Page 78 of The Untamed Heart

“You always did have too many bloody friends, Hamilton,” Keller said in disgust, but he did as Hawkney commanded.

“Whereas you have none,” Marcus replied with a snort.

Eustacia did not much care if Hawkney shot the devil or where, so long as Marcus had no stain on his conscience. She stared at him, hardly daring to believe it was over. He was muddy, with leaves and grass all over him, his face and hands bruised and bloodied, and Eustacia gave a cry as she saw blood seeping from a wound in his side.

“Eustacia, are you hurt?” he demanded urgently as she ran to him, terrified the wound was worse than she could see.

“No. Not in the least,” she said impatiently, pushing his coat to one side to inspect it, but he caught at her hands and gazed down at her. The blind rage that had burned in his eyes was gone now, entirely extinguished, and she saw nothing but the warmth of his love for her, and the relief that the future they had dreamed of together was still theirs for the taking.

“You’re hurt,” she said anxiously, wanting to reassure herself it was not a deep wound.

“No,” he said gently. “I’m not.” And pulled her into his arms.

Dr Arkhurst made a neat job of the bandage around Marcus’s side and stood, smiling down at him. “Well, you and your friends have certainly kept me busy this day, Colonel Hamilton.”

Marcus nodded. “I am afraid we have. You’re sure Lord Darenth and Mr Foxworthy are in no danger?”

“Lord Darenth may be in some danger of having his grace strangle him, for those two seem to rub each other up the wrong way, but Lord Sheringham seemed to be playing referee with some success. But otherwise, the wound was not a terribly serious one. He’s in a good deal of pain and needs to rest, which seems to be a problem for him. As always, infection is the biggest risk, but he’s a remarkably fit and strong man and he seems to know as much as I do about the care of such injuries, so he ought to do well enough.”

The doctor’s smile was wry, and Marcus could well imagine that Darenth had tried the man’s patience. He carried on talking as he washed his hands and dried them. “Mr Foxworthy is going to have the very devil of a headache for a few days and must keep to his bed for at least a week, for he certainly has a concussion, but he’ll mend. By next week, he’ll be back to his usual self, I’m sure.”

“Thank God,” Marcus said, finally feeling that he might breathe easy, or as easily as he could these days. He got to his feet to tuck in the clean shirt Neil had fetched for him and winced. Everything hurt.

“You’re rather battered, I’m afraid. You’ll be stiff and sore for a while yourself,” the doctor said with no small amount of sympathy as he tidied everything back in his black bag.

“Nothing I’m not used to,” Marcus said gruffly, which was true enough. The difference today was that he couldn’t care less about a few aches and pains, not when Eustacia was waiting for him.

“Yes, I have heard a good deal about your heroics, Colonel. Your country owes you a great debt,” the doctor said earnestly.

Marcus waited for the revulsion, for the sickening sense of guilt to settle over him, crushing the breath from his lungs, but it never came. How strange. He shrugged and shook his head. “I did my duty, Doctor, as you do yours. Nothing more, but I thank you on behalf of all the other men who did the same as I.”

The doctor nodded and smiled, heading for the door, and Marcus reflected that he was very glad neither Eustacia nor Sebastian had needed to call upon the man before now, for he was a dashing fellow, vigorous and handsome, and with an easy charm that must work on young and old alike. Just the sort of fellow a young woman would fall in love with.

Thank God he had got here first.

“Take care of yourself, Colonel, and don’t go doing anything heroic for a day or two.”

“Oh, I shan’t,” Marcus said wryly. “You can be quite certain about that.”

Marcus made his way carefully down the stairs, aware of every movement, every muscle that pulled, every bruise and cut and graze that throbbed. The site of the bullet wound ached with renewed insistence, making his chest feel tight. Until he saw her, that was.

The moment he saw Eustacia pacing back and forth at the bottom of the stairs, it all went away.

Hearing his approach, she looked up, and in her eyes shone such a blaze of love, of relief and happiness, he felt overwhelmed by everything fate had given him. And perhaps, after all, he had earned it.

He hurried down the last steps as Eustacia moved to meet him. Her hands went to his face, smoothing over his chest, looking him over anxiously.

“The doctor said there were only superficial cuts and bruises. You did let him see everything? You weren’t being stupidly brave and hiding anything?”

“I am never stupidly brave,” he said indignantly.

She paused and looked up at him, then let out a breath. “No. No, you are not. Oh, but… but, Marcus, I was so… so terribly afraid.”

To his horror, she burst into tears, burying her face against his chest.

“Eustacia! No… No, please don’t…Oh, drat you, love, don’t cry, please. I can’t stand it. Lord, you’ve faced a murderer and done your utmost to save my skin, and… Oh, well, I suppose you’ve earned it. Go ahead and weep,” he said resignedly, tightening his hold on her.

To hear her sob so violently made him want to murder Keller all over again, but the storm did not last long. He fished out his handkerchief and pressed it into her hand, waiting stoically as she wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Only then did he dare look down at her.