Griffin held up a hand as they approached the door, withdrawing his pistol. With a swift kick of his booted foot, the door splintered open. He strode forward, gun drawn and aimed, prepared to do battle.
Sebastian wasn’t far behind as Griffin stopped in his tracks. “Your Grace?”
Daisy stood, looking like nothing so much as an avenging goddess of war, his bloodied knife in one hand and a pistol in the other. Her unbound hair cascaded wildly down her back, and she was clad in nothing more than a dressing gown that gaped badly at the top and bottom. But it wasn’t the robe that drew his attention. Rather, it was the damaged right sleeve and flesh beneath, torn open by the undeniable trajectory of a bullet. Daisy’s hand that clutched the pistol was drenched in dark, crimson blood that dripped onto the floor, soaking into the carpets.
Jesus Christ.
He raced forward, registering the slumped figure of another woman on the floor, also in a pool of blood. “Daisy,” he cried. “You’ve been shot.”
“She was trying to force me to go with her,” Daisy said in an oddly toneless voice. Her skin was pale, far too pale. The perfect white of fresh cream. She was going to swoon, he realized. The blood loss and shock combined would be enough to lay low even the most seasoned soldier. “Oh, God. My father is waiting in a carriage below. Sebastian, you must arrest him.”
His heart wrenched, and he was prouder than he’d ever been. His brave warrior. She hadn’t needed rescuing. She had bloody well rescued herself. Two of her majesty’s fiercest spies and a handful of Home Office brawn had not been able to accomplish what one tiny, fierce American duchess had.
Griffin kept his gun trained on the woman moaning on the floor. “Arrest her,” he ordered one of his men.
Sebastian didn’t waste a moment. He went to Daisy, gathered her in his arms, hauled her to him as tightly as he could. “Buttercup.” He pressed his face into her hair, inhaling deeply of her luscious, sweet scent. She was alive, and gratitude hit him with such ferocity that he trembled beneath its weight. If he had lost her… Christ, he couldn’t even bear to think it.
But she needed a doctor. The wound on her arm bled heavily. Her blood was warm and sticky, oozing onto him. “We need a doctor,” he called out tightly. “Quickly!”
“My father.” Daisy slumped in his arms. Her head lolled back, her eyes taking on the glazed, pinned look of one who had just witnessed a great trauma. He’d seen that look enough times to know it. “See that he’s arrested, Sebastian. Stop him from hurting anyone else. Please.”
He looked to Griffin, who gave him a grim nod before leading the remaining three men from the chamber. Vanreid wouldn’t come out the victor. He was outmanned and outgunned.
“Hush, love,” he told Daisy. “Stay with me, now. Griffin will arrest your father. You’re safe. It’s over.”
She blinked at him owlishly. “Is it?” Her words were sluggish, slurred. “It is really over?”
He wondered for a grim moment whether she referred to her father’s plots or their union. But before he could ask her, she fainted dead away.
2ndJune, 1881
Darling Daisy,
I hope that this note finds you well. Please convey my thanks to the Duchess of Leeds for granting you the hospitality you requested. Your doctor promises me you will mend and that our babe was unharmed, and I am heartily glad, as I cannot fathom a life without the both of you in it.
Bravo, buttercup. The newspapers are ablaze with talk of The Daring Duchess. The Home Office assures me that your name is cleared and there remains no shadow of doubt concerning your integrity, bravery, and courage. You were—and are—magnificent.
I am unutterably sorry for everything—deceiving you, doubting you, hurting you. I hope you will find it within you to forgive me some day, though I know I’m not deserving of your clemency. Regardless, I’m inordinately proud of my fierce, beautiful, Daring Duchess.
Though I must say a hundred pounds on ice sculptures was rather extortionate.
Yours,
Sebastian
P.S. I’ve begun inquiries into your sister’s whereabouts. I won’t stop looking until she is found.
Daisy finished reading the note and allowed it to flutter to her lap. It would seem that her letters had at last found their way into Sebastian’s hands. And he had read them. Not only that, but he was searching for Bridget on her behalf. Her foolish heart quickened in her chest.
“Well?” Georgiana demanded, holding a white cat to her bosom as she seated herself at Daisy’s bedside. “What has he to say for himself?”
She swallowed, tamping down the unsettled emotions Sebastian’s words had brought back to teeming life within her. A week had passed since her world had been torn asunder. Abigail and her father had been arrested, along with a string of other plotters in London and a host of other cities. Still, both Padraig McGuire and Bridget remained unaccounted for, and Daisy could only hope that wherever she was and whatever she had done, her sister hadn’t mired herself too deep within the dangerous Fenian organization.
Daisy herself was healing fine. Thankfully, the bullet had only passed cleanly through her shoulder. Daisy had lost a fair amount of blood, but the doctor had been able to stitch her up, and thus far, she remained free of infection. The babe continued to grow, blissfully unaware throughout it all. She’d chosen to recover at Georgiana’s home rather than staying with Sebastian, and he had honored her request by keeping his distance. She hadn’t seen him since the awful day Abigail had attempted to take her hostage.
She’d spent the last week lolling about in a spare guest chamber, eating pastries and feeling sorry for herself. In the furor of the moment, she had left Hugo behind with Sebastian, which meant she’d been settling for the company of Georgiana’s menagerie—which had grown to include a family of mice, a parrot, and a frightfully inquisitive lizard—whilst she recovered.
“Daisy?” Her friend’s gentle voice reminded her that she’d asked her a question.
