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The Heart of a Duke(91)

By:Victoria Morgan


However, the time was not now, for the minute the front door opened, she knew something was amiss. Burke, a butler known for being as unflappable as stone, was gray-tinged and wide-eyed. “Thank the lord,” he blurted, shocking Julia so much that she stood dumbfounded.

Daniel grasped her elbow and practically dragged her inside, letting Burke slam the door behind them. “What is it? What has happened?”

Burke recovered his composure, but his expression was still grim. “Everyone is well. You need to speak to Taunton.”

“Bryant. Come with me. Now.” Her father was storming out from the foyer leading to the guest quarters, Emily on his heels. His hair stood up straight as if he had attempted to pull it out.

Without a word, Daniel followed her father from the room.

“Oh, thank goodness.” Emily’s arms were around Julia, squeezing her tight.

Julia assured her sister she was all right and gently drew away, her heart nearly at a standstill as she took in Emily’s pallor. “What is it? What has happened?”

“It is Brett. He is all right, just a broken arm.” She hitched a breath. “Doctor Malley is in with him now. Robbie brought him here. We have been keeping Doctor Malley busy. What is going on, Julia?”

“Please, I will explain everything later. I promise. Tell me what happened?”

“Apparently someone shot at them. In Russell Square, no less.” She shook her head, her expression incredulous. “Robbie saw something, for he dove on Brett, pulling him down, but the horses shied from the noise. Robbie got them under control, but the curricle tipped over. Brett’s arm broke in his landing. Apparently, he’s not as hardy as Robbie.”

“No one is,” Julia commented ruefully, noting Emily’s use of Brett’s given name. It was something to file away for later when she had time to ponder it.

“Robbie is checking on the horses again, but father is fit to be tied, for Brett was tight-lipped about what happened. You need to intercede.” Emily gave her a worried look.

She nodded, her mind already down the hall. Thank the lord for Robbie or the horses or whoever deserved the credit for suspecting they were followed. She swallowed, not willing to contemplate what might have happened otherwise.

A maid directed her to the room where they had settled Brett, and she lifted her hand to knock, but the door opened and Doctor Malley emerged.

“Ah, Lady Julia. A pleasure, despite the circumstances. Once again, my work is done here. The young man shall be fine with a little rest. Send for me if the pain gets worse, or if he starts asking for his mother or his horse, and not necessarily in that order.” With a wink, he made to turn away. “Is Lady Emily around? She was distraught; I would like to assure her that her young man is well. Jason, is it?”

“Excuse me?” Julia whispered, feeling the blood drain from her face.

“My apologies, is that not his name? That is what Lady Emily called him.”

Julia dumbly shook her head. “She was mistaken. It is Brett. Brett Curtis.”

“Ah . . .” He looked puzzled. “Well, she was upset. I shall speak to her.”

He turned away, leaving Julia staring after him. Emily had been doing so well. Was doing so well. She refused to believe that had changed, but she could not fathom why she would confuse Brett with Jason. They shared similar coloring, blue eyes and fair hair, but therein the similarities ended. Brett was a head taller than Jason. And American. She frowned, forcing herself to put the matter aside for now.

She opened the door to Brett’s room and stepped out of the calm and into the wrath of Taunton. Her father was on a tirade. She knew from past experience, it was best to wait until the brunt of his anger had passed.

“What the devil were you thinking? Attempted murder? Twice? You think you can resolve matters better than the authorities? Were you planning to use the Manton? And what would happen then? Bedford is dead without incriminating evidence implicating him in anything, and you are standing there with the smoking gun.”

He had a point. Her father was pacing and when his back was to her, she wiggled her eyebrows at Daniel, who stood with hands clenched, looking annoyed. At her look, he loosened his stance, a rueful grin curving his lips.

“I don’t know what to believe. All of these accusations based on the word of some Weasel? Who is he? What is he? A poacher, you say?”

She ignored her father, who rambled on, and crossed to the bed to assess Brett’s condition. His expression assuaged her worries. He was sitting up, his hair tousled, a dazed grin on his features, and appearing highly entertained by her father’s monologue. She surmised Doctor Malley had given him something to dull the pain, for his pupils were like pinpricks and lacked their usual vibrancy. His splintered and bandaged arm rested on the covers. A new bruise bloomed on the cheek opposite his bruised eye.