Page 69 of Unmasking the Earl

Oh Lord, he was bleeding. Copiously. Her head swam, and her stomach clenched with nausea and fear. She looked up at Ned for help.

He grimaced. “Damnation! He should never have come at me like that. I’ll carry him back to Mrs. Fiennes’s house and send for a physician.”

“You’ll have to be careful, his head is— Oh!”

Astonished, she saw Ned’s eyes roll up, showing the whites, and the next second he, too, had collapsed onto the ground, unconscious.

For a moment she didn’t recognize the man who stood directly behind him, a hefty stick in his raised hand.

The man’s eyes widened. “Cassie? What on earth are you doing here?”

It was Wycherley.

“I’d ask the same,” she said with a gasp, trying to will her galloping heart back to its normal rhythm. “But I wager I already know.”

He gave her an uncomprehending look, then glanced down at Ned. “Clearly, I was not mistaken. It really is Ganstridge. I’d know the brute anywhere.” He moved his gaze to Julian’s limp form. “And, if I’m not mistaken, that’s your Mr. Carnforth. I remember him from Paxton’s ball.”

“Yes, yes. But—” She tried to cut him off.

“What is the meaning of this carnage?” Wycherley ignored her and raised the stick again, as if expecting more trouble.

“Captain Wycherley, do stand down!” she cried up at him. She tore off her pelisse and folded it to pillow Julian’s head, then twisted round so she could examine Ned. “There is no need for violence.”

He kept the stick poised, but thankfully, didn’t strike. “It seemed called for, under the circumstances.”

“You know nothing of the circumstances.” She carefully lifted Ned’s head and cradled it in her lap, feeling gingerly for bumps or breaks. When she examined the back of his skull, she could feel the burgeoning swelling beneath his hair. “Do you not care that you have just knocked your sweetheart’s brother senseless? And for no reason. Julian’s fall was a pure accident.”

Wycherley froze. “My sweetheart’s brother? But how—”

“I know all about Lady Georgiana,” said Cassie impatiently. “And this is the Earl of Stranraer.”

“Ganstridge?”

“Yes! Oh, don’t just stand there gawping, fetch a doctor. There are two injured men here. Explanations will have to wait.”

“No.” Ned’s head shifted in her lap as he came round and eased himself into a sitting position. “I’d like one now,” he said hoarsely. “Did that damned lothario just hit me?”

“A simple misunderstanding,” Cassie quickly assured him, supporting him as he attempted to stand up. “He thought you’d attacked Julian.”

“And still you defend him,” Ned growled. He set her away from him and loomed over Wycherley. “Bludgeon a man from behind, would you, you cowardly cur? I’ll give you a taste of your own medicine!” He seized Wycherley by the lapels and dragged him forward.

“No!” she cried. “Stop!” All her nightmares were coming true at once.

But she was never to find out what Ned had in mind. Achilles Marsh, the constable, arrived at a run. “Halt!” Without waiting, he dealt Ned a sharp blow on the side of the head with his weighty staff.

The earl staggered against the pedestal of a marble angel and clung there, dazed.

“I knew it!” proclaimed Marsh with smug satisfaction. “I knew that villain was trouble. It don’t matter how highborn he be, it’s a sin and against the law to brawl on the Lord’s Acre. Back to the Blind House, he goes. Sorry, Miss, if you and Mrs. Fiennes don’t like it, but he needs to learn proper respect. I’m going to fetch some help and lock up these two felons until they have cooled down a bit.”

“Two?” Cassie demanded. She took hold of Ned’s arm, holding him up. His face was as white as Julian’s, and his eyes unseeing. Such blows to the head could not be healthy for any man.

The constable indicated Ned and the still prostrate Julian.

“No, Mr. Marsh. You don’t understand. It was all accidental. These men need a physician, not a night in a dank cell.” There was a stream of red bubbling down the side of Julian’s face and stealing in a wave over his collar. She’d never seen anything like it.

Fortunately, Ned’s two wounds seemed less serious. Already there was an angry, knotted bruise coming up where the constable’s staff had struck him on the temple, but the skin wasn’t broken.

“The law’s the law,” the constable told her. “I’m sorry, Miss. Once they’re secured, you and Mrs. Fiennes are welcome to go in and bandage their pates. Stay right here. I won’t be long.” He strode off.