My Lady, the Spy by Barbara Devlin

Author:Barbara Devlin [Devlin, Barbara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-12-31T14:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Open your eyes, love.” Dirk stared at Rebecca’s limp form. “You are safe and home.”

His future wife mumbled incoherently before sitting upright in a rush, with fists flailing and legs kicking wildly.

“Hold her, Lord Wainsbrough.” Dr. Handley pinched her nose, and when she opened her mouth to gasp for air, he forced a healthy dose of laudanum down her throat.

Bucking, as would an unbroken horse, her head jerked violently from side to side, as the thick, syrupy medicine seeped from the corner of her lips, and she moaned in protest.

Damian and Dalton each caught an ankle, while Dirk pressed his palms to her forearms, leaned over her, and eased her to the mattress.

Why had he left her alone?

That singular question had repeated itself a thousand times in his mind, a castigating refrain, ever since Sir Ross appeared from nowhere, tapped Dirk on the elbow, and informed him that Rebecca was injured. Fear for her life ripped through him, overwhelming guilt rode in its wake, and a world of regret anchored on his shoulders.

It had taken mere minutes to convey Caroline to the Lockwood carriage, but Lady Jersey had waylaid him in the foyer, with an endless stream of queries regarding his relationship with Lady Wentworth. Ever the gentleman, he had endured the impromptu interrogation with unimpaired aplomb. When he returned to the ballroom, he discovered the spy curiously absent. In an instant, he learned that years of ingrained civility and polite decorum could exact a heavy toll.

And Rebecca had paid the price.

Somehow, Dirk knew he would never erase the image of her motionless body, sprawled on the tiled floor of the terrace at Howard Hall, after an unknown assailant had attacked her. A chill had traipsed his spine as he lifted her head, cradled her in his hand, and the slick ooze of blood seeped between his fingers. An unfamiliar rage shredded all semblances of control and rational thought, and Dirk wanted to kill. Wanted to tear the unidentified blackguard’s throat out with his teeth. Indeed, desire for revenge was a powerful inducement, almost as intoxicating, as seductive as lovemaking.

“Dirk,” she murmured, barely intelligible.

In a flash, fury yielded to concern. “I am here, darling.”

With something between a sob and a sigh, she called him again and relaxed.

“The lady needs rest, Lord Wainsbrough.” The doctor bent and monitored her breathing and heartbeat and then stood tall. “I shall check her condition in the morning.”

Studying her face, so graceful in repose, Dirk asked, “Will she be all right?”

“It is nothing more than a goose egg and a nasty scrape on the noggin, which always bleeds to excess,” the elder physician assured. “I daresay her fitful reaction is a delayed response to the assault. You’ll see, she will be better when she wakes.”

From the shadows, Sir Ross stepped forward and frowned. “Send for me when she is lucid, as she must be interviewed.” He sketched a curt bow. “Dr. Handley, shall we take our leave?”

“Thank you, Sir Ross.” Retrieving his black bag, Dr.

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