Page 29 of Never Beguile a Duke

“As your daughter,” Warwick murmured, pausing halfway up the steps and drawing in a labored breath, “will be preoccupied, perhaps I can tempt you with a game of cards. I’m certain Beaufort will allow us to play in the corridor as he’ll understand you don’t want to stray too far from Miss Venning.”

Mr. Venning’s gaze flicked to the second-floor landing, finding his daughter hovering near the top step. A silent conversation passed between them.

“I’ll accept the invitation,” Mr. Venning said, returning his attention to Warwick, “on one condition.”

“And that is?”

“You allow my daughter to treat your injury as well.” Before Warwick could refuse, Mr. Venning added, “Arabella doesn’t know how to whistle.”

“I have no objections,” Silas said, darting out of the range of Warwick’s cane.

With a grin, Silas offered his arm to Miss Venning, an action that drew a curious growling sound from the staircase, and led her to the Webb chamber, where he knocked twice, then opened the door and escorted her inside.

Mrs. Webb’s worrisome status remained unchanged. Her slow, shallow breathing was the only indication she hadn’t succumbed to her injuries.

Her gaze locked on the bed, Miss Venning strode across the floor and stopped beside Mrs. Aylett. “Would you be so kind as to assist me? I find that family is more of a hindrance when it comes to applying the best course of treatment.”

Mrs. Aylett glanced at Silas, then nodded, collected a bowl of steaming water from Juliette, and shuffled to the opposite side of the bed.

Misses Webb and Fernsby-Webb rose and moved to the base of the mattress, allowing Miss Venning the space to examine their mother. Neither lady spoke as Miss Venning bent, her tongue trapped between her teeth, and lightly ran her fingers over Mrs. Webb’s body.

“I should be able to alleviate her symptoms,” Miss Venning said, straightening. “However, as soon as the storm lets up, a doctor needs to be summoned. I’m most concerned about the swelling around her eye; if we don’t relieve the pressure, she may lose her sight. Pray, how did she develop these injuries?”

“Mr. Curtis,” Miss Fernsby-Webb replied, folding her trembling hands into her chest. “Can you help her?”

Miss Venning nodded. “I’ll need to cut the skin to let some of the blood, but that should prevent any permanent damage… She will have a scar, though.”

Squeezing her sister’s shoulder, Miss Webb tilted her head toward the bed. “I’m certain Amelia would prefer not to lose her vision. Please, do what you can to save her.”

“Don’t fret, Miss Webb,” Juliette said, stepping forward and clasping her hands in front of her waist. “My mother had worse injuries than yours, and she recovered every time.”

“Every time?” Silas grabbed Juliette and spun her around. “Who struck your mother?”

Juliette’s lower lip vibrated, but she held Silas’ gaze. “Mr. Black.”

“Surely, the Hills were aware of Mr. Black's vicious nature?”

Shaking her head, Juliette lowered her eyes to the floor. “He threatened to kill me if Mother ever spoke of the encounters.”

Ice slid down Silas’ spine.

Kneeling, he lifted Juliette’s chin and forced her to stare into his eyes. “Did Mr. Black ever harm you?”

“I should retrieve a knife for Miss Venning,” Juliette said, jerking her face free of Silas’ grip.

Before he could stop her, she dashed from the room and ran down the corridor toward the servants’ staircase, the dull thud of her shoes fading as she scampered down the steps.

“Damn!” Silas offered a curt nod and exited the room, chasing after Juliette.

When he reached the base of the servants’ staircase, he froze, uncertain if Juliette had headed toward the kitchen or the dining hall.

“You pushed her too hard.” Miss Fernsby-Webb’s warm voice brushed over him, causing his heart to stutter.

He spun. “If Mr. Black is a threat and not a nighttime hallucination as Mrs. Upton claimed, I need to handle the situation as quickly as possible.”

“I’m not discounting the urgency,” Miss Fernsby-Webb replied, offering him a tight smile, “I’m merely suggesting that you can be a bit… intimidating.”

“Me?” He took a step back, knocking his heel against the bottom step. “I can easily apply that label to Roxburghe or Mansfield, but not myself.”