The Elizabeth Chater Regency Romance Collection #4 by Chater Elizabeth

Author:Chater, Elizabeth [Chater, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2013-01-17T13:00:00+00:00

In a more fashionable section of London, Dr. John Ernest, was also staring down at an unconscious figure in a bed. The Most Honorable the Marquess of Donat, his cuts and bruises bathed and anointed with curative pastes, his head bound in soothing cold compresses, was resting quietly. Dr. Ernest intended to maintain his vigil until the nobleman came naturally out of the stupor into which the blow and the subsequent pain had plunged him. Then, when Adam Donat was conscious and aware again, there would be tests to be made, and medicines given . . . and hopes that the blow to the head had done no more than temporary damage!

“I wonder who did this to you?” mused the doctor. He was well aware that his noble patient had as many enemies as he had friends. Men whose mistresses or sweethearts Adonis had casually stolen with merely a slow, smiling glance from his thickly lashed violet eyes naturally hated the golden man; rash souls who had taken umbrage at his arrogance and challenged him on the field of honor had for the most part to recuperate from their wounds at country estates or across the Channel.

Superb lover, superb swordsman, wealthy and titled and handsome beyond belief, everything had been too easy for the young marquess, who had fallen heir to his enormous estates at the age of fourteen. The dowager marchioness, his grandmother, a much-feared power in the beau monde, had done her formidable best to keep the lad on an even keel, but the adulation and greed of the ton, plus the youth’s amazing beauty, had brought her efforts to naught. Adonis was arrogant, spoiled, willful—and the unquestioned leader of male London society, whenever he cared to assume the role.

Yet finally, mused Dr. Ernest, some enemy had found a way to take revenge. But who? Foolish even to ask. More than enough motive; and so far, no clues. Well, he would wait until his patient was capable of coherent thought and speech, and then ask the questions. The officers at Bow Street had been notified. The coroner’s men had come to take away the body of Milord’s coachman. The groom who had survived had told his tale. Because if it, the driver of the stagecoach and his hotheaded groom would be questioned.

As he stared down at his patient’s swollen, bruised face and bound head, Dr. Ernest was grateful that a period had not been put to the life of the beautiful young man. Could that lean, dark fellow he had met in the entrance hall have been correct? Had the plainly dressed girl been a factor in saving Milord’s life? Shaking his head, Dr. Ernest prepared for a long vigil.

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