Did he have to mention it? She squeezed her eyes shut and held tighter to him.
“What were you doing out alone, Mari? Even in broad daylight, even in this section of town, you ought to know better.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” She did, and she was. And she was something else, something she couldn’t quite put a name to. Something that made her tremble in the deepest depths of her being and want to curl into a ball and disappear to where no one would care if she laughed or cried in hysteria. She tilted her face up. “Will you take me home?”
Granddad uncocked his gun and slid it back into its place at his belt. Then he tucked her close to his side. “As if you need to ask.”
Devereaux charged through the front door before Norris could open it for him, letting the wood bang against the wall behind it. Let the slave close it again, or Osborne. He didn’t care, not when his mother’s note still burned his eyes.
Hurry. It’s Mari.
A message uncharacteristically short and vague for Mother, and she had scratched a hole into the paper on “hurry.” “Mari” had been shaky and faint. When he had seen that, he had nearly throttled the delivery boy and demanded to know what had happened. But a hired courier would have no answers.
“Mother! Mari!”
“Devereaux!” Mother’s voice came from the stairs, and her figure joined it a moment later, rushing down the steps with a speed he hadn’t seen of her in years. Tear tracks webbed her cheeks.
He ran to her, gripped her shaking hands. “What is it? What happened?”
“It’s just like Lucien.” Mother’s voice wisped and choked, fresh droplets spilling from her eyes. “She was attacked in our own neighborhood. She was attacked. Just like Lucien.”
“Attacked?” What did she mean, just like Lucien? All the blood in his veins seemed to gather, to pulse with too much force. Not like Lucien—it couldn’t be like Lucien. “Is she all right?”
She had to be all right. Had to be. He couldn’t lose her now, wouldn’t. If he had to revive her himself, he would find a way. If he had to bring in the best doctors in America, if he had to give his fortune on medicines. Anything it took, but she would be his.
Mother tugged one hand free to wipe at her cheeks. And then, a simple move to shift the world, she nodded. “She is well enough. A few scratches and bruises, and she is shaken. Thad Lane was coming this way and intervened.”
A few scratches. His breath eased out, though his pulse still hammered. “Not too injured then.”
“No.” But still Mother sniffed and blinked back an onslaught of tears. Still she gripped his hand as if the world were ending. “I could have lost her. As quickly as we lost Lucien, she could have been gone, and I…she has always…I have been so ungracious to her, and yet she has always loved me. Simply because of the bonds of family. What if I had lost her, Devereaux? With that over my head?”
For a moment he could only stare, unable to process the words. Lucille Fortier Hughes never changed her mind about anyone. Never indulged in regrets. Could this have actually achieved that impossibility?
A wonder for another time. Now he stepped to the side and headed up the stairs, her hand still in his. “I must see her. Where is she? Her bedroom?”
“No, her drawing room. Mr. Lane just left to fetch Julie.”
Wasting no more time on words, he let go of his mother so he could take the stairs two at a time and then run down the hall to the blue-and-green chamber. The moment he stepped in, his gaze flew to the bright-red of her hair…and then fell to the even redder marks on her too-white face.
“Mari.” Her name barely made it past the tightening in his throat. His pulse pounded louder. Whoever had dared mark her flawless skin would pay. Oh, how they would pay. He strode to where she sat on the S-shaped conversation sofa he had always hated because he couldn’t sit beside her. Dropping to a knee before her, he cupped her cheek and took in every discoloration on her alabaster complexion. None so disturbing as the hollow way she gazed at him.
May whoever did this rot. “Darling.” He leaned forward, determined to spark life in her eyes, and took her lips.
She pulled away with a wince. Only then did he notice the swelling of her lower lip, and the crack at its corner.
He bit back a curse. “I’m sorry. Darling, I’m so sorry someone hurt you like this. Tell me what happened.”
She averted her face. “There is hardly anything to tell. A man pushed me into a wall and demanded my money, of which I had none. He had a knife.”
“Why did you not give him your necklace? Your rings? You know better than to argue with ruffians.”
“I…I forgot I was wearing the necklace, and I’d taken off my rings before going to the hospital. But Granddad came just in time, and he had a pistol.”
His blood pounded faster, and he took her hand, weaving their fingers together. “Where were you? Near the hospital?”