A Belated Bride Read Online Free PDF Page B

embroidery and clambered to her feet as Wilson and Ned struggled to lay their burden on the cotton counterpane, breathing heavily from the exer- tion.
    “Who is he?” asked Jane, peering over their shoulders. Panting, Ned placed his hands on his knees. “Fell . . .
    we thought . . . he . . .”
    Doubled at the waist and breathing even harder, Wilson nodded. “On the . . . road . . . tried to . . . had to . . . and then . . .”
    Emma plopped her fists on her generous hips. “Sweet Sampson! Spit it out!”
    Jane sniffed suspiciously. “Have you two been drink- ing?”
    “No . . . it were him,” managed Ned, his color return- ing to a more normal shade. He jerked a thumb at their unconscious guest. “He’s a dook.”
    Emma, on her way to the washstand, stopped in mid- step. “A what?”
    “A dook, m’lady,” Wilson said. “A real ’un.”
    Jane pulled open the torn shirt and regarded the neat bandage, recognizing Arabella’s handiwork. “How was he wounded?”
    “I’m afeared I frightened him into fallin’ off his horse,” Wilson said, adding hastily, “though it weren’t my fault. He was ridin’ in the middle of the night, gallopin’ acrost the road like a devil. Nigh frightened me to death.”
    Ned nodded. “If ye hadn’t run ’im down, someone else would ’ave.”
    Jane’s face must have registered her confusion because Wilson added, “The missus bandaged him up right quick. He’s hardly bleedin’ now.”
    “Fortunately for you.” She would just have to wait to speak with Arabella to discover the true story. Jane went to the cupboard to remove the roll of cloths she kept for such emergencies. “Was he injured anywhere else?”
    “He bumped his head.” The old groom pushed the sleeve of his sweater up where it fell over his hand. “Miss Arabella seemed quite taken with the gent.”
    Oh? This was getting more interesting by the moment. Jane set the roll of bandages on the bed and returned to the cupboard for clean cloths. “Remove his clothing and cover him with the sheet. We must be certain he is not injured elsewhere.”
    Moving quickly, Ned helped Wilson. After a few awk- ward tugs and muffled oaths, they succeeded. Ned stood back with an air of satisfaction. “Wait till I tell ’em down at the Wild Stag ’bout this. I’ve never undressed a dook afore.”
    “Where is Miss Arabella?” Emma asked.
    “Out in the barn,” Ned said. “Waitin’ to see if Consta- ble Robbins is followin’.”
    Emma blinked. “The constable? What is he doing out at this time of the night?”
    “Lookin’ fer smugglers.” Ned frowned. “Miss Hadley seemed a bit put out to see ’im. Mayhap she didn’t want ’im knowin’ she had a real dook in the carriage.”
    Jane exchanged a glance with Emma before shooing the men from the room. She firmly closed the door behind them and returned to the bed. There she stared down at their new visitor, her mind alive with possibilities. “He is certainly handsome.”
    Emma poured some water into a basin and came to stand beside her. “Very handsome. But then, I think most dukes are.”
    “I have often thought it a tragedy that there weren’t
    more of them about.” Jane retrieved her sewing shears from her pocket and began to cut the cloth into strips while Emma removed Arabella’s crude bandage. The wound was shallow, but the severity of the jagged tear required stitches.
    Emma gathered her sewing silk, and they went to work. Tsk ing over the angry edges of the torn skin, they bathed the wound, sewed it with tiny, perfect stitches, and then packed it with a cold poultice. As they worked, they marveled over each inch of the golden skin. Muscular and well defined, he reminded Jane of a statue she’d once seen in Italy. The only difference was, of course, that this statue was incredibly warm to the touch.
    Emma tied off the fresh bandage, then lifted the duke’s hand and examined his ring. “This must have cost him a few pence.”
    “At least he is a