempting to rise. Relief filled her. He was all right. Not as bad off as she. Which was good. If one of them had to suffer, she wanted him spared.

Raising his gaze, he looked at her then. “Dear God!” She managed to see him stagger up onto his feet, eyes wide with dread and anguish. A strange feebleness covered her brain. The pain began to recede, and she felt herself melting away into blackness.

“We need to get her home this instant,” Thomas yelled, hurrying over to where his coachman was standing with Amelia in his arms while Heather looked on with a stricken expression. There was so much blood. Too much blood. Thomas felt his heart crumple into a painful lump of despair. “If I climb into the carriage, can you hand her up to me?” he asked.

“Of course, Your Grace.” The coachman adjusted his hold on Amelia. “You’ll need a doctor, Your Grace.”

“Florian’s the man. I’ll not consider anyone else.”

They proceeded as discussed while Thomas ignored the violent pain that ricocheted through his brain. He’d been caught completely off guard—struck by a heavy object that the so-called laborer had been carrying. Stars had spun before his eyes as he’d fallen to his knees, only vaguely aware of a scream ripping the air. He now knew it had been Amelia. The bloody bastards had stabbed her and, if they didn’t get help quickly enough . . . He didn’t dare think of what might happen then. All he could do was clutch her to him and pray while pressing his hand to her wound.

“Will she be all right?” Heather asked from the opposite side of the carriage. Her voice was weak with concern.

“She’d better be,” he told her grimly, “or I’ll hunt down the villains who did this and kill them myself.” He’d recognized one of them as the man who’d accompanied Bartholomew to his home. Mr. Smith.

Presently, he wanted to see him and his accomplices suffer for causing Amelia pain and for putting her life at risk, but he kept his creative ideas on torture to himself since such a topic would likely offend Heather’s sensibilities. Instead, he gritted his teeth while the carriage rocked back and forth in response to his coachman’s swift driving. Amelia groaned, her head rolling against his shoulder. Thomas pulled her closer, his arm locked tight around her while one hand did what it could to hold back the blood.

Abruptly, the carriage drew to a halt and Heather glanced out. “This isn’t Huntley House. In fact, I don’t know where this is.”

“What the devil?” The door flew open, and his coachman looked in. Thomas wasted no time in turning his fury on him. “Where in hell and tarnation are we? I told you to—”

“We’re at Doctor Florian’s house. I thought it more efficient to pick him up on the way or at least leave a message for him in case he’s out rather than—”

“Fine. See to it then and be quick about it.” The door closed, and Thomas sank back against the squabs. Blood roared in his ears, and his eyes burned with tears that refused to fall. For five years he’d avoided this kind of tormented anguish. It twisted his insides and tore at his soul.

When his sister lay dying, he’d felt a similar pain, so acutely he’d thought he might die right there along with her. And he felt it now in every fiber of his being—a chilling promise that his life would be over if Amelia ceased drawing breath.

The carriage door opened and a bag was tossed in. It was followed by Doctor Florian’s prominent figure. “Allow me to take a look,” he said, crouching on the floor in front of Amelia. The carriage took off with a jolt, but the movement did not disturb the doctor. It was as if he was well accustomed to traveling in such a fashion, for which Thomas was now immensely grateful. He drew his hand aside to reveal the wound. The doctor’s expression remained inscrutable. “When did this occur?” he asked. A practical question.

“Perhaps fifteen minutes ago?” Thomas wasn’t sure. He hadn’t stopped to check his pocket watch.

Florian nodded. “The tear in her gown suggests a thin blade, but I’ll have to get her out of her clothes to examine her properly. In any case, it does look like it’s in a spot that should pose no risk to any major organs. You’ve done well to keep pressure on the wound. Keep doing that, and she ought to recover soon enough.”

He gave no indication of what “soon enough” meant, though Thomas expected it to be at least a few days, given the gravity of the injury. Still, he was thankful for some reassurance since he’d been imagining the worst possible scenarios up until that point. Florian had eased his mind a little even though he still felt responsible for what had transpired. As with his sister, he ought to have been more vigilant. He ought to have seen this coming, and he ought to have stopped it. But just as it had been with Melanie, he’d been distracted and now Amelia had gotten hurt, as well.

To say he was just as furious with himself as he was with the men who had caused this would be an understatement. He wanted to head back to the Black Swan so he could seek out the punishment he deserved. Instead, he dipped his head close to Amelia’s and whispered in her ear.

“It will be all right, sweetheart. You will get through this.”

Whether or not she heard him, he did not know. He followed the endearment with a kiss to her temple though, hoping that she would at least feel cared for.

They reached the house and exited the carriage in short order, with Heather bringing up the rear. Thomas marched up the steps with Amelia in his arms and straight through the door, which was swung open wide by Pierson, who must have heard them arrive. Without stopping, Thomas continued toward the stairs with Florian right on his heels.

“What is going on?” Pierson asked.

The question was echoed by Lady Everly who arrived in the foyer together with Lady Juliette. One glance in Thomas’s direction made both pairs of eyes open wide. “Is that blood?” Lady Everly asked with sudden despair.

With nothing more than a curt nod, Thomas hurried onward. “I’ll explain everything later,” he said over his shoulder. “Right now, time is of the essence.” He reached the landing. “Which room is hers?”

“Second door on the right,” Lady Juliette called.

Florian, good man that he was, pushed his way past him and opened the door. He then rushed to pull back the bedspread so Thomas could lay Amelia down.

“Help me undress her,” Florian said, pulling Amelia onto her good side.

Thomas didn’t hesitate, his fingers working nimbly on the buttons at the back of her gown. He tugged at the sleeves and unlaced her stays—not because they had to be removed, but because he wanted her to be able to breathe more easily.

Her gown was tugged down and her shift was pulled up in order to reveal the angry gash of crimson that had caused her to lose consciousness. Thomas stood, studying her pale features for a moment. He was aware of Lady Everly’s presence somewhere behind him and was grateful for her lack of interference in a situation that would no doubt have caused others to chase him from the room in an effort to preserve Amelia’s modesty.

“I will be requiring a pot of hot water,” Florian said. He drew a few items out of his bag. They included squares of white linen, pincers, needle and thread, and a glass bottle containing a clear liquid. He set all the items next to each other on the bedside table.

“What is that?” Thomas asked when Florian opened the bottle and poured a bit of the liquid onto one of the linen cloths.

“Rum. I find it’s stronger than brandy, and since I’m not fond of the drink myself, I’ve no regrets about using it like this.” He held the cloth to the wound, and Amelia’s eyes flew open while air hissed between her teeth.

“You’re fine,” Thomas told her in the most reassuring tone he could muster while gently pushing her back against the mattress so Florian could do what he had to without too much resistance. He eyed the doctor. “Perhaps some laudanum for the pain?”

“We can do better than that.” Florian reached inside his bag and produced another glass bottle. This also contained a clear liquid. He handed it to Thomas. “I recommend half the dosage of laudanum. This is much stronger.”

Thomas read the label. “Morphine?” He gave Florian a dubious look. “I’m not familiar with it.”

“The discovery of it is recent, so it has not been commercially produced yet. However, I have used it on a few other patients and seen the results of the studies, so I have every confidence that it would be most effective in this instance. However, the decision of whether or not to administer it is entirely up to you.”

With this taken into consideration, Thomas opened the bottle and poured a small measure into a nearby glass. He’d specifically asked for Florian, not because there were no other capable physicians nearby, but because he appreciated Florian’s innovativeness. The man was renowned for using methods that had proven to be reliable, no matter where those methods came from or who might have discovered them. He’d traveled far and wide in search of medicinal knowledge, believing other cultures might hold the key to certain discoveries of which the English still remained ignorant. Many thought the man eccentric and anti-science. In Thomas’s opinion, he was more enlightened than most. So he held the glass to Amelia’s lips and gently urged her to drink.

She did so with a groan. The hot water arrived. Florian disinfected his tools and by the time he was ready, a silly grin had appeared on Amelia’s lips. “Is that normal?” Thomas asked when she actually giggled.

“The results of the morphine vary, but yes, a strong sensation of euphoria is known to occur.” He set his pincers to the wound and pulled out a small piece of fabric that must have gotten pushed inside by the blade.

“You’re very handsome,” Amelia said, looking up at Thomas. Her comment was followed by a smile. She turned her head in Florian’s direction. “So are you.” A sigh escaped her. “Gorgeous hair.”

Without comment, Florian added more rum to the wound, then threaded the needle and started to sew. By the time he was done, Amelia had managed to doze off with a beatific expression of pure bliss upon her face.

“How long will she sleep?” Thomas asked.

“I can’t be sure, but at least a few hours, perhaps even until morning.” Florian cleaned his tools and returned them to his bag. “Do you know who might be behind the attack?”

“I cannot be completely certain,” Thomas told him, “but I suspect Bartholomew. He has more motive than anyone else I can think of.”

Florian stared at him for a long moment, then asked, “Do you intend to have him apprehended?”

Blowing out a breath, Thomas could feel the fangs of failure drawing near once more. “I have no proof to merit an arrest besides spotting one of his men at the scene.”

“Then I suggest you have someone look into his taxes. From what I understand, he owes a great deal to the Crown.”

Thomas frowned. “How on earth would you know that?”

“I cannot say, but you can count on it being true. You’ve my word on that.”

Thanking him, Thomas paid him for his help and saw him to the door.

Before donning his hat and heading back out, Thomas told Lady Everly that he would return later in the day to check on Amelia. It seemed he now had a criminal to apprehend, and he knew precisely who to turn to for help.