“Christ, what happened?” West asked, shooing him inside the house. “Are you bleeding?”
“Most likely,” Benedict muttered as he shrugged off his coat with a wince.
“Damn, it is blood. Bella, fetch some hot water,” West called, taking in the sight of his back.
“Lady Arabella,” she corrected sharply. “Who was it?”
Benedict’s sister slipped into the hall, answering her own question. “Benedict, good lord!
“Lady Arabella, would you please do me the very great honor of fetching some damned hot water before your brother bleeds out on these ugly carpets?”
She pursed her lips in disapproval before she disappeared down the hall without another word. Meanwhile, West urged him forward toward the drawing room, his palm an inch or two behind Benedict’s back. “Where are you hurt?”
“Everywhere,” Benedict groaned.
West cleared the settee of the threadbare decorative pillows, allowing Benedict to flop across it on his belly. His feet hung awkwardly off the end.
“I’ll cut it off. It’s done for anyway,” West said, gesturing to his shirt.
Benedict’s only reply was a grunt.
West must have retrieved a knife from somewhere on his person, because he pulled the collar back before slicing carefully at the fabric around Benedict’s neck. A ripping sound followed. The linen pulled at his wounds where the dried blood had fixed it to his skin.
“Oh, Benedict…” Bella whispered. He hadn’t noticed her return, but there was a pot of water on the floor. “Did Father?—”
“Obviously. No one else hates me enough to do this. Well, Eliza, but she’s not capable of it.”
Beside him, West ripped another piece off his shirt—from the cleaner front portion—and dipped it into the water. “You’ll wish for the devil after I do this.”
“Nothing is ever going to hurt again,” he grumbled. Still, Benedict hissed when the cloth brushed along his broken skin.
“You’re morose when you’re bleeding like a speared hog,” West commented. “Most elegant,Lady Arabella, if you could find it within yourself to bring a flagon of your finest cordial over to your half-dead brother, I would be ever so appreciative.”
“Oh, for the love of… I didn’t know Ben was injured.”
“No, no, it is of the utmost importance that, as a mere peasant, I address your ladyship by her most esteemed title.”
“Could you two save the bickering until after I’m dead?” Benedict shifted an arm free when Bella returned with the quarter bottle of scotch he’d abandoned days ago.
“Afraid not, my friend. You know your sister and me, oil and water.”
Benedict took an appreciative swig, savoring the burn in his throat as it distracted from the flames licking at his back. “Speaking of—surprised to find you here.”
“I wasn’t certain what to do,” Bella said. Benedict blinked one eye open to see her twisting her fingers in knots at West’s side. “I couldn’t let them… and I didn’t know how long it would take you to… so I sent for West.”
“Lucky to be alive, you are,” West mused. “Was he trying to kill you?”
“Unclear. Though I imagine I’d be dead if he wished it. This was an education.”
“Ben, I—” Bella broke off, voice thick.
Benedict hissed as West pressed too hard into a wound. “The road here was smooth, I take it?”
“More or less.”
“Your Miss Eliza is unharmed,” West said.
“I think she might disagree with that assessment. But I suppose you are correct, physically in any regard.”
