As the duke’s valet followed close upon his heels, Walker could only think of getting his father upstairs to a bed.
Had he come all the way from Devonshire to berate him, as Russell had said? Yet hell, what did it matter? He was alive and breathing thanks to his father.Thanks to his father!
Emotion tightening his throat, Walker headed for the room he had occupied while residing at the town house, his father groaning in his arms. He kicked open the door, fearing the worst now from the terrible shock his father had just suffered, and laid him as gently as possible upon the bed.
To his surprise, the duke stared at him just as when Walker had first arrived at Summerlin Hall, as if he couldn’t believe his long-lost son had returned home to England. For long moments, too, while Walker kept silent, not wanting to overtax his father if he didn’t feel like conversing. Finally Charles turned his head feebly and glanced around the room.
“Is…is she here?”
His father’s voice a low rasp that further alarmed him, Walker was momentarily confused. “Who, Father?”
A weak smile lit his father’s face and he reached up to grasp Walker’s hand in his gaunt one. “Your bride, Alexander. The parson’s daughter. For you to defy me and wed in Gretna Green, she must be…truly extraordinary.”
Moisture clouded Walker’s eyes and he nodded. “She is extraordinary, Father. Marguerite.”
“Beautiful name…Marguerite. I would like to meet her before…well, I don’t know how much longer I’ve got…”
His father sighed shakily as if their exchange had exhausted him, which made Walker swallow hard.
“I’ll bring her to you, Father…as soon as I can, I swear it.”
“Good, my son. Let me rest now. The journey was so tiring…”
Charles released Walker’s hand and closed his eyes, while Walker wondered why he’d said nothing about Russell…but perhaps his father had seen all he needed to and required no explanation. Walker turned to the valet, the older man standing silently behind him.
“Stay with him, Hodges. I’ll go see about the physician.”
As the valet nodded and took Walker’s place beside the bed, Walker strode from the room only to stop in the hallway to see Wilbur, his own valet, peering out of a closet.
“The shooting’s done, man.” Walker gestured impatiently to the bedchamber he’d just left. “See if there’s anything my father’s valet needs—now go!”
At any other time he might have smiled at the ridiculous sight of Wilbur scurrying to oblige him, his coattails flapping, but the situation was far too grim for humor. He went to the top of the stairs, stunned when he looked down to find Jared, his pistol still trained upon Jack, talking to a woman.
And not just any woman…but an elegantly dressed Lady Belinda Cavendish, her jasmine and rose perfume wafting up to him. What the devil…?
Walker ignored the dull ache that still plagued him and the painful lump on the side of his head, and descended the stairs. At once Belinda came rushing toward him, though she took care to lift the hem of her mauve satin gown as she skirted Russell’s body lying in the middle of the foyer.
“Oh, Alexander, how terrible! Lord Dovercourt just told me you were upstairs with your father. Is he well?”
“Resting,” Walker said tightly. He glanced from Jared, who looked as perplexed as he felt at that moment, back to Belinda. “What are you doing here, my lady, if I might ask?”
She appeared momentarily startled by his brusque tone, but she recovered herself and laid her gloved hand upon his forearm.
“Why, I was invited by your cousin. He sent a message that he was expecting your father tonight and for me to come and greet him. Of course, I was thrilled at the thought of seeing His Grace again. I’ve always been so fond of him…so I stopped on my way home from a dinner party. My carriage is just outside…but oh, dear.” She glanced over her shoulder at Russell’s bloodied body. “This is such a shock…”
Walker cursed under his breath at the two bright spots of color on Belinda’s cheeks; the last thing he needed right now was for her to faint dead away in the foyer. He took her arm to lead her back toward the front door.
“My father can’t see you right now. As soon as the physician arrives to tend to him, I’ll be leaving to fetch my wife—”
“Oh, yes, I must offer you my congratulations. When Sir Russell passed along your regrets last week, he mentioned you might have gone to Gretna Green to wed. How wonderful for you!”
Walker wasn’t surprised that her good wishes didn’t seem to reach her crystalline blue eyes. He wondered, too, why Russell would have shared such news with her—but the rumpled-looking physician coming through the door with one of the footmen distracted him.
“Upstairs to the left,” he directed, torn between wanting to remain with his father while the physician attended to him and his desire to go after Marguerite before it might be too late. Then the foyer only grew more crowded as the other footman arrived with a portly constable followed by several soldiers carrying rifles.
Suddenly the place resounded with raised voices: Jared explaining to the constable what had happened, Russell’s henchman Jack spewing curses as he was yanked to his feet and led off by the soldiers, the physician pronouncing Russell truly dead after a quick examination, while Walker wanted nothing more than to escort Belinda out the door. Yet once again she grasped his arm to gaze with alarm into his eyes.
“Surely you can’t be thinking of leaving your father, Alexander! He may need you…oh, my, such a terrible occurrence. I’d be happy to fetch your wife for you. My carriage is here after all. Allow me to help you, please, it’s the very least I can do.”
