Page 25 of A Daring Pursuit (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #2)

T here was no going after the bastard, he’d disappeared through the trees. Noah reached the cliff, terrified he’d find Geneva’s body, broken and bloodied. To his relief, she’d landed half on the path below. She lay on her back, one arm and one leg hung over the edge. God help her. One deep breath could send her over, tumbling to an inevitable fate. The blustery force seemed colder than it had the night Father had set Julius in Noah’s lap. A raindrop landed on his nose. Her time was expiring.

Noah raced down the path and knelt at her side. Unconscious. The fall hadn’t been as far as he’d feared. He did a quick check of her limbs and neck. Nothing appeared fractured, but spinal injuries were known to render a person paralyzed.

“What happened?”

Noah’s gaze shot to the voice shouting from the top of the cliff.

Baldric stared down at him and yelled, “She need a trolly?”

“I don’t know yet.” Noah cleared his mind of everything that could go wrong to concentrate like the scientist he was, though inside, dread was its own monster threatening to suck him into a vortex of black horror. He swiped more rain from his face.

Gently, he rolled her like a log doing his best to keep her neck as straight as possible and did a cursory check along her spine. Nothing seemed out of alignment, but he feared causing further damage if he lifted her.

But the sky opened up, drenching the two of them, and there was no other option. With extreme care, he carried her up the winding path. She weighed hardly a feather, but gusty winds and blinding rain did their damnedest to fight him on the trek up, Noah reached the top and it was a wonder he could stand.

Baldric met them with a cloak and threw it over her. A small attempt to protect her from the worst of the elements. But the flimsy coat was no match for the malevolent wind ravishing them and it sailed away.

Noah aimed for the closest door. The one that led to his laboratory. He turned to Baldric. “Fetch the constable… and the doctor. Just to be safe.”

“Reckon they’ll want t’ be moving in at the rate things are happenin’ ’round here,” he muttered, striding away faster than Noah had ever seen him move before.

Noah stepped inside, nearly plowing into Sander. “Someone pushed her. I-I couldn’t reach her in time.” Guilt cut the air to his lungs and they burned.

“I saw. Come, let’s get her warm and dry.” Sander held the door open to the ground floor. “Take her up the main staircase. It’s warmer and safer.”

Noah didn’t hesitate, with a surge of new energy and sheer will, he took the stairs by two then ran for the main staircase.

Isabelle met them at the base.

“Tell Pasha Miss Wimbley fell. She requires dry clothes,” Noah barked.

Verda appeared at the top of the stairs with her quick, assessing gaze. “Winfield, have Mrs. Knagg send the servants up with hot water,” she said. “Quickly.”

Noah hadn’t even noticed the old man. Winfield disappeared as silently as he’d appeared. Regardless, Noah couldn’t have choked out another word if someone held a musket to his head. He reached the Blue Suite and found Pasha inside Geneva’s bedchamber, holding a worn, cotton night rail. The coverlets had already been folded back.

“You’ll need help with the sodden clothes,” he said with a low growl.

“But—”

Verda brushed past him. “I’ll assist Pasha,” she told him. “Go to the kitchens and bring tea in the event she comes to. And brandy for yourself,” she added.

“Wrong. I’ll be searching the woods for the culprit.”

*

Hours later—correction—hours and hours later, Noah pushed the damp hair from his forehead and entered the Blue Suite. The color, according to Isabelle, represented calmness, but he was anything but. The oppressive and heavy atmosphere nearly suffocated him, as if he’d entered the family’s mausoleum and the door had clanged shut behind him.

The blood in his veins pulsed with a frenzy pushing out any notion of rest.

He glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was late. Too late, really, nearly eleven, after having spent hours with the parish constable and a team of volunteers from Alnmouth in search of the man who’d shoved Geneva off the cliff with coldblooded intent. It had to be the same man who’d aimed a dagger at Julius’s heart. And killed Hicks and Father? Nothing else made sense. He was one and the same, Noah knew it through to his bones.

Noah’s description of the man could have fit any number of men in and around the area, as there had been nothing specific he could point to that would differentiate him from one of the locals.

He’d left Verda, Isabelle, and Julius in charge of Geneva. But only Julius remained at her bedside. On silent feet, Noah moved to the side of the bed and set a hand on Julius’s shoulder. His brother jumped at the contact.

“Noah. Any luck finding the bastard?” he demanded softly.

“None. Whoever he is, he’s likely insinuated himself deep within the community. For all I know, he’s joined the search.” A horrifying notion .

“What did the doctor say?

“To keep her comfortable. What else could he say?” Julius’s voice trembled.

What indeed? A spiked coil twisted deep in Noah’s abdomen. “Has she wakened at all?”

“No,” Julius whispered. “The doctor confirmed what you’d already determined. She’s suffered no broken bones. But there’s one hell of a lump on her head.”

Noah’s hand squeezed into a fist at his side. “And the scratches on her face?”

“Minor. Mrs. Knagg applied a tincture. A few pebbles had to be dug out of her arms. But she didn’t even stir during the process. Gads, it had to have hurt. Perhaps not as much as a slash from a knife,” he added on a lighter note. A failing effort.

Noah couldn’t muster a smile.

“What do you suppose possessed her to leave the castle without proper covering? She had to have realized the weather was about to drastically change.”

Noah brought up his hand and touched hers. “I don’t know. I couldn’t see her expression. All I could see… was that bastard deliberately putting his hand out and shoving her to her death.” He shook his head, attempting to dispel the waking nightmare. But it was a sight that would remain with him for the remainder of his life, he suspected.

“I’m frightened for her,” Julius said in a choked voice. “She is my sister. I know it. She’s so pale and looks so… so fragile in such a huge bed…” His trailing whispers echoed through Noah and the band about his chest tightened.

With a light squeeze on Julius’s shoulder, he said gently, “Get some rest. I’ll remain by her side—”

“I can’t.”

“You can, and you will. If there is any change, I’ll let you know immediately. Go.”

For a minute, Noah thought Julius would unequivocally refuse, but then he nodded and stood. At the door, he turned and looked over his shoulder. The pain on his face, raw and nearly unbearable to witness, nearly felled Noah to his knees. His red-rimmed eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“I’ll look after her,” he promised again. And pray she wakes.

With a sharp incline of his head, Julius left.

Noah went about the chamber stirring the fire, checking the candles, tucking the covers about Geneva before taking up Julius’s vacated chair and vigil. He leaned forward, setting his elbows on the mattress, and studied her elfin face. What he saw filled him with haunting dread.

The boldness she readily displayed was now concealed behind closed eyes. The glow of the candles smoothed her pale countenance to a soft gold. He would light every candle in the castle to keep it so. His gaze moved over her exposed hands and he reached for one. It felt so alive, yet she hadn’t moved so much as a fingertip. He couldn’t even detect the pulse in her neck.

Fear constricted his throat. He grazed her hand with the pad of his index finger, back and forth. The rhythmic motion soothed him, leastways. Her skin was cool to the touch, not clammy or feverish. The muscular tone was prominent, allowing him to release his held intake of air.

A sting pierced the back of his eyes until he couldn’t breathe. For so many reasons: not reaching her in time; for not finding the bastard who’d dared attempt to kill her; for not being a physician; for not being God to possess the power to make her wake…

Noah laid his forehead against her cool skin, willing his warmth into her. Willing life into her. She emitted a small groan and his eyes burned.

“Mr. Oshea?” Her voice cracked the harsh tension in which he’d been encased as the words penetrated. Her words.

“Geneva?”

“I-I don’t remember giving you leave…” She seemed to run out of air to complete her chastisement of him. Something he greatly welcomed at this moment.

“Quite right, Miss Wimbley.” His own voice was hoarse with emotion.

“I’m terribly thirsty, sir.” Her attempts to rise failed.

He shot to his feet, toppling the chair behind, quickly moving to assist her. “Careful now.”

“My head feels as if trampled beneath a runaway carriage, dragging my entire body along.” She pressed the back of her hand to her head. “What happened?”

“Don’t talk just yet.” He poured out a small glass of water and went to hand it to her, but her hand was shaking too violently. He set it to her lips. “Slowly, love.”

She drank furiously. “More.”

He did as she… demanded… with joy touching his heart. Her hands appeared steadier and he allowed her to manage the glass on her own. “Are you hungry?”

“A little.” She handed the glass back.

“I’ve some bread here, if that will suffice. I’ll ring for broth. I don’t think you should have more than that just yet.”

“Why? What do you mean?”

“Do you remember what happened?”

She started to shake her head then, wincing, stopped. “No.”

“You’ve been unconscious for almost twelve hours.”

Her luminescent eyes widened, bathed by the low glow of flickering candlelight. “I-I don’t understand.”

Pasha rushed in. “I heard something fall.”

“It was my chair,” Noah told her. “I’m thrilled to report Miss Wimbley is back among the living.” His jest fell flat in his ears.

“Oh, thank the heavens.” Pasha hurried over and righted the chair.

“Do you think you could chase down some broth? Nothing heavier,” he cautioned.

“Of course.” She rushed back out.

“I demand to know what happened, sir.” Geneva’s bold impatience relieved him to no end. Also reminded him of her somewhat reckless nature.

“First of all, my name is Noah. You will henceforth address me as such.”

“All right,” she said meekly and completely uncharacteristically. “Will you enlighten me now?”

“You fell off the cliff.”

“Do not toy with me, Mr.—er, Noah. As I appear to be alive, I couldn’t have possibly fallen off the cliff. That jest is most inappropriate, sir.”

“I wish I were joking. Thankfully, you landed on the path below.” Shuddering, he fell back in his chair, unable to bring himself to tell her how close she’d been to actually tumbling to the beach below.

“Oh, dear. You’ve gone quite pale. Perhaps we should call for your vinaigrette?”

“You don’t remember?”

She started to shake her head again but stopped—again. “Nothing comes to mind. Other than the cold.” Her eyes snapped to his. “I remember being cold.”

As if punctuating her words, a clap of thunder rattled the windows. Rain pounded hard against the pains until Noah thought the glass would break.

Irritation flooded him. “You hadn’t even worn a cloak.” He grabbed her hand. It had warmed. Fit so perfectly within his. “God, you could have been killed. And it would have been all my fault.”