In the next moment, something blunt and sharp connected with the back of her skull. The force was sudden, unexpected, and painful. Her vision clouded, darkening at the edges, as she struggled to maintain consciousness. But a second forceful blow hit her just then. Her vision went black, stars burst before her eyes, and she felt her body go limp, just before the darkness claimed her.
Lucien was notone bit surprised when he returned to the place where he had left Miss Montgomery and found her gone. The bastard he had followed into the crowded street had managed to disappear with ease in the throng. One moment, Lucien had been gaining on him, and the next, he had vanished. Though he had done his damnedest to fight his way through the street and apprehend the fleeing American, Lucien had been forced to acknowledge he was losing valuable time.
He had retraced his steps, ignoring the sputtering questions and demands of the desk clerk as he strode down the hall in search of his “wife.” Unfortunately, she was missing. Fortunately, he had a good idea of where he might find her, and unless he missed his guess, it would be somewhere in the vicinity of rooms twelve and fourteen.
He climbed the staircase two steps at a time, worry churning in his gut. If there were more Americans, and if they were indeed guilty of setting the bombs which had exploded on the railway that evening, Miss Montgomery approaching them alone would be not just foolhardy, but dangerous.
His fears were confirmed when he reached the second floor and discovered a prone female form. He recognized those skirts, damn it. Had she been shot?Good, sweet God.A sickening wave of dread hit him as he raced to her side. She was unmoving, lying facedown on the carpet. Lucien sank to his knees, fear knifing through him.
She was not dead. She could not be dead. He refused to believe it. She was too vibrant, too fearless. The thought of her lifeless stole all the saliva from his mouth. Made his gut cramp and terror roil through him.
No, no, no, no. It could not be.
“Hazel,” he panted, forcing himself to remain calm only through the exertion of great control.
This was not the first time he had come upon one of his fellow agents incapacitated. He told himself there was no difference between Miss Montgomery and the rest of the men he had worked alongside over the years. Then he noticed the blood in her hair, and he told himself he was wrong. Shewasdifferent, and not just because she was a woman, but because hecaredabout her.
He did not know when or how it had happened, but at some point between the moment she had first sauntered into his office and offered him her hand to shake, and now, she had managed to storm his battlements. Hands trembling, he rolled her onto her back with as much tender care as he could. She was unconscious, but her chest was rising and falling.Thank Christ.
“Hazel,” he repeated, but she did not stir.
He was acutely aware of the tenuousness of their situation, and he knew he could not afford to remain in the hotel. They were on their own, she had been attacked, and the stakes were far too high. He had no way of knowing what had happened to her, or how badly she had been injured. All he did know was, whoever had done this to her could return.
Hunting down her assailant and the bastard who had bombed the railway—likely one and the same—would have to wait for another day. Hazel’s welfare was his primary focus. Abruptly, he was reminded of another day, long ago, when he had held his mother’s lifeless and waterlogged body in his arms.
She had walked into the North Sea, and though he had done everything to find her and save her, his efforts had been too little, too late. She had drowned, just as she had wanted, though somehow, the ocean had mercifully washed her back ashore, so he could find her and bring her home one last time.
He had failed his mother, but he would not fail Hazel Montgomery.
“Hazel,” he said again, gently patting her cheek. “Wake up for me, sweetheart. Come back to me.”
She emitted a low moan of misery, her eyelids fluttering, as she struggled to come to. All signs indicated she had received a blow to the head, rather than having been shot. The foolish, brave woman. If she had remained where he had told her to, she would not have been attacked.
“There you are,” he said, as a profound sense of relief hit him in the gut. “Open your eyes for me.”
“Arden?” she croaked, her eyes opening at last, bright and blue, reflecting her confusion. She shuddered, her hand lifting to the back of her head. “What…happened?”
“You were attacked.” He gathered her in his arms and stood. “But I have you now. All will be well.”
It was a promise he would do his utmost to keep. As he carried her to the first floor of the hotel, he also vowed he would bring the bastards responsible for her pain, and the suffering of countless others, to justice. Even if it was the last thing he did upon this earth.
Hazel’s head feltas if someone had taken a hammer to it. She clutched at Arden’s shoulders, confused and disoriented, as he carried her down a set of steps as if she weighed no more than a babe in his arms. Awareness and lucidity returned to her slowly, in time with the pounding misery throbbing through her skull.
She was in the Great Western Hotel, she recalled, and she had run across Emerald Club members she recognized. But, most importantly, they had recognized her. Even without her disguise. Her voice was likely at fault, for she had interacted with Mulroney quite extensively in her capacity as Mrs. Mulligan. Someone had walloped her over the head, and she would be willing to wager her last nickel it had been Sean Flannery.
Hazel could not be certain which shocked her more: the recognition she had seen in Mulroney’s gaze, the sudden knock to her head, or the realization she was being carried by the Duke of Arden. She blinked up at his rigid jawline and his harsh countenance.
What had become of Mulroney and Flannery? Had they been able to disappear, thanks to her misstep in turning her back upon Flannery? She could only hope not. But in truth, she feared she knew the answer. Arden seemed grim indeed.
“Arden,” she managed to say, again vaguely aware of a commotion surrounding them in the lobby of the hotel.
A flurry of unfamiliar voices assailed her, much as it had earlier in the street.
“Excuse me, sir, you cannot simply…
“Good heavens! What has happened to her?”
“Is the lady unwell?”
