Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

I t had become customary for Bruno to rise early and see that everything was to Nando's liking in his study, where he took his coffee, read The Times , and reviewed his correspondence. But this morning, the curtains remained curiously closed, the scent of coffee didn't permeate the air, and his newspaper was nowhere to be found.

Neither was Bruno, for that matter. Nando frowned.

Thinking his manservant's lapse odd, Nando allowed the door to fall closed at his back and ventured deeper into the room. Not even a brace of candles lit. Fortunately, the morning light streamed in through the window coverings, partially brightening the chamber.

That was when he spied Bruno's form, curiously still, in a chair by the hearth.

He didn't think, simply acted, striding forward. "Bruno?"

No answer. Nando quickly found the reason his loyal bodyguard failed to respond. Bruno was slumped over, snoring heavily, a bloody gash on the back of his head. Someone had knocked him insensate.

Sweet God.

There was the brief, prickling sensation on the back of Nando's neck that told him he wasn't alone just before a figure moved forward from the shadows of the darkened room, the double barrels of a flintlock pistol pointed directly at him.

"Don't move," the man ordered, light illuminating his features as recognition hit Nando like a blow.

"Levering," he said with a sinking sensation deep in his gut.

How the hell had the man made it past Tierney's guards? It seemed an impossibility, and yet here he stood, his eyes cold and dead.

"Ah, so you do remember the face of the man you cuckolded."

There was no mistaking the rage in the earl's countenance, sharpening his voice. It would seem that the ghosts of Nando's past were intent upon haunting him.

"I recall the face of the man who challenged me to a duel quite well," he said, wondering at the extent of the damage Levering had done to poor Bruno.

And wondering where his bodyguard's pistol was. Bruno's hands were empty. Nando had no weapon other than his fists to defend himself. The challenge facing him was grossly unfair. His mouth went dry as his mind raced to find a solution, some means of saving himself and Bruno.

And Eleanora.

The reminder of his beautiful wife sleeping peacefully upstairs filled him with dread. He had to protect her at all costs. Even if it meant sacrificing himself. He would gladly die for her if he had to. But first, he would do everything in his power to defeat the earl and keep her safe.

Nando pretended nonchalance, knowing that he had to keep his opponent calm if he wanted to maintain control over the situation.

He smiled, quite as if the earl were an invited guest in his study. "Pray tell me what the devil this grievance you appear to have with me is about."

"Do you truly feign ignorance?" Levering sneered. "This is about my wife, you spineless scoundrel."

Nando clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth in mock chastisement. "Is it not too early in the day for casting aspersions on the character of your host?"

"You dare to make light of me?" Levering's eyes narrowed as he continued to point the flintlock at Nando. "We shall see which of us has the last laugh."

"That sounds terribly final."

"Death is."

"Then I reckon it would be foolish of me to hope your pistol isn't loaded."

"Loaded with a bullet for you, as it happens."

The determination on the earl's face was chilling. Nando decided to change tactics.

"You mentioned Lady Levering. What has she to do with this? I believed our unfortunate association had been settled."

"She's carrying your bastard," the earl snarled.

The accusation would have alarmed Nando had it not been wholly impossible. Relief washed over him.

"My lord, the last time I bedded your wife was when you unfortunately happened upon us, well over a year ago. If the countess is indeed carrying my child, then she has miraculous capabilities of gestation that surpass her fellow woman. In other words, if your wife is enceinte , I regret to inform you that it is impossible for me to be the sire of the infant in question."

But far from reassuring Lord Levering and calming him as Nando had hoped his revelation would, it only appeared to heighten his rage.

The earl's lip curled. "This amuses you, you witless jackanapes? You'll not be so pleased when you are on your knees, begging for your life, I'd wager."

Ice trilled down his spine, but Nando refused to show Levering a hint of weakness as he held the man's stare. "There is only one person I will get on my knees for, and it isn't you."

It was Eleanora. Thank God she wasn't here in this room with him now.

Levering laughed bitterly. "You think I won't shoot you? How wrong you are. I've already done it once before, you see."

The earl was a madman, and he had just confirmed Nando's and Tierney's suspicions. He was responsible for the pistol shot that had thankfully gone awry that day. Levering had tried to kill him.

Tried and failed.

Anger chased the fear. Levering was going to pay for what he had done.

"Your aim is atrocious, my lord," he taunted.

"This time, I will find my mark." The earl smirked. "Of that, you may rest assured."

"Are you saying you intend to shoot me here and now, with a house full of servants who will be instantly alerted by the sound of a gunshot?" he asked. "To say nothing of the guards I have stationed about the town house, all of whom are armed as well. How amusing you are, Levering. Either amusing or perhaps you are…what is the word in English…an idiot?"

As he delivered the stinging assessment, Nando inched toward the fireplace, where the sterling silver fire poker had caught his attention. If he could move nearer to it by distracting the earl sufficiently, there was a possibility he might reach the poker and at least have one means of defending himself.

Unless Levering shot him first, that was.

He shifted ever so slightly.

"Don't move," the earl warned him, voice harsh. "Stay where you are."

Nando forced himself to speak, to offer more diversion and keep Levering off guard. "You say that I'm the father of Lady Levering's child," he continued conversationally, whilst moving another subtle inch. "But what of you? You are her husband, after all."

"I haven't been in that slut's bed in years," the earl snapped. "She has disgraced me, and I have nothing but disgust for her."

Nando slid to the right just a bit. "If you hate your wife, then why do you want to kill me for bedding her?"

"Because someone has to pay for what she's done. I should have forced you to that duel. If I had killed you then, she never would have fallen pregnant. But I needed the funds your brother offered. I allowed myself to be bribed. I was weak and imprudent, just as I was when I married that whore. I'll not be made a fool a second time."

"Actually," Nando offered, "she would have fallen pregnant just the same because as I've already informed you, I am not the man who is fucking your wife."

Another slight step. The poker was almost within reach.

"How dare you speak so callously? Although I suppose that I should not be surprised. You are nothing more than the whoremonger brother of a usurper king."

"See here, Levering. My brother is no usurper." Nando inched closer. "The House of Tayrnes is the only rightful heir to the kingdom. My uncle and his revolutionaries falsely seized power and started the Great War. Perhaps you don't consult The Times ."

"Silence!" Levering snapped. "Do you think I care about the history of your insignificant kingdom? Your nation is so pathetic that it could be crushed with a boot heel."

One more incremental step. He could grasp the poker in a swift move and then throw it at the earl. His heart hammered painfully against his chest.

For Eleanora, he reminded himself.

For Bruno.

"I merely sought to correct your misapprehensions," he said, keeping his voice smooth with all the control he possessed. "You seem to be suffering from rather a lot of them, my lord. Beginning with your delusion that I have been bedding your wife."

"No more of your lies," Levering roared. "She told me the truth when I confronted her after I learned of the babe. She told me that you are the father, that the two of you are in love, and that she intends to run away with you to Varros."

Nando might have laughed at the absurdity of such a claim, if not for the pistol pointed at his heart. "If Lady Levering made those claims to you, it was only to keep her lover's true identity a secret and protect him from you."

Levering scowled and shook the flintlock wildly. "Cease speaking at once! I'll not be confused by your falsehoods, nor will I be dissuaded from my course."

Nando took the final step as the door to his study swung open, and his heart froze. For there, on the threshold, stood Eleanora. His entire world. The woman who had become dearer to him than his next breath.

"Run," he cried out to her, finally grasping the poker and raising it high.

But she stood there, frozen, stricken. Nando saw it happening as if from afar, horror seizing his chest. Levering wheeled about, eyes crazed. Eleanora's scream rent the air.

"No!" The ragged cry of pure despair was torn from him as he leapt toward the earl, striking the man's extended arm with the poker as hard as he could.

The pistol fired in the same moment, flying from Levering's hand, and she crumpled to the floor.

Nando rushed for the flintlock, taking it in trembling hands and pointing it at Levering. "Don't you bloody move."

Bruno rose from the chair, pale and bloodied. "Your Royal Highness. What has happened?"

He couldn't find the words to answer. His tongue was as numb as his mind, fear making his heart pound. He had to get to Eleanora. Nando backed toward the place where she had fallen, desperate to assess the damage that had been done, keeping the pistol trained on Levering with every step. He couldn't lose her.

He wouldn't lose her. Not now, not ever.

There was a flurry of frightened servants gathering, having been drawn by the cries and the report of the flintlock. "Fetch a doctor at once," he ordered them. "The princess has been wounded."

She was so still, so silent. He saw the blood, red and angry, seeping through her gown, and his stomach gave a violent heave. He sank to his knees at Eleanora's side, and he did something he had not done in many years.

Nando prayed.

The pain in Eleanora's shoulder was excruciating. She could not breathe without agony, each inhalation agonizing. She was mired in the darkness, swirling toward nothingness. Too weak to save herself. And she was cold, so cold, as if she were buffeted by an icy winter's wind, her body trembling uncontrollably.

A voice pierced the emptiness.

"My love, don't leave me."

The voice was familiar, deep, tinged with the hint of an accent.

Nando's voice.

He was here, somewhere. But she couldn't open her eyes. Couldn't raise her arms to reach for him.

"Eleanora, don't you dare die on me. Please." His voice was broken now, the anguish in it so heavy that she longed to reassure him.

But she couldn't speak. Couldn't move. It was as if her body had been weighed down with a thousand stones.

Other voices filtered to her, low and indistinguishable and unknown.

Questions swirled. Who were they? Where was she? What had happened? Why did Nando think she was going to die?

There was a vicious, stabbing pain in her shoulder, and then she succumbed to the blackness surrounding her.

His fault.

Nando paced the hall outside the room where Eleanora was being tended to by a doctor, sick with worry.

Eleanora had nearly been killed, and he was the only one to blame. If he had not married her, she would not have been in his town house when Levering had stolen within, intent upon murdering him. She never would have been shot. And if he had simply heeded Tierney's warnings and stayed where they both had been safe, she never would have lain on the Aubusson, her life's source seeping into the patterned wool as he frantically held his cravat to her wound to stop the bleeding.

He hated himself.

He would never forgive what he had done. And he knew without a doubt that there was only one way he could do penance for leading her into danger and so recklessly putting her at risk. For nearly costing Eleanora her life.

He'd been an unabashed rake for years, undisciplined and wild, selfish and greedy. Flitting from distraction to distraction without the weight of responsibility, without a care for anything or anyone but himself.

Now, Nando would be selfless for the first time. Because he loved Eleanora enough to recognize he was not worthy of her, loved her enough to realize he needed to put her happiness before his own. She had married him because she'd been a woman of few means forced to earn her supper by being a glorified servant, and he had offered her a life of comfort and ease. Whilst he knew that she had found pleasure in his arms, he didn't fool himself that she returned his love. How could she love a scapegrace like him?

Nando knew what he had to do.

He would leave her.

"It is nothing short of a miracle that the bullet did not do more damage," Dr. Crisfield announced as he emerged from the room what seemed an eternity later.

Nando's eyes slid closed, his knees trembling so violently that he almost went tumbling to his arse. The bullet had passed miraculously through, not embedding itself in her body, splintering bone and piercing vital organs as he had feared when he had seen all that blood.

Thank God.

He said a silent prayer of gratitude before opening his eyes and taking a deep breath. "She will live, then?"

The physician nodded. "I was able to stitch her wound and stay the bleeding. She will need to rest and remain abed. Her Royal Highness lost a great deal of blood. I've given her laudanum for the pain and bandaged the wound. As long as infection does not set in, she will recover fully."

The chance of infection was strong, he knew, and the outcome grim. But Nando wouldn't think of that now. Eleanora was alive. The wound had not been as devastating as he had thought. Bruno had taken a terrible knock to the head, but he would recover as well. And Levering, that despicable madman, had been taken away by the watch. Nando didn't give a damn about his own miserable hide, but Eleanora was safe from Levering, and that was all that mattered.

"Thank you, Dr. Crisfield," he said, needing to see her for himself. "May I go to her now?"

The doctor gave him a sympathetic smile. "The laudanum did its job, and she is sleeping, but there is no reason to stay away, Your Royal Highness. You may see your wife now."

Nando was moving before Dr. Crisfield finished speaking. He crossed the threshold to the chamber where he'd carried her limp body earlier in a frenzied rush of fear. It wasn't her bedroom, but it had been the closest and most convenient. She lay quiet and still, her face ashen, looking so small and fragile and unlike her customary vibrant self.

Tears were streaming down his cheeks, but he didn't care. He sank into the chair at her bedside, clasped his hands together, and prayed some more.