Page 22 of His Unforgettable Bride (Bride Ships: New Voyages #4)
Twenty-Two
Politeness forbids any display of resentment.
The polished surface throws back the arrow .
U nable to sleep, Gray had spent the last hour staring at Henry Graighton’s image and the word “Missing” until his eyes blurred.
If Ruby had spoken the truth, why had the mention of his birth name not shaken loose the missing parts of his brain? Indeed, he resembled the image on the paper. But a prince? He still could not fathom the prospect.
At first light, he would investigate the notice without Ruby’s help.
His stomach growled, and he rose, dressed, and left the bedroom. Surely, he would find something delicious left over from the party. Halfway down the rear staircase, a soft clatter rose from the dark kitchen below.
Voices. Male voices.
Gray froze as his pulse accelerated. Thieves, or had Ruby returned with reinforcements?
For all he knew, a weapon remained tucked inside the piano stool. Although a strange hiding place, he was grateful for it tonight. Silently, he returned up the staircase and down the hallway. As he reached the top of the front stairway, he peeked down. A rattling emitted from below, and he flattened himself against the wall.
With a movement beside him, he startled, finding Juliet.
She’d copied his action and had flattened herself to the wall beside him. “What’s wrong?”
“Why are you awake?”
“Too much on my mind. Why are we pressed against the wall?”
“Two men in the kitchen. Thieves, or possibly tied to Ruby. Awaken the sisters, then bar all three of you in one bedroom. Don’t come out until I return.”
Juliet reached for his fingers and squeezed. “Let me help you.”
“It is too dangerous, and I refuse to place you in peril.”
“But—”
Of course she would resist staying behind. But he could be as stubborn as Juliet. “Please do not argue with me.”
Amazingly and without complaint, she rose onto her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. Then she crept toward Livy’s room, looking over her shoulder at him one last time before slipping through her door.
He hadn’t spoken with Juliet since she returned to the tearoom after Ruby’s appearance. Too confused and agitated to join her, he had paced instead for a short while, saying Henry Graighton and Bascandy repeatedly, hoping the words would alert something in his brain.
But no such luck.
By the time the dance ended, midnight had come and gone. The sisters had insisted on waiting for the morning to clean up the tearoom. Thus, everyone had gone directly into the house and readied for bed. So he hadn’t spoken privately with Juliet about the matter, and he suspected she hadn’t told the sisters about Ruby’s visit or the revelation of his identity. If so, they surely would have mentioned the fact.
Gray crept to the top of the front staircase. The starry night sky shone through the window above the door, and he strained to listen. Only the grandfather clock striking four times delivered a sound. With silent footsteps and tensed muscles, he descended.
On the last step, he paused and gazed around. He planned to secure the gun and then investigate the premises. He would keep the trespassers from reaching and frightening the ladies at all costs. Something crashed onto the floor, originating from down the hallway. The dining room, perhaps, or?—
“I said, get!” Cy shouted.
A chill dropped down Gray’s spine. He shot toward the drawing room. Through the darkness, he raced into the room toward the piano and was stopped short by slamming into something solid. No, someone solid, with enough force that they both crashed to the floor. Peaches released a piercing whistle.
His opponent bore the brunt of their fall and grunted. The man was similar in size to Gray and reeked of body odor. Where was the other one? Still with Cy? Or were there more than two trespassers inside the house?
Gray jerked his opponent sideways, trying to gain an advantage. Then they rolled in the other direction, bumping into a side-table leg and sending it careening to the floor with a crash. The deacon’s bench sat to his right and the piano to his left. If he could only reach the weapon, he could end this tussle and hopefully assist Cy.
In theory, it was a decent plan. But now for the execution.
Gray twisted enough to free his arm, then jabbed his elbow into the man’s face with a driving force. Immediately, his foe released him, allowing Gray to break free. He quickly scrambled to the piano stool.
“Stop. I have a gun.” A deep male voice carried a bite and a vague familiarity.
Gray stiffened, but his mind whirred, trying to find a way out of his bind. Slowly, he turned toward the shadowy figure in the doorway. But then the air whooshed, and the body collapsed, followed by a thud. The outline of a slender person stood over the man with the weapon—a large rod of some kind?
“Cy?” Gray asked.
“Look out behind you.” It was Juliet’s voice.
Merciful heavens. What was she doing down here? His first instinct was to run to her and ensure her safety. But apparently, she had control of the situation.
Instead, he flung open the stool lid and felt for the firearm.
No gun.
He spun around, his opponent on hands and knees as if searching for something, likely a weapon dropped in the scuffle. Quickly, Gray pounced on the man’s back, collapsing him to the floor. Then he pinned the intruder to the carpet. Though the fellow writhed, straining to free himself, Gray held tight.
Faint lantern light seeped into the drawing room. “I got a weapon,” Cy said, his voice growing louder as he drew closer. “And I love shooting it.”
The man beneath Gray cussed and quit resisting.
With sweat on his brow and labored breaths, Gray rose and glanced at Juliet. She knelt beside the unconscious man, who was sprawled face-first on the floor. Lantern light glinted off the blade of a knife in her hand and the abandoned iron poker beside her on the floor.
Where was the motionless man’s weapon? Did he lay atop his firearm, or had he bluffed?
Gray’s body ached from the brawl, especially his ribs. The man he had grappled with now sat, his back against the leg of the deacon’s bench. Blood flowed freely down his face into his lap and onto the floor. Was the fellow’s nose broken?
Stepping around the toppled side table and destroyed lamp, Cy handed Gray his revolver. A sling held his injured arm, and his hand gripped a lantern. “I fooled the one trespasser into thinking he knocked me out.”
Gray pointed the revolver at his attacker.
“Are you both all right?” Juliet stood by the door, the poker stick now ready for another blow, which hopefully would not be necessary. Her voice and brow expressed concern. Yet, throughout the ordeal, she had remained unflappable.
“I’m dandy,” Cy said.
“As am I.” Gray offered her a slight grin. “I must say you are quite handy wielding a makeshift weapon. Thank you for not staying upstairs like I requested.”
An impertinent smile landed on her lips. “Anytime, Gray.”
“Gray?” The man sitting beside him raised his head, blood smeared on his face and bushy hair. “I thought your name was Henry Graighton. The prince.”
Had he heard the rumors attached to Ruby’s claim last night? By now, the entire town had probably caught the news that had unfolded hours ago.
Gray stepped closer to the trespasser and examined him more closely. The man’s front teeth were missing. His heart slammed against his chest, and he tightened his grip on the gun. This man—no, this thief—had stolen his memories, a part of his soul.
“Gray is Gray.” Juliet’s voice rang out defiantly. “He’s not the missing prince from far away.”
Clearly, that was what she wanted to believe, though the evidence said otherwise.
Cy said nothing.
A memory streaked through his thoughts—awakening on a boat ride from Victoria before his escape. The recollection had a genuine roundness, almost as if he could touch the steamer’s cold floor. Smell the hay and feel the icy water rushing over his head that day.
Deeply, he longed to be alone to sift through his recollections and prod a few more. But not yet. Only after they finished securing the trespassers—his kidnappers—tying and locking them up until they could go for help.
Sutton’s image flew through his brain, and a raw ache squeezed his heart. Mother had sent him a letter explaining his brother’s death and killing all hope of ever forgiving each other and restoring their bond. It was not fair.
Who else had Gray forgotten? A picture of his straight-shouldered father dropped into his brain. Like train cars following an engine, the images of his four younger sisters—Amanda, Charlotte, Nora, and little Maureen—rolled through.
He could picture his home, a stately palace on a hill, complete with a moat and drawbridge. He captured the beauty of Bascandy. The ragged coastal cliffs, the sandy beaches, and the flowering vegetation joined in calling him back to his birthplace.
And what about Dobbin? The last time he saw his friend, he was unconscious on the ground. Had God spared his life? Merciful heavens, he hoped so. Soon, he would leave Everly to learn the answer.
His eyes strayed to Juliet. What would she say when he revealed he was one hundred percent a prince?