They stopped briefly at the first town they came upon and paid the tavern owner a small ransom for hot water, soap, grappa, and bandages. In a private dining room, Ian ripped the sleeve off her gown so he could wash and dress her wound. When he poured the alcohol to disinfect it, Diana sobbed and called him the filthiest of obscenities.
On the road, she moved in and out of consciousness as she lay in his arms. The storm and the muddied roads stalled their progress. Finally, the carriage stopped at the bottom of a small cliff. Ian and Sunderland peered through the drizzling rain at the villa perched on top.
And the hundreds of stairs leading up to it.
Sunderland rubbed his jaw. “We should make a litter and carry her together.”
Ian shook his head. “Go ahead of us and make damn sure there’s a doctor waiting.”
It took him a quarter of an hour to scale the steps carrying Diana. By the time he reached the stone drive leading to the house, he was gasping, sweating, and at the end of his reserve.
The majordomo waiting by the door gaped at him in mild horror before beckoning him inside. “This way,signore.”
The servant led him through an atrium, filled with jasmine and lemon trees, to the open stairway, where Amelia stood.
“Thank God,” she rasped as she clasped a hand to her chest.
Ian took the stairs two at a time. “Where’s the doctor?”
A man in a rumpled suit emerged from a room off the hallway. He raised his eyebrows as Ian barreled toward him. “I imagine you’reSignoreHolt?”
“Out of my way,” Ian growled.
“Ian, wait,” Amelia cautioned. “This is the doctor.”
“It’s all right.” The doctor waved them into a nearby bedroom and gestured to the bed. “Please put Miss Rives there, and then you may wait in the hallway. Miss Hunter may stay while I examine her, if you prefer.”
Ian wanted to protest. Loudly. Leaving Diana with a stranger was akin to cutting off an appendage, but Amelia tilted her head beseechingly and cajoled him into complying.
Outside in the hallway, Sunderland offered him a towel and a whisky. “All will be well now.”
Ian accepted the linen and pushed the glass away. He needed to stay alert. There was still an enemy to be vanquished to keep Diana safe. One he felt powerless against.
When his pacing had worn a hole in the terracotta floor, the doctor and Amelia finally emerged.
“The good news is that the only wound Miss Rives suffered was from the bullet that punctured her upper arm,” the doctor said. “While the bullet went through, the wound was open a long time, which caused it to fester. The infection spread to her blood.”
Ian grabbed the man by the shirt and growled, “What are you doing about it?”
“That’s quite enough!” Amelia cried.
In truth, it was more of a bellow. It caught Ian by surprise—he’d never heard the shy woman raise her voice more than a few decibels.
Even Sunderland parted his lips in mild awe.
Ian released the doctor and mumbled an apology.
“Forgiven,signore.” The doctor’s lips quirked. “I’ve been married for twenty-two years. I’d behave the same way if my wife were so ill.”
“What can I do for her?” Ian asked. He needed a task, some mission to put himself to use.
The doctor cleared his throat. “I don’t want to give her more laudanum. Her pulse is already slow. The bigger danger is the fever. We must get it down. And the fastest way to do it will be unconventional.”
“No one here gives a toss about convention,” Ian said. “As long as it’s within the bounds of the law, and it won’t harm her further, do whatever it takes.”
“A cold bath then. With seawater,” the doctor said briskly. “I’ll need the servants to draw buckets of it and ready a tub. Only a small amount of hot water to temper the rest.”
“I’ll arrange it.” Amelia rushed down the hall.