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F ear, ugly and unrelenting, clawed up Juliana’s throat at the sight of Victor lying on the cold ground. She fell to the pavement next to him, her hands trembling as she reached for Victor’s face. “Victor! Victor! Can you hear me?!”

Nash crouched beside her and placed two fingers on the side of Victor’s neck. “He’s alive. Probably passed out from either the pain or shock.”

A door slammed, and pounding from another pair of feet drew their attention. Juliana tore her gaze from Victor as Mr. Grey rushed from the building.

“I heard a shot. What the hell happened?” Mr. Grey’s gaze jerked from Nash to Juliana, utter surprise widening his amber eyes. “Does your brother know you’re here?”

Before she could answer, Nash interceded. “Now’s not the time, Grey. Pratt needs a doctor. No offense to my wife, but all things considered, going back to Burwood’s will only raise more alarm. Find Ashton. He’s the best. I’m going after the culprit. Where did the shot come from, Miss Merrick?”

Juliana pointed a shaky finger down the shadowy passage, and Nash raced off without a backward glance.

Dropping to his knees, Mr. Grey pulled open Victor’s coat, then unbuttoned his bloody waistcoat. Blood bloomed like a living creature, vivid against Victor’s once-pristine white linen shirt.

“We need to get him inside.” Mr. Grey rose, ran back to the building, and yanked open the door. “Hartley, come down here!” His voice bellowed in the eerie night.

“Which one?” a man called back.

“Both of you!”

Two enormous men exited, their appearance strikingly similar. As they took stock in the situation, one of them said, “Are you hurt, miss? You have blood all over you.” His voice was surprisingly gentle for a man his size and appearance.

She shook her head. “It’s Victor’s blood. He used his body as a shield and fell on top of me.”

“Probably saved your life,” Mr. Grey said. “And now we need to save his. I’ll have someone ride and find Ashton.”

Juliana grasped his arm, purpose flowing through her like wildfire. “Let me go. I know where he lives. And I have to do something, or I’ll go mad with worry.”

“Hartley One, go to the mews and have a horse readied, then come right back and we’ll get Mr. Pratt inside.” Mr. Grey turned a gentle gaze toward her. “You’ll have to ride astride, but from what I’ve read in the scandal sheets, that won’t be a problem.”

Thank God she’d worn her riding habit. She leaned over Victor and, with trembling fingers, smoothed back a lock of his blond hair.

“You reckless, brave man. Don’t you dare die on me, Victor.

I love you. Fight with all your strength and live.

” When she placed a gentle kiss on his lips, Victor’s eyelids fluttered, then opened.

Her breath caught. For a moment, the world receded to only his eyes, unfocused and full of pain—but alive.

As he looked up at her, a faint smile tipped his lips, and he lifted his hand to cup her face. “Cara mia. Per te vivrò.” His hand fell limply back to the ground, and he groaned in pain.

“Save your strength, and don’t try to talk, Victor. I’m going to get a doctor to help you.”

“Not Adalyn. Nash wouldn’t like it,” Victor moaned.

She caressed his beautiful face. “No. Not Adalyn. Ashton. But you must be strong until I return. Mr. Grey will take care of you.”

She kissed him again, struggling to hold back the tears. She had to be strong—for Victor.

Hartley—she’d already forgotten which one—returned with a horse, saddled and ready.

Mr. Grey helped her mount the horse, a gelding several hands higher than Sunshine.

For a moment, she watched as the three men picked up Victor and took him inside.

Then she kicked the horse into action, grateful it was late at night and the streets were empty.

She bent low over the neck of the horse, reminiscent of how she had ridden on Rotten Row to help little Eva Somersby.

However, this time, although her heart pounded furiously in her chest and matched the pounding of the horses’ hooves, the urgency seemed even greater.

A thought flashed through her mind of Colonel Brandon rushing to retrieve Mrs. Dashwood as Mariane lay so deathly ill.

She prayed her story would have the same happy outcome, then pressed forward to her destination.

In front of Ashton’s residence, she vaulted from the horse, and after haphazardly tying the reins to an iron gate, rushed up to the duke’s door. Tension coiled in her chest, and she pounded her fists on the solid wood as if her life depended on it. No, not her life, Victor’s.

Light still shone from the front windows, and she breathed a sigh of relief that at least someone was still up. After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened.

The butler Burrows’s eyes widened with surprise and then alarm as he took in her blood-stained riding habit and gloves. “Miss Merrick, are you injured? I shall fetch His Grace.” He motioned her inside and sent a footman to find Ashton.

With no time to argue with the old gentleman, Juliana allowed him to lead her to a chair while she waited and dearly hoped the duke had not already retired for the night.

Muffled voices and footsteps drew her attention to the long staircase leading to the upper floors as the duke rushed toward her. Without a neckcloth, his shirt hung open at the neck, and his hair was mussed as if he’d been running his hands through it.

She bolted from the chair toward him. “Your Grace, you must come!”

He made no complaint about the intrusion. His hazel eyes were serious as he raked his gaze over her in a medical assessment. “Peter said you were injured.” Lifting her bloody hands, he examined them, then frowned. “Whose blood is this, Miss Merrick?”

“Victor’s. Please, you must come immediately. He’s been shot.”

“Where is he?”

“At The Knave of Hearts .”

A blond eyebrow hitched. “You were with him? At this time of night? Is anyone else with you? Anyone else hurt?”

“Please, Your Grace. I’ll answer all your questions later. But there is no time to waste.”

“Burrows, have my carriage readied.”

Forgetting all propriety, Juliana grabbed the duke’s arm and reiterated. “There is no time. It will be faster on horseback.”

“You rode here—alone?”

“I did, Your Grace.”

His lips curved in an unexpected, slow grin. “Reckless, but impressive.” Ashton nodded toward Burrows, who instructed a footman to run to the mews and have the duke’s horse saddled. Another footman handed the duke his medical bag.

Precious minutes ticked by as they waited for Ashton’s mount to be readied, and she relayed the events of the evening as best she could.

Horses ready, the duke helped her into the saddle of the borrowed horse, then mounted his own. “Lead the way, Miss Merrick.”

Pleased the duke was such an accomplished rider, Juliana pushed her horse to the limit, the duke following closely behind. Upon reaching The Knave of Hearts, both jumped from their saddles .

One of the enormous men waited outside the back entrance and ushered them inside.

“Up here,” the other giant called from a balcony above them.

Ashton took the lead. His medical bag clutched in his fist, he bounded up the stairs as if he were ten years younger.

Hartley—one, two, she couldn’t be sure—pointed to a room.

Juliana sucked in a breath at Victor’s ghostly appearance. The soft glow of lamplight illuminated what the dark shadows of the back passageway had hidden. Stripped to his waist, Victor lay on the bed, pale as death, eyes closed, while Mr. Grey pressed a cloth—dark with blood—to Victor’s side.

Nash leaned against a wall, arms crossed and brow furrowed as he watched the tableau before him.

As they entered the room, Ashton’s gaze snapped momentarily to Nash. “Did you do this?”

“Don’t tell me you’re putting credence in those rags now, Harry. For once, I’m innocent. And although I tried to catch the culprit, he slipped from my fingers.”

“Hmm.” Ashton muttered, returning his attention to Victor. “Putting pressure on it. Good, Grey.”

Mr. Grey stepped aside so Ashton could examine Victor, his voice tense as he said, “Bullet went through him. I packed the wound on his back with a cloth, which appears to be where the bullet entered, but the bleeding . . .” He shot Juliana an apologetic glance.

Dizzy, Juliana grabbed a nearby table for support, the edges of her vision growing dim and her knees giving way from under her. For the first time since everything had happened, a sharp pain lanced at her side.

Nash rushed over and led her to a chair.

Ashton and Mr. Grey’s voices grew distant. “The question is, Grey. If Pratt shielded Miss Merrick’s body, and the bullet when through from back to front, how did it miss her?”

The last thing Juliana remembered was Nash saying, “It didn’t.”

Victor was in hell. Fire licked him from the inside out, searing muscle and bone. His throat burned, but he forced out the one word that mattered— “Juliana”—before blissful darkness swallowed him whole.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity—for what was hell but ceaseless torture—his insides cooled. His eyelids felt glued together and as heavy as lead. Yet he forced them open.

Blurred figures formed in front of him. “Pratt. Do you know who I am?”

The man’s voice was familiar, and Victor struggled to focus his vision, recognizing the duke. “Ashton,” he croaked out, then added, “water.”

The duke disappeared from Victor’s view, then returned and held a glass to Victor’s lips. “Just a sip.”

A sip?! Parched, Victor wanted to drink an ocean, yet he obeyed. Cool and soothing, the tiny bit of water slipped down his throat like a balm. “Juliana? Is she safe?”

“She’s recovering at Burwood’s.”

Recovering?! The word hit like a blade. Pain slashed through Victor’s side as he surged upright. “She’s injured? I thought . . .”

Ashton grasped Victor’s shoulders and pushed him back onto the bed. “Easy. You’ll pull your stitches. We all thought the bullet had missed her. Thanks to you, I might add. But it exited you and nicked her side. It’s a minor flesh wound, and Dr. Somersby is taking excellent care of her.”

Juliana’s home? Victor blinked, his vision slowly sharpening on the unfamiliar room around him—the flocked wallpaper, the soft flicker of lamplight, muffled voices outside the walls. “Where am I?”

Ashton lifted the water to Victor’s lips and allowed him to take another sip. “At The Knave . I advised Mr. Grey that you were in no condition to be moved.”

Even Victor’s arms felt limp and useless, but using all his willpower, he grabbed Ashton’s forearm. “I need to see her. To make sure with my own eyes she’s going to be all right.”

“That’s not possible at the moment. But someone is here to see you. Shall I send them in?”

The only person Victor wanted to see was Juliana, but perhaps whoever was there could give him more information. “Very well.”

Ashton opened the door. “Do not upset him.” The sternness in the duke’s voice made Victor lift his head to see who was there, and he quickly second guessed his permission as his mother strode in. Thank goodness Father and Cilla were with her.

His mother held a handkerchief to her bosom. “Victor! Victor! We’ve been waiting for days to see you. What were you thinking doing something so foolish?”

Days?

“Lady Cartwright, I warned you. If you don’t restrain yourself, I will remove you.” Ashton’s tone brooked no argument.

“Aurelia!” his father said. “What our son has done is nothing short of heroic. He saved his betrothed’s life! And if you do not behave, I will send you back to Lincolnshire.”

Through his murky haze, Victor thought Priscilla uttered something that sounded like Baa.

“Father, have you seen Juliana?”

Cilla took his hand, giving it a squeeze. “I have, Victor. She wants to come see you, but Burwood is livid about what happened.”

“Mother said it’s been days. How long?” Victor jerked his gaze toward Ashton, who stood to the side, apparently ready to remove Victor’s mother at a moment’s notice.

“Only three. You’ve been in and out of consciousness. You had a fever. No internal damage, but I kept you here to watch for infection. I’ve applied a poultice of honey to the wounds and dressed them.”

“Honey?!” His mother screeched and feigned a swoon, and that time Victor was certain Cilla bleated like a sheep.

Ashton nodded. “That was Dr. Somersby’s idea. The Romani have been using it for years. There are natural properties to the honey that draw out the infection. We’ve had great success with it. And Victor’s fever seems to finally have broken.”

Victor turned toward Cilla, the only woman in the room he could trust. “And you promise Juliana isn’t seriously injured?” He swallowed, his throat tight with emotion. “Does she still want to marry me?”

“More than anything, Victor. But you need to get better first.” She leaned close and whispered in his ear. “For your wedding night.”

He chuckled, the action sending a sharp pain in his side. “Damn it, Cilla. That hurt.”

His mother waved the handkerchief in front of her as if she had been the feverish one. “Victor! Your language.”

“If you will pardon us.” Taking her by the arm, Victor’s father led his wife from the room. “Our son has every reason and right to curse, Aurelia!”

Ashton stepped forward, removed his pocket watch, and lifted Victor’s other hand to take his pulse. “I’m glad your father intervened. I was about ready to do so myself.” Finished, he slipped his watch back in his pocket. “Better. Steady and strong. You had us worried for a while.”

“When can I see Juliana?”

Ashton smiled. A good sign, certainly? “That will depend on the duke. As your sister said, he’s furious you put his sister in such danger.”

“But I didn’t know she was going to be there. I swear. Surely, she’s told him that?”

Ashton patted Victor’s arm. “I suspect he knows you’re innocent and did everything you could to protect her. He’ll come around, I’m sure. Now, rest. If you continue to improve, I’ll see about transporting you back home.”

Cilla kissed him lightly on the cheek and preceded Ashton from the room.

Victor allowed his heavy eyelids to fall shut. He needed his strength so he could go to Juliana, to plead with Burwood, to throw himself on his mercy.

He needed to see her. Not just for reassurance—but because life without her no longer made sense.