He reached up and winced as he touched his head. “I didn’t know I had this one. There was no pain from it until you mentioned it just now.”

  “Perhaps the fright of the danger distracted you from it,” she murmured. “Could you stand up for me?”

  “Why?”

  She hurried around the chaise to face him. “I want to check you for any other wounds.”

  He put a hand on her shoulder, and on Davis’ too. “All right. Don’t want to expire from sheer bloody ignorance.”

  “No. I wouldn’t like that very much, either,” she promised him.

  He seemed to take being shot in his stride.

  She helped Winston stand because he was now trembling a bit. With the butler’s help, they removed Winston’s coat and waistcoat, making a proper inspection of each garment—looking for holes. Finding none, she checked the shirt he was still wearing for any large blood spots on the fine linen. “There’s a bit here at the collar and down his shirt front, likely dripped from the head wound.”

  “What about the rest of me?”

  His trousers were dark, and she had to rub her hands up and down each of his legs and, of course, across his rear to find out if he were shot anywhere lower down. There were dark spots on his usually pristine stocking hose. More drips.

  Her fingers came away smudged with blood from his thighs, where she quickly concluded he’d only wiped his bloody hands.

  The rest of him appeared completely unharmed.

  She stood back, relieved, and wiped her fingers on a cloth the butler handed to her. “You’ll live.”

  Winston collapsed into the chaise behind him. “Guess I still possess a bit of luck.”

  “You do seem blessed with an abundance of it lately. Except for your poor head,” she murmured. “Davis, would you fetch water and clean clothes? He’ll need to wash and change. Perhaps something from one of the taller footmen would fit him. My father’s clothes would never do, and I cannot allow him to arrive home in blood-soaked garments. His poor mother would faint clean away.”

  “Yes, miss.” Davis paused a moment. “Should I wake the housekeeper or a maid to chaperone you?”

  That would be the proper thing to do, but…given her last conversation with the earl… She shook her head. “I think the fewer people aware of his presence, the better for all concerned. Best not to mention this to my parents.”

  The butler nodded quickly, and rushed off, leaving them alone.

  She turned her attention back to Winston, puzzled. Why had he come to her tonight? And injured? He should have gone straight home and called the magistrate to start an investigation.

  Charlotte pulled a footstool close to Winston and sat upon it. She stared at him and forced a smile to her face. She hated seeing him this way, but she was also mindful of their last conversation. He’d told her not to worry about him.

  She wet her lips. “Why have you come to see me?”

  His eyes grew sad. “I know after what I said to you earlier today that—”

  “Think nothing of it,” she snapped, cutting him off. “Why are you bleeding? You said someone shot at you?”

  “I was at Bradshaw’s, leaving, and my carriage was nowhere to be found.”

  She knew what Bradshaw’s was. A house of ill repute. Wine, gambling and fallen women to be had for a handful of coin. She’d thought a betrothed man would have given up debauchery, especially since his future bride was staying under his roof until the wedding day. “So, you found a hired hack to take you home?”

  “Yes. No. I was going to. But…” His eyes grew serious, and he stared at her. “Bradshaw’s footman was dead in the alley beside the building. They were waiting for me out there in the dark.”

  She gaped. “Waiting specifically for you? Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I recognized them. They called me by name and taunted me that they’d make it quick this time. They were led by the same men who set upon me in Green Park.”

  She took hold of his hand, concerned by that development. She’d really hoped she was wrong about the threat against his life. “How did you escape?”

  “They had learned their lesson after last time. They brought more men tonight.”

  “And yet here you are with me,” she reminded him.

  He gazed into her eyes, fingers lacing through hers tightly. “I would have died but for you.”

  She pressed her hand to his brow, worried for his state of mind, but felt no fever burning on his skin. “Winston, I wasn’t there with you.”

  He leaned into her touch and then the fingers of his other hand rose to tap against his temple. “You were in my head. Telling me there was no shame in running away. I was outnumbered. I had no weapon.”

  She smiled. “Winston, that wasn’t me. That was simply common sense. Anyone should have run away in your situation.”

  He shook his head, face set into stubborn lines. “It was you. You saved me. Again.”

  She laughed at his delusion, even while noting the stickiness of his brow. His skin was becoming cold and clammy. She’d known a man to go into shock after a fright and fall into a stupor for days on end. She reached for a blanket and placed it over Winston’s knees, determined to keep him talking until the butler returned. His wounds must be attended to before she sent him home in their carriage. “Tell me about Bradshaw’s?”

  “It’s a club.”

  Charlotte tucked the blanket tighter about him. “So, you were with a woman at a brothel and then decided to come here.”

  “No. I…” He frowned. “I was drinking with friends there. Berringer had left to go home to his wife, and the others each had women. I had no reason to stay.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t,” she said dryly. Men were all the same. Foolish and stupidly brave and full of lust.

  “I don’t…do that with the women there.”

  But everywhere else was likely fine? She stood and went to where her father kept a bottle of whiskey hidden in a desk drawer. She poured the earl a generous helping and carried it to him.

  He was watching her, and then he smiled. “I know what you’re thinking—and I don’t do that with any women, anywhere else, either.”

  She shrugged. So, he wanted her to believe he was chaste. Wonderful. Just the thing she wanted to hear in the middle of the night. “Drink,” she urged, nudging his hand upward. Winston didn’t need much prompting. One sip led to another until the glass was almost depleted.

  She watched his face carefully, pleased to see that soon after his color improved thanks to the effects of the spirits.

  He looked up at her suddenly, jaw set. “Someone is trying to kill me.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. Not yet.”

  “I can send a servant out for the watch and the magistrate to escort you home. They’ll find out soon enough and you’ll be safe.”

  “No,” he said quickly.

  She frowned. “What do you mean, no?”

  “There’s no reason to kill me.”

  “Surely there is.” She held up her hand and counted off a few. “Did an angry lord lose money to you at cards? Did you unfairly dismiss a servant who seeks his revenge? Have you a jealous lover, angry at the thought of being set aside upon your marriage?”

  He met her gaze. “No. No. And definitely no.”

  “Then there is only one other reason I can think of. You are a titled lord and in possession of a great fortune in funds and property. Only one person truly stands to gain from your demise.”

  “You mean my younger brother?”

  “And you and your brother haven’t been getting along so well of late,” she noted.

  He frowned at her. “Why would you think that?”

  “I, um…it’s fairly common knowledge.”

  “No. It’s not as bad as that. He wants to gamble and chase skirts. Waste good money on sin and vice. I refused to increase his allowance when he asked me to last, and we’ve quarreled about that on and off for the last year.”

  “He should be made to live within his means.”

  Winston nodded. “On that we agree. I have a town house to offer him the use of now as his principal place of residence.”

  “So, you are kicking him out?”

  He scowled. “I’m giving him a chance to be truly independent.”

  “Does he know?”

  “Not yet. I wanted to surprise him with the news on his birthday, but he’s made himself scarce.”

  She sighed. “Well, we’d best clean you up and send you on your way so you can make sure it’s not him.”

  She stood, intending to find out what was keeping her butler from returning, but Winston grabbed her hand again. He pulled her down, almost onto his lap. “Don’t go.”

  “My lord, your family is better suited to comforting you than I am,” she chided, inching away from him so they didn’t touch anymore.

  “You might think so, but you would be very wrong.” Winston had kept hold of her hand and now caressed her fingers with his own, comparing their difference in size.

  He brought her hand to his face and pressed his cheek against her palm again. “You’re so different from anyone I’ve ever known.” He drew in a deep breath and then his eyes fixed on Charlotte’s. “I desperately want to know everything about you.”

  She shivered at the expression in his eyes. The longing she saw there affected her, too. Even angry with him today, she’d still loved him. “But you’re to be married.”

  A regretful expression appeared on his face. “That’s the worst part of being already pledged to another. I cannot have everything I want.”

  She stared at him while her heart almost burst from her chest. Did he have doubts…and was that feeling she got when they were together not just her problem alone?

  “I want to know you better, too.” She grinned at the prospect of a future where Winston cared about her.

  But he shook his head. “Hell. My brother couldn’t want to kill me, Charlotte.”

  Charlotte pulled her hand back to her lap, clenching her fingers tightly together as she considered Winston, and the reason he’d come to her. “If it’s not Peter, then think—did the property you purchased nearly go to someone else? Have you voted against a lord in the House who holds a grudge?”

  “It’s possible. But the town house I purchased, well, I had no competition on the sale. Mine was the only interest.”

  Davis finally appeared, bowl and washcloth in hand, and clothes tossed over one shoulder. “I had to take the footman I borrowed the clothes from into my confidence and Cook as well. She was still in the kitchens, despite the late hour, and caught me rummaging through her cupboards,” he admitted with a wince. “She swears to keep the secret, given the danger to your friend.” Davis wet a cloth. “If you could hold still, I’ll wash the blood off your hands and face.”

  Charlotte scrambled out of the way and left the butler to act as valet. She could, of course, tend Lord Hurlston herself. She was not squeamish about blood, and she had an interest in his recovery. But she needed a moment to settle herself. She couldn’t forget that Winston’s moods changed like the weather.

  Tomorrow, when he’d had a chance to think again, he might regret everything he’d said to her tonight.

  She moved to the window and carefully peeked out to study the darkness beyond. No shapes moved in the quiet street before her house, and she prayed Lord Hurlston had not been followed all the way here.

  She turned and let the drape fall. What was she to do with the earl? How could she possibly help him? She obviously had to send him away with as many servants as she could muster at this hour, for his protection.

  But she would worry the moment he walked out her door. She had vowed not to care about him anymore just that afternoon, but it seemed she could not escape him yet.

  It took a while but eventually Davis managed to wash enough blood from Winston’s face and hair that he looked completely normal from the chin up. The wound on his head wept lightly now and was cleaned with only the odd curse being uttered by the earl.

  Davis eased Hurlston out of his shirt in preparation for donning a clean one. Charlotte drank in every moment of his undressing. Admired the play of muscles across Winston’s sleek back as he lifted his arms high. There were bruises, almost faded completely now after his assault in Green Park. Although she supposed she should have averted her eyes, Charlotte felt no shame, only the continuation of her fascination with the man.

  Finally, any trace of blood was gone, and he stood in her home freshly dressed but obviously weary.

  The butler excused himself to remove the soiled clothing, leaving them alone again.

  Winston met her gaze, and his expression was grim. Charlotte returned to sit by the fire near him. “What will you do now?”

  He drew in a deep breath, rubbing at his fingers, which had so recently worn the stain of his blood. “I don’t know. That’s why I came to you, I think.”

  Charlotte folded her hands in her lap. “What more do you imagine I can do to help you this time, my lord?”

  “You’re the most rational person I know in the midst of a crisis.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  He nodded. “It was meant as such. You are the only person I know who I feel I can completely trust right now, too.”

  She frowned. “I’m surprised to hear you say that.”

  “I feel safe here with you.” He shifted suddenly in his seat and put his hands in his lap. “I’m afraid to go outside again.”

  “There’s no need for haste. You can stay as long as you like.”

  His smile returned. “You never returned for your second season. Where were you?”

  She blinked in surprise at the change of subject, and that he’d noticed her absence at all. “Places I wish never to see again.”

  He cleared his throat. “So, I hear your parents are planning another voyage? When will that be?”

  “In about two weeks, they’ll depart.” She nodded. “There is a slim chance I won’t leave with them this time, though.”

  “How slim?”

  She shrugged. “If I marry, I’ll remain in England.”

  Winston’s expression grew tight. “Is there someone else? I mean…are you being courted?”

  “No. But it’s always been a dream of mine to be wed. A hope to have a home I never need leave and a family to care for.” She lowered her face, hiding her embarrassment that she’d always wanted that with him. “But I have no one particular courting me.”

  He exhaled slowly and slumped back. “I need time. If I go home, and my mother sees me like this…”

  “She will become very upset.”

  “Worse than last time,” he agreed. “And that has been very bad.”

  She noticed he had failed to mention Elizabeth’s reaction to his last injury. “Once your hair dries and you change back into your own clothes, your mother and Elizabeth might never notice the injury. Unless…well, if Elizabeth runs her fingers through your hair, she might notice a wince of pain from you for a few days.”

  Winston stared at her. “That won’t happen.”

  Charlotte nodded. “All right. You may stay as long as you need to then.”

  He looked about suddenly. “What about your parents?”

  “They’re already abed.” She shrugged. “If you’re gone before dawn, they’ll probably never realize you were even here.”

  He glanced around, eyes narrowing. He stared at the front door a long time “This room feels too exposed. Where else might I stay in the house?”

  “Do you want to sleep?”

  “No, I think it unlikely I could close my eyes after the events of tonight, but I am not going back outside while it is dark.”

  “Oh!” She gaped at him. “You want to spend the night here?”

  He swallowed and then nodded. “Very much.”

  “We do have a guest room,” she admitted. “No one has stayed in that room for a long time, but I can have a maid make up the bed for you.”

  “I need you to hide me, Charlotte.”

  She blinked. He was quite welcome to spend the night in a guest room, but was he really suggesting he stay with her? In her room, too?

  “Yes, with you, if you will have me. There are some things I need to explain to you. In private.”

  All the air left her lungs. She was shocked but also intrigued. What was there left for him to say? He’d made his disapproval of her behavior quite clear already.

  But she stood, wiping her damp palms on her robe and quickly glanced down.

  Dear God, I am in my nightclothes.

  Sitting in front of the earl I love in night attire!

  She closed her eyes briefly, shocked at herself. Now she really was ruined, and he hadn’t even touched her.

  But Winston hadn’t seemed at all concerned by her lack of attire. And it was possible she could sneak the earl up to her chambers, and hide him in her dressing room for the night, and no one might ever find out. Her parents rarely checked on her.

  Davis returned then, and his gaze fell on the earl immediately. “Shall I call a carriage now?”

  Thinking quickly, she replied, “Could you ask cook if there was anything left from dinner for him to eat? I fear my friend may go into shock from his misadventures tonight. Some food in his stomach might make him feel so much better before he leaves us,” she murmured.

  “I’d be glad to fetch him something,” Davis replied with a nod before leaving to complete the errand.

  As soon as he was gone, Charlotte grabbed the earl’s arm and tugged him up to his feet. “Quietly now.”

  They tiptoed to the stairs, and Charlotte drew him upstairs and along to her bedchamber. She pushed him inside, promising to return as soon as she could, then hurried back downstairs. Once in the front hall, she opened and shut the front door and then stood about, waiting for the butler’s return.

  Davis seemed surprised to see her in the hall, but he carried the promised plate of food. “It is the best I could do at this hour.”

  “I do appreciate your efforts, but unfortunately the gentleman suddenly decided he had to leave.” She glanced at the door and chewed on her lower lip. “I do hope he’ll be all right.”