Not Quite A Gentleman

Prologue

Cornwall, 1817

Nathan Oliver gripped the worn leather cache of stolen jewels to his chest and leaned back against the rough bark of the towering elm to catch his breath. A king’s ransom… almost there… almost done. He had only to cross the moonlit clearing, deliver the goods to the man waiting on the opposite side of the woods, then it would be finished. And he’d enjoy financial security for the rest of his life.

He dragged a long, slow, deep breath into his burning lungs, allowing his racing pulse to slow. His heart thundered in his chest, he could hear its beat in his ears, feel it in the hollow pit of his stomach. All familiar reactions he’d experienced the dozens of times he’d done this before, but this time all those sensations were heightened-for reasons he ruthlessly shoved aside. Damn it, his conscience certainly chose an inconvenient time to rouse itself. Still, in spite of his best efforts to prevent their intrusion, the second thoughts and guilt that had plagued him since agreeing to this particular commission continued to claw at him. Forget it. What’s done is done. Just finish this.

He cautiously peered out from behind the tree, senses on alert. The moon slipped behind a cloud, drenching him in darkness. A cool, sea-scented breeze rustled the leaves, mingling with the night songs of crickets and a nearby owl. Nothing seemed amiss, yet his gut tightened in warning-an instinct that had served him well in the past. He remained perfectly still for another full two minutes, gaze scanning, ears straining, but detected nothing out of place. Anchoring his bundle more firmly under his arm, he drew another deep breath, then ran forward.

He’d almost reached the protection of the copse of trees on the opposite side when a shot rang out. Nathan dove forward, hitting the ground with a skidding thud that jolted pain through his ribs. Another pistol report came in quick succession, followed by a cry of surprised pain, then, “Watch out!”

Everything in him froze. Bloody hell, he recognized that voice.

Pushing himself up, Nathan dashed toward where he’d heard the cry. As he rounded a curve in the path, he saw the masculine form on the ground. With all his attention focused on the fallen man, he didn’t hear the noise behind him until it was too late. Before he could react, he was shoved, the blow catching him squarely between the shoulder blades. Thrown off balance, the pouch containing the jewels propelled from his grasp. A black-gloved hand snatched up the cache, then the shadowy figure dashed into the woods.

For the space of one stunned heartbeat, Nathan lay on the path, watching the figure melt into the darkness, clutching that which seconds ago had belonged to him. Then, with sharp talons of dread urging him on, Nathan rose and ran to the fallen man. Dropping to his knees, he looked into the pain-filled eyes of his closest friend.

“Damn it, Gordon, what the hell are you doing here?” Nathan asked, his voice rigid with fright while he began a hasty examination. When he touched Gordon’s shoulder, he encountered the slick warmth of blood.

“Was going to ask you the same thing,” Gordon ground out.

“Were you hit only once?”

Gordon winced, then nodded. “Second shot got me. Hurts like hellfire, but only clipped me. Don’t know if Colin was as lucky. Saw him go down with the first shot.”

Nathan froze at the mention of his brother’s name. “Where is he?”

Gordon jerked his head to the left. Nathan turned and saw a pair of boots protruding from beneath a hedge. The sight hit him like a physical blow and he had to clamp his jaws together to contain the agonized Nooooo! that roared into his throat. Whipping out his handkerchief, he set the linen to Gordon’s wound, then pressed Gordon’s opposite hand on it. “Keep as much pressure on that as you can.” He then jumped up, grasped the boots, and, as gently as he could, slid the body onto the dirt path, his mind reverberating with a single prayer: Don’t let him die. Don’t let my greed have killed him.

The instant Colin was free of the bushes, Nathan knelt beside him. Colin looked up at him and groaned, and Nathan released the pent-up breath trapped in his lungs. His brother was alive. Now if he could only keep him that way.

“Colin, can you hear me? Where are you hit?” He pushed the words through clenched teeth, his medical training cleaving through the panic, forcing him to remain calm, to concentrate on the task at hand.

“Leg,” Colin rasped.

Nathan located the bleeding injury in Colin’s thigh, and after a brief examination, said tersely, “There’s no exit wound.” He unwound his cravat and applied pressure to stem the blood flow. “I need to remove the lead ball as quickly as possible. Then Gordon needs to be stitched up. We have to get back to the house. Do you have horses?”

“No,” said Gordon from directly behind him. “And why the hell do you think I’d allow you to stitch me up?”

Nathan glanced over his shoulder and noted Gordon standing, glaring down at him. His friend’s hand remained pressed to his upper arm, but even in the dim light, Nathan could see the blood dripping from between his fingers. Just as he could see the anger glittering in Gordon’s eyes.

“Perhaps because I’m the only doctor in your immediate vicinity and you both require immediate medical care.”

“Seems to me that you’re a bit more than a doctor this evening, Nathan.” Gordon’s gaze swiveled to Colin. “I told you something foul was afoot.” He shifted his glare back to Nathan. “Why? Damn it, why did you do it?”

The carefully fabricated lie that was supposed to protect him lodged in Nathan’s throat then unraveled like poorly woven cloth in the face of tonight’s debacle. His brain, normally so nimble, felt incapable of thought at the sight of his best friend bleeding and his brother felled by a pistol shot. Clearly, Gordon believed him guilty of something-and with good reason. Yet, based on Gordon’s tone and frosty glare, he also clearly believed the worst.

Nathan slowly turned back to Colin, then stilled. As much as Gordon’s words had cut him, it was the look in Colin’s eyes that struck Nathan like a blow to the gut. And the heart. Their gazes met and held, and Nathan’s insides cramped at the doubt and accusation so eloquently evident in his brother’s eyes.

“Nathan?”

Only one word. But the way he said it, the look in his eyes, was enough to drive a stake through Nathan’s heart.