The Rake by Georgeanne Hayes

him, but they would have to bind and gag her to get her into
another carriage with him in the meantime.
    The sounds filtering to her from the house
escalated and she frowned. She couldn’t imagine Jonathan Flemming
arousing such a flap. Finally, curiosity overcame caution and she
made her way inside, drawn by the babble of excited voices to the
front hall.
    Her heart nearly stopped in her chest when
she saw the mayhem there. Phoebe was wailing almost hysterically
and Lady Moreland looked as if she might faint dead away at any
moment. Geoffrey was being supported by two of friends. Blood
streamed from his hand, dripping onto the tiles of the hall.
    She wondered, without a great deal of
sympathy, if the fool had shot his hand off loading his gun. Before
she could decide whether to surge forward and offer help, or
retreat and leave them to their own devices, several more men
struggled through the front door, carrying Lord Wyndham, who was
either unconscious … or dead.
    A wave of such horror washed over her that
she sank weakly to the floor. She didn’t breathe for several
moments. It was only as she gasped in a desperate draft of air that
she realized she’d been holding her breath as they crossed the hall
with his limp form.
    She regained her feet as they started up the
stairs with him and rushed over. “Is he … is he…?” She
stammered.
    “ He is unconscious at the
moment, Miss Demitria,” the man following the procession announced.
“I would like to have him comfortably settled before he comes
around.”
    Demi nodded jerkily and led the way up the
stairs, throwing open the door to the first guest room they came to
and rushing ahead of them to turn the coverlet down.
    The man who’d spoken to her, she discovered,
was his manservant. When he’d seen to it that Lord Wyndham was
settled with utmost care upon the mattress, he turned to her once
more. “We’ll need to undress him now, Miss.”
    Demi tore her gaze from Lord Wyndham’s pale
face to look at the man blankly.
    “ If you would step outside,
Miss? You may return once we have him comfortably settled and stay
with him until the surgeon arrives.”
    Nodding numbly, Demi left the room, leaning
weakly against the door for several moments after she’d closed
it.
    Geoffrey, still supported by his friends and
now trailed by Lady Moreland and Phoebe, was hobbling up the
stairs. The procession passed her without even glancing in her
direction.
    She heard cursing in the room behind her and
jerked away from the door as if she’d been scalded. A few moments
later, the manservant opened the door and ushered the men out who’d
brought Lord Wyndham up. “His lordship will see you now, Miss,” he
said when the men had departed.
    “ How bad is it?” Demi
gasped fearfully.
    “ I’m no surgeon, Miss
Demitria. He seems to have caught the shot in the muscle of his
calf, however. Thankfully, his boot prevented a great deal of
damage and there does not seem to be an excessive amount of
bleeding. I feel most hopeful that the wound will not prove to be
mortal.”
    Demi thought for several moments that she
would faint at the mention of mortality. Gripping the edge of the
door frame, she fought it off and, after a moment, moved inside.
Lord Wyndham was propped against a mound of pillows. The coverlet
that had been spread over him was tented at the foot, as if his leg
had been propped up on pillows, as well. He was pale, his features
taut from pain. Hesitantly, she moved around the bed to the side
nearest him and stared down at him, fighting the urge to burst into
tears. Something touched the back of her knees and she turned to
see that the servant had brought a chair. She stared down at it as
if she’d never seen one before.
    “ You should sit. I’m fairly
certain it would not please his lordship if you were to faint and
fall.”
    Demi nodded jerkily and sat, turning to look
at Lord Wyndham again. His eyes were closed, but she couldn’t tell
if he’d lost