Page 22 of Memories Made At Midnight (Chronicles of the Westbrook Brides #9)

Hefferwickshire House’s lands

A COUPLE OF TERRIFYING HEARTBEATS LATER

C assius didn’t need to look twice to know the men were up to no good. Their unmitigated gall in trespassing on ducal lands suggested the Earl of Highbury had offered a substantial reward for Beatrice’s return.

Digging his heels into the horse’s sides, he whistled—a high-pitched series of notes. He repeated the whistle several times as they barreled toward the house.

And he prayed someone would hear the signal and sound the alarm.

All the Westbrooks had learned the whistle when they were children. Father had insisted upon it, and the staff knew it meant danger. Or a potential abduction. That someone was hurt or needed help. A fire… Any manner of peril.

Beatrice clung to him, her breath coming in frantic little pants.

“Nala,” she cried. “Come.”

Nala sprinted beside the horse.

Cassius held no false hope that this weary beast could outrun the miscreants’ horses.

He whistled the alarm again.

And again.

A shout went up from the stables.

Then another. And another.

An answering whistle carried from the estate.

Thank God .

“Help is coming, Beatrice.”

He shot a frantic glance over his shoulder.

The thugs closed in on them.

One raised a pistol.

Holy Hell.

Mayhap the earl didn’t want her back alive, after all.

The villain lowered the barrel, aiming at the lagging horse.

“The blackguard means to take the horse down, Beatrice. Hang on.”

Cassius would die before he let those men get their hands on her.

He veered the horse to the right, and then to the left.

A gunshot rang out.

A small shriek escaped Beatrice as she dug her nails into his stomach. She squeezed him so tightly that he doubted an ant could crawl between them.

Teddy yipped in terror.

“Oh, God. Help us,” she cried in a strangled voice.

Nala barked and bared her teeth.

The horse’s lathered sides heaved.

The poor beast couldn’t continue much longer.

Another shot reverberated through the air.

Cassius braced himself for the horse to stumble, but it continued onward, stretching its legs out in a manner that would credit any Ascot champion.

By God, he would buy this animal, and the gelding would live the rest of his days in luxury and comfort at Hefferwickshire.

The creature had proven himself ten times over.

The thunder of hooves echoed as riders approached from the house, hell-bent-for-nothing.

His Father and brothers, Fletcher and Adolphus, were among the riders along with several stable hands. They must’ve been about to go for a ride or just returned from one, given the many saddled horses. Behind them, at least a half dozen more men charged across the field on foot.

“Cassius,” Beatrice gasped into his ear. “The m-men…They’ve turned around and are f-fleeing in the other d-direction.”

A swift glance over his shoulder verified the cowards had indeed tucked their tails and were making their escape.

Sweat ran in rivulets down his face and soaked his shirt.

His heart beat an irregular staccato behind his ribs.

That had been too bloody close.

If he and Beatrice hadn’t been near the house…

The consequences were too horrific to consider.

His father, brothers, and three men raced to meet him while another five continued on in pursuit of the henchmen. There was little chance they’d catch them, and Highbury’s hirelings would escape to report back to the earl.

“Are you both unharmed?” Father skimmed his worried gaze over him before darting a concerned glance toward Beatrice. “Miss Fairfax, I presume?”

Naturally, his father would make the connection as Cassius had asked for his help regarding her inheritance.

“We’re fine now, thanks to you, Father. And yes, this is Beatrice Fairfax.” He squeezed her fingers, still digging into his ribs. “I’ll perform proper introductions later.”

“Your Grace.” Fear and perhaps awe at meeting the Duke of Latham rendered Beatrice’s voice a faint, reedy sound. She rested heavily against Cassius. “I apologize for this debacle.”

As if it were in any way her fault.

She’d rotated the sling forward and lifted Teddy from his enclosure. “My dog.”

At once, Maddock hurried forward and accepted the wriggling bundle of ebony fur. “Hello, little laddie. Aren’t ye a handsome wee fellow?”

“The horse is hit.” Adolphus made that shocked observation.

What ?

Pivoting in the saddle, Cassius bent to see where his brother pointed.

Sure enough, scarlet covered the poor beast’s side.

“Good God!” Fletcher leaped from his horse and hurtled toward Cassius and Beatrice. “It’s not the horse. It’s Miss Fairfax who’s been shot.”

No. No. No.

Something unnamed shattered inside Cassius.

He met Beatrice’s pain-filled hazel eyes.

“I believe I’ve taken a ball to the thigh,” she whispered, as though surprised by the revelation.

Her eyelids fluttered as she slipped sideways from the horse.

Fletcher caught her, then lowered her to the ground.

As he swiftly dismounted, Father signaled to one of the nearby men. “Go for Doctor Hartney at once. And send a wagon back for Miss Fairfax. Also, alert the house. Tell the duchess to prepare a chamber.”

Bent low over the horse’s neck, Farrel, one of Hefferwickshire’s coachmen, raced for the mansion.

With his heart in his throat and buzzing in his ears, Cassius slid off the horse and tossed the reins to Tobie, another stable hand. “See to it that he has the very best care. He saved our lives.”

“Yes, my lord.” Tobie bobbed his head and ran a hand down the horse’s lathered neck.

Cassius dropped to his knees beside Beatrice.

“Beatrice. My Beatrice. Oh, God.”

Was that raw, savage cry from him?

Using his body to shield her from curious stares, he yanked her skirts up. Crimson covered her ivory left thigh and a miniature river flowed from a nasty gash.

That was why she’d cried out, and yet she’d managed to stay on the horse.

His heart swelled with pride and love for her.

Yes, love.

Cassius loved Beatrice.

Admiration thrummed through him, quickly followed by searing fear.

She must be all right. She must .

He hadn’t told her how he felt.

How could he when he’d just realized the truth himself?

Fletcher kneeled beside him and, having already removed his neckcloth, tied it around her leg to form a tourniquet. He had practiced medicine before walking away from the profession over a decade before. “Father, your cravat, please. We need to stop the bleeding. She’s already lost too much blood.”

At once, the duke handed over his perfectly starched neckcloth.

Her face translucent, Beatrice remained unresponsive.

“You have to save her, Fletcher.” The broken, tormented whisper ripped from Cassius’s throat. “I…I love her.”