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“ I have sent word for the doctor, Lord Coulter,” Fletcher said from the doorway. “What else do you need from me?”

“Worry,” Patrick snarled.

“I will see to it at once,” his butler said solemnly.

“We must clean it, Colt. Remember what happened to Sergeant Potter’s hand?” Stephen said, moving closer to inspect the bullet hole in Sophie’s arm. “We cannot wait for the doctor in case he is not found tonight.”

Patrick shuddered at the memory of the man’s swollen flesh when infection had taken hold. He would not allow that to happen to Sophie’s arm.

“That French doctor swore if it had been cleaned instantly, he would have survived,” Stephen said grimly. “We have to clean this now and thoroughly,” he added, shuddering.

“She will not die,” Patrick gritted out through clenched teeth.

“No, she will not die, my friend, but we must now be her doctors until a real one arrives.”

“Mrs. Lilly, bring the whisky from my study,” Patrick ordered.

The housekeeper didn’t wait; she ran and was back in minutes.

“We have everything we need now,” Stephen said.

“Christ, I hope she remains unconscious,” Patrick whispered as he reached for a towel with hands that shook.

They washed their hands, and then Stephen held Sophie’s arm. Taking the bowl Mrs. Lilly handed him, he poured a combination of alcohol and hot water over the wound, trying to sluice it clean. Everyone froze as Sophie moaned, then opened her eyes.

“Easy, Sophie,” Patrick said. “It will be over soon. Hold her, Stephen.” His words were clipped, knowing what he was about to do would be extremely painful.

“I-I don’t need holding,” she whispered, her face the color of gruel.

“You just fainted, so yes, you do,” Patrick said.

“Not long, Sophie,” Stephen soothed her.

Her shriek as Patrick poured alcohol straight into the wound made Stephen whimper. Patrick, however, cursed fluently, long and loud.

Sophie then let loose a string of curses of her own that any sailor would be proud of.

“I’d be impressed if my hands weren’t shaking and I didn’t feel like my lunch was about to reappear,” Stephen said.

“You were in the war and saw far worse,” Patrick said. “Besides, she was shot, not you. Bandage, please,” he said, holding out a hand to Mrs. Lilly.

“But this is Sophie,” Stephen whispered. “Your Sophie.”

My Sophie.

“We are not closing that hole, are we?” Stephen whispered.

“No, that can wait for the doctor.” Patrick placed a soft pad on the wound and then wrapped the bandage around Sophie’s arm.

“Pour some whisky into a glass, Stephen.”

He tied off the bandage and then moved to slide an arm under Sophie. “I want you to drink some of this now. Just a few sips.”

Her nose wrinkled. “I don’t like drinking.”

“And yet you will,” he said, taking the glass from Stephen. Holding it to her lips, he watched her do as he asked. “Good girl.”

“Send word to Lady Carstairs, Stephen. Tell her what has happened and that she is not to leave the house tonight. Ensure her that Sophie is all right. She will stay here, and I will send word on her condition tomorrow.”

“And now if you will leave, my lord, I will see to her comfort. Helen, get something for the countess to change into,” Mrs. Lilly said to the maid lurking in the hallway.

“I am not leaving her.” The words were cold, but Patrick didn’t care. He could have lost her today, and that thought alone was the thought he held on to.

“Patrick, I will be all right,” Sophie said. “Go and change.”

She didn’t look all right. She looked pale and sickly. His beautiful girl was hurting, and he wanted to kill Jack Spode for that… and would.

“You will change, Colt,” Stephen ordered. “Because you have blood on your white shirt.”

Looking down, he saw his friend was right.

Patrick allowed Stephen to pull him through the door that connected the two rooms, leaving it wide enough so they could hear Sophie if she called, but offering her privacy for his housekeeper and maid to wash her.

“I want the entire story, but first….” Stephen went to the door and bellowed for washing water and Patrick’s valet.

When Simpkins arrived, he quickly washed the blood from his body and pulled on the clean clothes.

“You may leave now,” Patrick told his valet. Once the door had shut behind the servant, he told Stephen what had happened to Sophie.

“How did Spode know you had been to that silly shop with those ridiculous little things that feel too small in my hands?” Stephen queried when Patrick had finished.

“He had to have someone following her on horseback. Until now, he’s not had a chance to touch her,” Patrick said with a growl. “I didn’t do enough to keep her safe.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you did.” Stephen handed him a drink. “I’m just shocked that Jack Spode chose to shoot Sophie. I had thought he wanted revenge but?—”

“You thought he’d capture her to abuse her,” Patrick finished in a hard voice.

“Yes.”

“Mr. Hatchett told me he can find no trace of Spode. No one will talk about him, no matter how much money he throws around.”

“Then it may be time to remove Sophie and her family from London, Colt. Hide her somewhere until he is caught, because today told us he will not give up, and if that bullet had killed her?—”

“Don’t,” Patrick said.

“You would have suffered too, my friend,” Stephen added softly.

Stephen was right. He needed to get Sophie, Lady Carstairs, and Timmy out of London. He could keep them safe at his estate easier than here in a busy city.

“We will leave as soon as she is able to travel,” he said. “And I’m killing that bastard as soon as I find him.”

“That is one thing we are in agreement about,” Stephen added.