Rescued By A Viscount(48)

“I had your gun.”

“And that is supposed to make me feel better, is it? A woman with a gun in a room full of men who have had too much to drink!”

“I know how to shoot a gun!” Claire defended herself.

He closed his eyes briefly. “You know how to shoot at targets, not men, Claire. Believe me, there is a difference.”

“I’m sorry you believe what I did was foolish, yet I would do it again, Simon. You were in that room taking a beating because of me. Had I not coerced you into this, then you would be sipping lemonade at Almack’s tonight.”

“I was not taking a beating,” he said slowly, and this, Claire suspected, was because it hurt his jaw to talk. “In fact, we fared quite well. Nor did I say your actions were foolish. They were brave. Unnecessary, however. And were I to choose between Almack’s insipid lemonade and a good mill, I would choose the latter any day.”

Claire did not speak again because she knew he was lying and trying to make her feel better. She got the water and a piece of cloth and carried it to where he now sat on the bed. She then gently cleaned his bruised and bloodied face. There was swelling around one eye, and bruises were starting to form elsewhere. He did not move and gave only the occasional wince or grunt. When she was finished, he laid on the bed with a sigh.

“Should I tend your men, Simon?”

“They will tend themselves or find someone to do it, Claire. Lie down now and we shall try to get some sleep. We are to leave early.”

There was knock on the door, so Claire asked who it was and then opened it when the landlord answered. He handed her a small tray, which held a bottle, glass, and some ointment he said his wife had given him. He looked contrite, but Claire didn’t thank him because she was still angry, and the truth was, he was probably more worried about receiving payment for their night’s accommodation than fretting over Simon’s wounds. Instead, she nodded and told him to make sure their men received the proper care.

“Here, Simon. This will help you sleep,” she said, pouring him a large glass of whatever was in the bottle. Lifting his head, he took it, swallowed the contents in one gulp, and then lay back down. “I’ll just put this ointment on your scrapes now.” His eyes stayed on hers as she smoothed it over his cheek and the small cut under his eye. Then, taking a deep breath, she rubbed it into the bruising over his ribs. His skin felt warm beneath her fingers, and the only reaction he gave to her touch was the occasional twitch. However, he kept his steady gaze on her face until she finished.

“Now lie down so I can sleep, Claire. I can’t do so with you standing there.”

“I’ll take the chair.”

Claire was suddenly lifted off her feet. “Simon, you’re hurt!” He rested her beside him, one of his hands on her wrist, anchoring her to his side.

“Sleep, woman.”

She didn’t point out that she still had all her clothes on, nor that she had no hope of sleeping this night. She just lay still until she was sure he slept. Only then did Claire rise and go to the chair. The candle had burnt low, but still there was enough light to see the bruises forming on his body. She couldn’t do this to him, not to any of them. She had to leave here, alone, before Simon got hurt again. He would let himself get hurt to protect her. She knew this about him, but she could not allow it to continue. This was her problem, not his.

Slowly, Claire opened the larger of her bags and pulled out the old black cape and bonnet she’d used when she had gone to Tuttle Lane. Taking Simon’s gun, she tucked it into the inside pocket of the cape. Picking up both bags, she threw him one last look before leaving the room.

He would come after her–she knew that–but if she could reach Liverpool before him and collect the child, then hopefully she could able to make it back to London before him. It was a risk leaving him but one she was willing to take. If he caught her, she would face the consequences, but Claire hoped she did not have to face him again until she was safely back in London.

The proprietor was busy picking up broken bottles when she approached him, and she suspected it was his wife helping him. Claire was pleased to hear the woman censuring him loudly and at length about the night’s events.

“Can we help you, my lady?” The man looked relieved to see her standing before him and Claire suspected that was because his wife had stopped haranguing him.

“I have need of a carriage and a driver at once. I have no wish to explain further. I will give you a hefty purse if you simply see to this immediately for me.” She lifted the pouch from her bodice and shook it.

“Will your man be angered with me in the morning if I do this?” The proprietor had a calculating look in his eyes as he studied the pouch.