Margo Maguire Read Free Page A

it suffice for the moment to say that your grandfather is in ill health. He does not expect to live much longer, and his conscience troubles him.”
    As well it should, Christina thought, if what Captain Briggs said was true. She could barely sort out the captain’s revelations.
    A deep wave of grief came over her, sorrow for the parents she could not really remember, for the woman who’d borne her and died so soon after.
    “My sister. Where is she?”
    “Lily married quite recently,” Briggs replied. “She and her husband, the Earl of Ashby, are probably at Windermere Park now.”
    Christina looked back at Captain Briggs, watching as he dabbed at the blood from the wound she’d inflicted. It really did need to be stitched, whether he believed it or not. “My sister . . . Lily wanted to see him?”
    “Not really. But she had her reasons for going to Windermere.”
    Christina composed herself and stood. She took the cloth from Briggs and cringed at the sight of what she’d done to him. She took charge and blotted his wound through the shirt, thinking it was probably the one way she might be able to regain some control. She had three brothers whom she loved. But a sister!
    “This isn’t going to stop bleeding,” she said. “Remove your shirt so I can bandage it properly while we wait.”
    “I’m not quite sure I trust you to bandage anything.” His tone was gruff, and Christina sensed he was unaccustomed to taking orders. Likely as unaccustomed as Christina was to giving them. But she was getting better.
    “Point taken. But I assure you I am usually a very civilized person. Lately, though, circumstances . . .”
    A muscle in his jaw flexed—involuntarily, Christina was sure—as he unfastened the few buttons at his neck. He slipped the shirt out from his trews and pulled it over his head, mussing his thick, dark hair. The disorder did not decrease his physical appeal in the least. “Under what possible circumstances would a viscountess need to wield a firearm?”
    She hardly heard his question when he bared the broad expanse of his lightly furred chest. He was solidly built, his muscles thick and well-defined, and his abdomen . . .
    A disturbing, foreign sensation stirred within her at the sight of his masculine physique. Her husband had been relatively hairless. And nearly as smooth as she.
    Captain Briggs seemed to be a different species altogether. He was hard and rugged, his muscles seemingly chiseled from stone. He was impervious to any discomfort from the bullet wound. And there were scars—at least three, from what must have been significant injuries. She could only wonder what had happened to him.
    “This will only take a moment.” Gathering her wits, she took the linen and quickly tore it into strips, then folded one section into a large square and pressed it to the wound. Then she wrapped his arm with the remaining strips.
    “How did you learn to do this?” he asked.
    “I have three younger brothers. One or the other was always in some kind of scrape. Blood was often involved.” Especially when it was Lang. He had a penchant for fighting and other mischief. She could not imagine what he’d got up to now.
    Whatever it was, Christina had no intention of letting some anonymous scoundrel expose his actions, which were likely to have been scandalous. Her father could deal with Lang once she found him.
    At least for now, she could not bring herself to inform her family of the blackmail letters. They’d gone away to Italy to escape some of the pain of Lang’s loss, and Christina would not raise their hopes when it was entirely possible that the letters were a cruel ruse.
    A deep shudder shook her from within. Lang might actually have been killed as reported, and the blackmailer was just an opportunist taking advantage of the situation. She had to find the scoundrel, had to find out what he knew.
    A sudden thought struck her. “Captain Briggs, how did you find me?”
    “It was a long and