Mr. Carnegie pulled back one of his friend’s eyelids, studying the pupils for a second, and inspected Lord Dennis’s head for more injuries.
“Why is he yet unconscious?” Leah whispered.
“I fear Lord Dennis was exceptionally deep in his cups tonight.” Mr. Carnegie pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the blood dripping from his friend’s nose. “The bump to the head simply sent him to sleep a mite sooner than the brandy.”
For his part, Mr. Carnegie did not appear inebriated, though the smell of alcohol lingered on him as well.
“I simply need to remove Dennis from your bedchamber with no one the wiser and leave you with my most abject apologies for this unwelcome intrusion.” He flashed her a grim smile, the world-weary expression at odds with his youthful face. “We must ensure this mishap does not damage your reputation nor set gossiping tongues to wagg—”
A scuffle of footsteps in the hall outside had Mr. Carnegie turning his head and muttering another low oath.
Moving quickly, he straddled his friend, wrapped his arms around the man’s chest, and heaved him upright. Not unlike Leah’s father hefting a fat ewe for sheering.
In short, it was an impressive feat of physical strength.
Mr. Carnegie pivoted, spinning himself and Lord Dennis around, stopping just behind Leah’s bedchamber door as a knock sounded.
Leah didn’t know whether to be impressed by Mr. Carnegie’s quick reaction or appalled at the smooth, practiced nature of it. This was clearly not the first time Mr. Carnegie had lifted the leaden weight of a drunken friend.
Mr. Carnegie jerked his head toward the door, indicating she should answer it.
Nodding, Leah snatched a shawl from the foot of her bed, wrapping it around her shoulders. She cracked open the door.
Miss Smith and Miss Wells—two fellow guests—stood in the hallway wearing elegant London wrappers, night caps, and matching expressions of faux worry.
“Are you quite all right, Miss Penn-Leith?” Miss Smith asked, her blond braid gleaming even in the dim light.
“Yes,” Miss Wells added. “We heard aterriblethump.”
The ladies peered beyond Leah’s shoulders, searching the room as if they somehow knew there were two young gentlemen concealed behind Leah’s bedchamber door.
“I apologize if I gave anyone a fright.” Leah pulled the shawl tighter around her shoulders and mentally grasped for a plausible lie. “I was up reading late—Miss Austen’s works are so captivating, ye ken—and I stumbled over my ownmucklefoot as I was getting into bed.”
As a falsehood, it wasn’t particularly good.
“Muckle?” Miss Smith wrinkled her dainty nose. “You Scots use the oddest words.”
Miss Wells giggled, standing on tiptoe, unabashedly craning her neck to see more of the bedchamber.
In Leah’s peripheral vision, Mr. Carnegie made a rolling motion with one hand.Get on with it.
“I thank ye both for your concern,” Leah began closing the door, “but all is well. I shall bid ye goodnight.”
The ladies murmured a reply, and Leah shut the door fully, throwing the lock.
Now what?
Turning back to Mr. Carnegie, she watched as he eased Lord Dennis back to the floor.
“Clever,” he whispered, chin gesturing toward the door. “You are a quick study.”
Leah blushed. The unexpected praise sent a jolt of pleasure through her still-racing heart. Until this moment, she had never considered that her good sense and quick thinking could be used to conceal an illicit assignation and attempted homicide.
She wasn’t sure whether to be proud or appalled.
Oblivious to the uproar he had caused, Lord Dennis emitted a blissful, sleepy snore.
Because . . . of course, he did.
