Bray froze when he saw the piece of wood protruding from Wayebury’s stomach, the dark stain of blood soaking the white brocade of his waistcoat. The realization of what had happened slammed through Bray and caused a rare shock of panic to rip him. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Wayebury said, his voice ragged as other men slowly gathered around, whispering among themselves. “Something must have caught in the wheel.”
“All right, don’t worry about that right now,” Bray said, trying to process the tragic turn of events. “We’ll figure that out later.” He looked up at the concerned faces of the other men. “Someone get my carriage over here,” he ordered.
“My sisters,” Wayebury managed to say before coughing in pain. “I must get back to my sisters.”
“You will,” Bray answered, wanting to placate the man.
“They’ll be expecting me home by week’s end.”
“We’ll get you there,” Bray said, though he was certain that would never happen.
“They depend on me, you know.”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“God! It hurts like hell! What did I do to myself?” Wayebury struggled to raise his head.
“Don’t sit up.” Bray tried to hold the viscount still, but the thrashing man managed to lift himself enough with his feet to lower his head and look down at his stomach. A pain-racked laugh that ended in a wounded animal-like groan blew past his lips and he went limp.
Bray’s arms tightened under Wayebury’s shoulders. “Just hold on until the carriage gets here. You’ll be fine.”
Wayebury’s trembling hand slipped slowly down to his stomach and felt around the wood. He winced. “No,” he said on a moan that carried eerily into the darkness. “I’m not blind. You can’t save me. I’m going to die.”
Bray knew the man’s words to be true, but it didn’t seem fair that Wayebury knew it, too. Bray looked into the viscount’s eyes and saw fear, but he didn’t know what to say to him. Bray had never been that scared. “Lie still and don’t try to speak.”
“I can feel it’s deep, Lockington.” Wayebury made an effort to laugh again, but it sounded more like an agonizing growl. “I can see it’s too late for me.”
“Hell no, it’s not!” Bray demanded as if saying so would make it true.
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not. I’ve not lost a friend yet, and you’re not going to be the first. We’ll get someone to help you.”
“There’s no time, Lockington. My—my uncle will inherit the title. He won’t—provide for my sisters—as I have. I can’t leave them with him.”
“Listen to me. You won’t.”
“You’ve got to help me,” Wayebury whispered, and closed his eyes.
An oppressive quietness settled over the group of gentlemen. The only sounds Bray heard for a few moments were the viscount’s loud, heavy breathing; the hum of crickets; and the lonely chirp of a night bird calling in the distance. All he could think was that if the man was quiet, maybe it meant he wasn’t in any pain.
“I must ask a favor of you, Lockington,” Wayebury said, opening his eyes and breaking the stillness.
“What is it?” Bray said, noticing the man’s lips had lost their color, his breaths coming short and shallow.
“Marry my sister Louisa.”
Marry?Bray thought the man wanted a nip of brandy to cut the pain. Having just turned twenty-seven, Bray hadn’t even thought about the idea of marriage. He wasn’t interested in being leg-shackled by anyone.
“I’m not agreeing to anything like that, you blasted blackguard, because you’re not going to die.”
Prim reached up and closed his bloody fingers around the ends of Bray’s neckcloth and pulled his face close. The smell of blood rose up from the viscount’s hand.
“Marry Louisa!” Wayebury exclaimed on a deep breath that slowly died away.
“Hellfire,” Bray swore as his hands curled into fists. “That’s nonsense talk, and I won’t hear more of it. Next you’ll have me promising to pay your mistress and all your gaming debts, too.”
