‘You do seem to be rather predisposed to shooting me,’ Lord Rotherby scowled in pain, ‘and I would suggest my ruffled French silk shirt is the least of our troubles. I’m more concerned about the important tissues you will have undoubtedly severed, leaving me with no option but to have my arm sawn off by a local butcher!’
‘Dear God, no!’ Sophie shrieked again, more wildly this time. ‘There must be something we can do? I’d rather cut up Phoebe’s primrose muslin for my brothers’ grubby knees than be responsible for such a fate,’ she sobbed.
At this, Lord Rotherby’s shoulders began to shake violently, while he inclined his face as though in prayer.
At first Sophie thought he was having spasms of such terrible pain he couldn’t even look at her, but on closer inspection she found he was actually having convulsions of uncontrollable laughter.
‘Well, I don’t see what’s so funny,’ she wailed. ‘I am ruined, you have been shot with a crossbow, and all you can do is laugh? Matilda always said you were addled in the head!’
Yet if Sophie intended her derision to bring his lordship to his senses, she was very much mistaken, for all he did was laugh even harder.
‘And I do believe the fever has set in already,’ she moaned. ‘To think I thought you so worldly, and now all you can do is stand there and laugh at your own downfall. Well we must send for a doctor this instant for that dart needs extracting and— Oh!’ Sophie gasped as Lord Rotherby suddenly reached up and pulled out the protruding shaft in one swift movement. He winced before smiling apologetically as the bleeding intensified. ‘That’s it. Sit down this instant and give me your cravat,’ she demanded.
Lord Rotherby sat down much more meekly than Sophie expected, while she snatched up the offending dart.
‘You’re not going to shoot me a second time, are you?’ he enquired in a mollified tone.
‘Hush now, or I’ll let you bleed to death,’ she admonished, deftly scoring the fine silk of his shirt sleeve.
Then she took hold of the sodden material and ripped until she had a clear view of the puncture wound. Swiftly, she pressed his cravat to the wound while making a tourniquet with the torn sleeve. Seconds later, his lordship was sporting a makeshift bandage and sling, and looking unusually impressed.
‘Am I to add nursing skills to your string of highly commendable attributes, Miss Fairfax,’ he asked.
‘Am I Miss Fairfax again because I’ve bound your arm?’ she countered, raising her eyebrows. ‘I have four brothers,’ she added. ‘And through them I’ve dressed more injuries than I care to remember. This bandage is only temporary though; we still need to fetch a doctor.’
‘We do, do we?’ Lord Rotherby replied with a gleam. ‘And since when did we start making decisions together?’
Sophie eyed Lord Rotherby with fresh loathing before treading swiftly towards the door. She yanked it open to find Horace leaning against the corridor wall outside, eyeing her with the oddest mix of curiosity and suspicion.
‘Exactly how long— Oh, never mind!’ Sophie shook her head, exasperatedly. ‘His lordship needs a doctor, and quickly! He has already lost quite a bit of blood,’ she added in a more urgent tone.
‘Too late,’ Horace replied with a shrug. ‘We weighed anchor about ten minutes ago, miss. His lordship gave strict instructions to set sail as soon as the tide turned.’
For a moment Sophie said nothing, though she had the feeling every drop of blood may have drained to her feet. Then she was conscious of a million ungracious thoughts before they morphed into something else entirely.
Outrage.
How dare Lord Rotherby make such a decision when she’d made it abundantly clear she would rather face public shame than continue to Calais with him! How dare he assume control, simply because he could!
‘Well, you can turn this miserable little bathtub around and sail right back then, can’t you!’ she snapped, before spinning on her heel and storming back into the cabin.
‘No doctors immediately available?’ his lordship quipped, though Sophie could see the set of his lips was harder, as though he was suppressing pain.
She surveyed his person in cold fury. He’d moved to a comfortable armchair and attempted to pull on a gentleman’s brocade dressing gown that looked as expensive as the undergarments she’d discovered in the coach. From this vantage, she could also glimpse a dark stain of blood that had managed to seep through his makeshift bandage, but she felt no guilt, only an unbridled sense of satisfaction. His lordship could force his presence on her all he liked, but she’d shot him in defence of all females everywhere.
A faint smile threatened, despite everything.
‘None offering their services beyond the harbour!’ she growled instead. ‘Please be good enough to instruct your men to turn around, sir. I have no desire to travel to Calais and wish to save myself a cold swim if at all possible.’
Lord Rotherby gave a bark of laughter then, before wincing.
‘Turn around be damned!’ he cursed. ‘We are away now and will be in Calais by suppertime. From there we’ll travel to Paris, the Alps and then on by boat to Italy. You should see Rome and Venice of course, but we could also include the excavations at Herculaneum and Pompeii,’ he pondered thoughtfully. ‘Then we could move on to Spain and Portugal. You might like to get your portrait painted, but of course Rome is always best for that…’ He trailed off as he looked back at her. ‘What do you think, Miss Fairfax? Do you have any decided preference?’
Sophie stared at the injured nobleman in disbelief. He’d not only ignored her express wishes, he was now describing a European tour as though he hadn’t just abducted her at all. He had clearly gone stark-raving mad.
‘What I think is that you have taken leave of your senses entirely!’ she hissed. ‘You may have grown used to behaving however you like, whenever you like, but may I remind you, sir, that I have a guardian– my eldest brother, Sir Thomas Fairfax–who will demand satisfaction when he hears how you have insulted his sister. Let alone the Viscount Damerel, of course, who is at this very moment traversing through Europe with my sister, the Viscountess Dam?—’
‘Oh Lord, spare me the entire family tree, I beg of you,’ Lord Rotherby groaned. ‘I am well aware of the extent of your delightful relations, and I am scared of none. I would also remind you, if you recall correctly, thatyoudecided to join me. I didn’t bundle you into a coach at midnight! Besides which, I am persuaded that even if Tom Fairfax can drag himself away from Newmarket long enough, the news that his younger sister has become Lady Rotherby will hardly have him reaching for his pistols– unless you wish him to meet an early demise of course?’
