“We’ve got to stop the bleeding.”
“Press harder.”
“Stay awake, Hugh!”
“He’s still bleeding!”
Daniel listened. He didn’t know who was saying what, and it didn’t matter. Hugh was dying, right there on the grass, and he had done it.
It had been an accident. Hugh had shot him. And the grass had been wet.
He’d slipped. Good God, did they know that he had slipped?
“I . . . I . . .” He tried to speak, but he had no words, and anyway, only Marcus heard him.
“You’d best stay back,” Marcus said grimly.
“Is he . . .” Daniel tried to ask the only question that mattered, but he choked.
And then he fainted.
When Daniel came to, he was in Marcus’s bed, a bandage wrapped tightly around his arm. Marcus sat in a nearby chair, staring out the window, which shone with the midday sun. At Daniel’s waking groan, he turned sharply toward his friend.
“Hugh?” Daniel asked hoarsely.
“He’s alive. Or at least he was last I heard.”
Daniel closed his eyes. “What have I done?” he whispered.
“His leg is a mess,” Marcus said. “You hit an artery.”
“I didn’t mean to.” It sounded pathetic, but it was true.
“I know.” Marcus turned back to the window. “You have terrible aim.”
“I slipped. It was wet.” He didn’t know why he was even saying it. It didn’t matter. Not if Hugh died.
Bloody hell, they were friends. That was the most asinine part of it all. They were friends, he and Hugh. They’d known each other for years, since their first term at Eton.
But he’d been drinking, and Hugh had been drinking, and everyone had been drinking except Marcus, who never had more than one.
“How is your arm?” Marcus asked.
“It hurts.”
Marcus nodded.
“It’s good that it hurts,” Daniel said, looking away.
Marcus probably nodded again.
“Does my family know?”
“I don’t know,” Marcus replied. “If they don’t, they will soon.”
Daniel swallowed. No matter what happened, he would be a pariah, and it would rub off on his family. His older sisters were married, but Honoria had just made her debut. Who would have her now?
And he didn’t even want to think what this would do to his mother.
“I’m going to have to leave the country,” Daniel said flatly.
“He’s not dead yet.”
Daniel turned to him, unable to believe the plainness of the statement.
“If he lives, you won’t have to leave,” Marcus said.
It was true, but Daniel couldn’t imagine that Hugh would pull through. He’d seen the blood. He’d seen the wound. Hell, he’d even seen the bone, laid bare for all to see.
No one survived such an injury. If the blood loss didn’t kill him, infection would.
“I should go see him,” Daniel finally decided, pushing back against the bed. He swung his legs over the side and had almost touched down by the time Marcus reached him.
“That’s not a good idea,” Marcus warned.
“I need to tell him I didn’t mean it.”
Marcus’s brows rose. “I don’t think that’s going to matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“The magistrate may very well be there.”
“If the magistrate wanted me, he would have already found me here.”
Marcus considered that, then finally stepped aside and said, “You’re right.” He held out his arm, and Daniel took it to steady himself.
“I played cards,” Daniel said in a hollow voice, “because that’s what a gentleman does. And when he called me a cheat, I called him out, because that’s what a gentleman does.”
“Don’t do this to yourself,” Marcus said.
“No,” Daniel said darkly. He would finish. There were some things that had to be said. He turned to Marcus with flashing eyes. “I shot to the side, because that’s what a gentleman does,” he said furiously. “And I missed. I missed, and I hit him, and now I’m going to bloody well do what a man does, and go to his side, and tell him I’m sorry.”
“I will take you there,” Marcus said. It was all there was to say.
Hugh was the second son of the Marquess of Ramsgate, and he had been taken to his father’s home in St. James’s. It did not take long for Daniel to ascertain that he was not welcome.