Page 19 of A Daring Pursuit (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #2)

N oah lowered Isabelle to her feet. “Find your father, darling. And have Mrs. Knagg send fresh water to Julius’s chamber.”

“Of course.” She moved quickly, her noticeable limp not slowing her one iota.

Chaos followed Fletcher and Julius into Julius’s untidy chamber with Noah trailing the group. Miss Wimbley still wore her cloak and there was blood on one hand.

“Put me down, you big oaf.” Julius’s growl of pride was a good sign and Noah let out a relieved breath.

“Calm yourself, stripling,” Fletcher growled.

“ Stripling ? I’m nineteen.”

“Right now, you’re a pain.” Fletcher dumped Julius on the bed, where he landed with a thump.

Miss Wimbley rushed forward, disheveled hair askew, eyes widened in terror—and fury.

This was the second time in two days—Noah’s blood froze into an ice pool of slush— no …

He forced himself to slow even as red-hot rage should have dealt with the ice surging through him. Father had been stabbed in the heart. That made three incidents.

Miss Wimbley turned her fury on Fletcher. “Are you mad? He could be dying.” She raced to the basin of water on the sideboard and snatched up a clean towel, dropped it in the water, then wrung it out, slinging droplets. “Take off your coat,” she demanded of Julius.

The entire scene played out like a badly acted Shakespearean stage production that Noah couldn’t drag his eyes from.

Julius scowled at her. Fletcher stepped forward and did the deed himself.

“It’s just a scratch,” Julius bit out. But the slash on his coat and the gushing wound told a different story.

Miss Wimbley laid the damp cloth directly on the cut with trembling hands.

“Ow.” Julius’s less-than-masculine whimper startled Noah out of his stupor.

“How are you with a needle?” he asked Miss Wimbley.

“Not so good.”

“As good with a dagger, I’d wager,” he shot back.

“Oh, I’m much better with a…” Her voice trailed and slowly, she straightened to face him. “If you are implying something particular, sir, perhaps you would be so good as to spell it out in plain words. I am, after all, a resident of one of the more lacking London neighborhoods.” Her voice didn’t raise so much as a decibel.

Noah frowned. “What do you mean?”

“A knife flew from a copse of trees and hit my arm. If Miss Wimbley hadn’t shoved me, the nasty thing would have hit me square in the chest. Burns like the dickens,” Julius grated out. The room filled with a thick silence. His head tilted to one side and he narrowed his eyes on Noah.

Noah willed away a flinch. You’re my brother , he wanted to shout.

“Surely, you are not saying you believe Geneva tried to kill me, Noah,” Julius said softly. “Fletcher said she didn’t. He was there.”

But Noah was frightened out of his wits. The belief she was there to whisk Julius from him nearly choked him. He was angry at himself for not protecting Julius from nearly being killed. Guilt that he hadn’t delved closer into Father’s demise crawled over his skin like one of Isabelle’s nasty, little bugs, letting loose the havoc he’d lost control of. All that fury and culpability and self-hatred congealed into a furling ball of fire, and he turned it on her . “I don’t know. Could it be she lured you out there so you could be attacked?” he said softly, leveling a stare and refusing to take his eyes from hers.

If possible, her already pale face went positively bloodless.

Sander and Verda chose that instant to enter with Isabelle dragging her foot behind.

“We’ve sent for the doctor, but it will likely be a while, Noah,” Isabelle said. “I have the needle and thread. Mrs. Knagg is on her way with fresh water.”

She worked her way through the fray and went almost nose to arm with Julius. “Cor, Jules. Can I sew you up? Mama’s been making me work on my embroidery. I can do an almost perfect straight line of stitches now.”

Julius, despite his horrified expression, couldn’t suppress a grin—no one could when it came to Isabelle. “Since when?”

“Yesterday.” Her answer was hedged and everyone about him, save Geneva Wimbley, laughed, albeit softly.

And Noah. He had no desire to laugh at the moment.

“Of course, you may sew him up, poppet,” Verda said lightly.

Using his good arm, Julius scrambled back on the bed as far from Isabelle as he could get without falling on his arse on the far side. “Absolutely not.”

The housekeeper entered and that was the end of that conversation. She took on the task herself, unfortunately, requesting Noah’s assistance, trapping him while Miss Wimbley made a hasty escape before he could apologize. He didn’t truly believe she had enticed Julius to his doom… but the fleeting sensation that her presence had something to do with the tragedies refused to abate.

Biting back an oath of frustration, Noah told himself it didn’t matter. He knew where she was staying. There was plenty of time to speak to her.

He put his head down to deal with the matter at hand.

*

“Oh, dear. Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” Pasha’s concern nearly tipped Geneva over the edge of the cliff of sanity. She wanted to crawl into a hole like a frightened mouse.

“I should say so. Pack our things. We are bound for the next train south. I don’t even care where it goes.”

“There’s blood on your hand…”

Geneva waved out her hand. “Oh, that? Apparently, Mr. Oshea believes I just attempted to have his brother murdered, who, incidentally, is also my half-brother.”

Pasha didn’t bat a lash.

“Aren’t you shocked? That Lady Westbridge was right about me all along?”

She smiled then, something that resembled a mischievous cheekiness. “Oh, miss. There is more to you than what Lady Westbridge believes. If you were intent on murder, I expect you would never be caught.”

The tension in Geneva fled, though her eyes itched from holding back the desire to sink to the floor and sob until there was nothing left.

“Furthermore, if you were inclined to go after someone, I suspect you would have a very good reason.” Pasha came across the chamber and patted her hand. “All will be well, miss. You’ll see. Now, shall I commence packing?”

Geneva was still so stunned, and angry, and hurt by Mr. Oshea’s implication, she could hardly draw air into her constricted lungs. According to Miss Hale, she was only suitable enough as a mistress. Independence was her life’s goal, she reminded herself, firming her resolve. Still, her dry eyes burned. She owed him nothing . “Yes, but just make it an overnight bag. I think we shall pay Miss Hale a visit.” There was still the matter of her lost locket, and abandoning her quest now would be giving up a piece of herself. She would hold Mr. Oshea and his lofty promises to count. Once she convinced him of her innocence, of course.

“Very good, miss. Why don’t you wash up and rest a bit? I shall handle any intruders on your behalf.”

That sounded like an ideal proposition Geneva did not have the energy to refute.