Free The Gypsy Duchess by Nadine Miller Page B

declared, mixing it with the contents of the silver flask he carried at his hip. “Can we procure more from a local physician?”
    “We can, but I won’t need it, for this will hold me till we reach Langley Hall where I can take my leave of this peripatetic torture chamber,” Devon said, swallowing the bitter brew. “I just hate the thought of having to go through the agony of withdrawal again.” He grimaced. “One more thing I can lay at the duchess’s feet. If she’d simply contacted me after this latest trouble, I could have made arrangements for their protection until I was ready to leave for Cornwall and all this would have been unnecessary.”
    The mocking smile that had become Stamden’s trademark in recent years twisted his ravaged face. “The very idea of the self-sufficient duchess asking any man for his protection begins to strike me as highly unlikely and to compound the folly, we may well be the most absurd pair of knight’s errant in the history of chivalry. One without an arm, the other without a leg. In truth, I fear we would be better cast as court jesters.”
    “Amen to that my cynical friend,” Devon said. “I have learned my lesson as far as the duchess is concerned, and I fully intend to lay down the law to the woman as soon as I see her. I am just sorry I involved you in this fool’s mission.”
    He yawned. The laudanum was beginning to take effect and with the dulling of the pains came an irresistible urge to sleep. “I believe I’ll catch a few winks,” he said, closing his eyes. “But wake me before we reach White Oaks. I want to have my wits about me when I face the duchess.”
    The Marquess of Stamden watch his friend sink into another of the deep, troubled sleeps that had marked the last two days of the journey. If this followed the usual pattern, he would begin to moan and call out the name of the woman whom he professed to despise.
    He reached over to adjust the lap robe the earl had drawn across his legs, and stifled a gasp at the sight of a dark, ominous stain spreading across the material covering Devon’s right thigh. His wound had obviously opened again and he was losing more blood than a man in his weakened condition could stand.
    With a tap on the trapdoor, Stamden signaled the driver to bring the coach to a halt. Instantly Ned Bridges, who was riding post, appeared at the window. Without a word, Stamden lifted the robe and pointed to the growing stain. “The earl is in a bad way,” he said quietly. “You know this country. How far are we from White Oaks?”
    Ned looked about him as if taking his bearings. “No more than four or five miles.”
    “And how far from there to Langley Hall?”
    “Tis the next estate but the boundaries of both stretch for miles. It’s a good hour’s ride from White Oaks Manor to the Hall and on county roads still rutted from the winter rains.”
    He cast a worried look at the earl. “And there’ll be no one there to greet us save a handful of servants. The captain’s mother left Cornwall the day after his father’s funeral and she’s never been back. Not that the shatter-brained woman would be of any help should she be there. The captain was glad to set her up in a fine house in Bath to keep her out of his hair.”
    “Then we’ll have to spend the night at White Oaks,” Stamden said. “Best you ride ahead and warn the duchess we’re coming.
    Ned nodded his shaggy head. “That I will, my lord, but ‘tis a bad time to be asking her to put us up and care for an injured man to boot. For she’ll scarce have her bags unpacked from her own journey.” He paused. “There’s another thing. The captain won’t like being beholden to her. Won’t like it at all.”
    “I’m well aware of that, Ned,” Stamden said wearily. “But I’ll take full responsibility for the decision—and as for the duchess, I’ve no doubt she can cope with any emergency.” He spread the robe across Devon’s legs again. “Just be certain you tell