Loving a Lost Lord by Mary Jo Putney Page B

female servants, and were empty.
    They found their man in the smallest, meanest room in the attic, the ceiling slanted and the floor covered with dust and dead flies. There were no furnishings except for a pallet on the floor. The stench of infection and unwashed body was nauseating.
    Adam gasped at the sight of the skeletal, unmoving figure, fearing his friend was dead. His face was lifeless and his blond hair dull and filthy. But his eyes flickered open when Adam knelt beside the pallet. “I…wondered when you’d get here,” the man said with a travesty of a smile.
    â€œSorry I didn’t arrive sooner. I was out of town.” Adam scanned the damaged body, hoping they would be able to remove him without causing further injury. Raising his voice, he said, “Someone get water and a blanket from one of the other rooms.”
    It took only a few moments to provide him with a chipped pitcher of tepid water and a heavy, cracked tumbler. “Would you like a drink?” he asked as he poured water into the tumbler.
    â€œGod, yes!”
    Adam raised his friend’s head enough to allow him to sip. The cords in the man’s throat showed as he swallowed convulsively.
    â€œThat’s enough for now,” Adam said as he removed the tumbler. “Too much might make you ill.”
    The blond man looked as if he would argue, then changed his mind. “Pour the rest of the water over my head.”
    Adam complied, and the blond man gave a long sigh of relief. “Coolest I’ve been since God knows when.”
    Adam stood. “Let’s get him wrapped in the blanket and out of here.”
    Two of his companions spread the blanket on the floor, then lifted the blond man from the filthy pallet and set him in the middle of the coarse fabric. The injured man gave one sharp gasp of pain, but that was the only sound he made, even when he was being carried down the narrow staircase with his head and feet bumping the walls, despite the best efforts of the two men carrying him.
    The next set of stairs was wider. They had made it down to the entrance hall when a furious old man burst from the drawing room to block their exit. His expensive garments proclaimed wealth, but his eyes were mad and his gnarled hands held a shotgun. “Damn you for an arrogant piece of filth!” he howled, the weapon aimed squarely at Adam’s chest. “You have no right to take him from my house!”
    Adam drew a slow breath, wondering how large a hole the shotgun would blast in him at this range. “And you have no right to let him die of neglect.”
    â€œHe deserves to die!” The shotgun swung toward the man wrapped in the blanket, then back to Adam.
    â€œShoot if you will,” Adam said. “But if you want to avoid scandal, murder is not the way to do it.”
    The shotgun wavered, then lowered. “Damn you!” the old man swore again, his eyes wild. “Damn you and all your evil, lawless friends!”
    â€œNo doubt damnation will arrive in its own good time. But not today.” Adam swung the door open and gestured the others to leave before the old man could change his mind. He half expected the shotgun to be fired, but they loaded the injured man into the carriage without incident.
    As Adam studied the slack face of the man they’d rescued, he wondered if his friend’s life could be saved, or if it was too late.
    He was closing the carriage door when a shot rang out.
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    Adam jerked awake, heart pounding. He heard another sharp sound. Not gunfire, but an ax chopping wood. He and Mariah had discussed removing a tree that was dying, and likely that was being done this morning. An efficient woman, his wife.
    He rose and crossed to the washstand, now supplied with a razor, so he could temporarily tame his whiskers. As he washed and shaved, he wondered about the dream. Was it pure invention, or memory of something that had happened? It had felt very real.
    As he