“I am grateful your groom was with you. But Clover threw you? That stallion has always been so dependable. It seems out of character for him, especially with your reputation. Father always says you could keep your seat during a gale.”
“Clover started at a hare. We were both fatigued after a few days of hard travel, and that only made matters worse. I don’t blame him, though. The fault lies with me. If I had been able to handle him better, I wouldn’t be in this wretched mess. I need to—” Hugh attempted to sit up but did not make it far before collapsing back onto the pillows, eyes shut tight in pain and frustration. He was not a man accustomed to being bedridden.
“Mother said you are not to move,” she scolded. “I will fetch some laudanum to help with the pain, and I am certain the doctor will be here shortly.”
“It isn’t the pain, though I confess, my ribs ache like the devil.” He put his hand on the bed to anchor himself as he tried once again to rise. “I have urgent business tomorrow that cannot wait, and I have no notion how to—”
He broke off at the bang of a door closing at the far end of the corridor, his expression tightening with panic.
“Kate, this is a strange request, but would you ensure that my saddlebags are—”
Brisk, heavy footsteps approached the doorway, and a footman announced Doctor Fitzroy. The tall, lean man entered the room and barked instructions at the staff for hot water and clean bandages. “If you please, Lady Katherine, I must ask you to step outside so I may examine Lord Hugh’s injuries.” The doctor’s thin lips pressed together.
“Of course. I shall inform my mother.” She rose, but Hugh gently caught her wrist. “About those saddlebags,” he began in a hushed voice, but she cut him off before he could continue.
“Yes, I will ensure they are taken care of. Please rest and listen to the doctor’s orders.” He grimaced as he carefully lowered himself back down, releasing her.
She found his worn leather saddlebags in the corner, leaning against the wall beside the door. She did not understand why he had asked her to attend to them instead of his valet, but it was a small request. Hefting the bags into her arms and sidestepping members of the staff, she reached the door and turned to find Hugh watching her intently with a plea in his eyes. She nodded in reassurance before slipping out and drawing the door closed behind her.
She released a slow breath as it clicked shut, the silent corridor a sharp contrast to the moans from Hugh’s bedchamber. Her arms ached under the weight of his saddlebags, and she struggled to keep hold of them. A footman was posted in the hallway and saw her efforts.
“Allow me to take those from you, my lady.”
He reached out, but before relinquishing the saddlebags, Kate reached inside intending to retrieve her brother’s pocketbook. It was not there. Instead, she found a coarse drawstring pouch, the faint clink of coins unmistakable. She hesitated. It was not the sort of thing a gentleman usuallycarried. She drew it out and passed the saddlebags to the servant with instructions to see to the rest.
“What did the doctor say?” Her mother’s voice carried down the hallway as she hurried toward Kate. The footman bowed and slipped away. Kate reassured her mother that the doctor was still in the room before retreating safely to her own chambers.
As Kate placed the pouch on her writing desk, an unexpected crinkling sound made her pause. She loosened the cord and peered inside. A crumpled scrap of paper lay among the coins. She drew it out and smoothed the creases until three distinct words were legible.
Wycliff library. Midnight.
Her heart beat faster. She stared, her mind struggling to catch up. She had seen messages like this many times before, but none of those had come from her brother. This one was direct, unlike the carefully disguised newspaper submissions. And yet, it carried the same deliberate urgency.
She crossed to the door and pulled it open, only to hesitate at the threshold. Hugh would have been given laudanum by now and would not be able to answer her questions. She shut the door and leaned back against it.
It was only a small scrap of paper, but the implications were difficult to ignore. It might be nothing, but it did not read that way. Either Hugh had come across it by chance, or he was involved in something far more dangerous than he had ever let on.
What should she do? Her work had always been confined to the safety of her desk. Did she dare step beyond it?
Nervous anticipation ran through her. Unease followed hard upon it. For once, ink and inference might give way to something real. If only she knew how to reach someone who was familiar with this world. She brushed the thought aside and lifted her chin. She could solve this.
The note must refer to the ball that Lord and Lady Wycliff were hosting the following evening. James would be her escort, which meant slipping away would be a daunting task. He had a steady gaze and a sharp mind and did not seem the sort of man who would be easily deceived.
She, however, was not a woman who was easily managed, and James would discover that soon enough.
Chapter 5
James
Asudden thrust forced James to retreat with only a breath to spare as the blade’s point almost grazed his cheek. Beads of sweat stung his eyes, and his heart pounded in a heavy but familiar cadence, the air thick with rivalry and unspoken challenge.
He steadied himself and forced his mind to ignore the ache of his muscles. He could not afford to slow down or be distracted. The consequences of losing were too grave to contemplate.
He moved deliberately across the polished floor, eyes locked on his opponent as they circled each other. Sensing a moment of weakness, James lunged, his foil cutting through the air with practiced precision. The man parried his attack, the clash of steel echoing through the room like a tolling bell.
Voices murmured in the distance, but James only heard the measured rhythm of his own breath. As he fought off exhaustion, his mind conjured a different opponent—a faceless man who deserved no quarter.
Renewed energy coursed through him and he advanced again and again, his movements fluid and calculated. If he could not best his adversary on skill alone, then he would outlast him by sheer force of will.
