Noah strode to her and picked her up. “What is, darling?”
She buried her face in his shoulder, sobbing, but there was no need for her answer.
Fletcher strode into sight with Julius slung over his shoulder and a frantic Miss Wimbley right on Fletcher’s heels. They pounded up the stairs.
“What the devil?” Noah breathed.
Isabelle raised her head and swiped at her face. “Julius has been stabbed.”
Chapter Eighteen
Noah lowered Isabelleto her feet. “Find your father, darling. And have Mrs. Knagg send fresh water to Julius’s chamber.”
“Of course.” She moved quickly, her noticeable limp not slowing her one iota.
Chaos followed Fletcher and Julius into Julius’s untidy chamber with Noah trailing the group. Miss Wimbley still wore her cloak and there was blood on one hand.
“Put me down, you big oaf.” Julius’s growl of pride was a good sign and Noah let out a relieved breath.
“Calm yourself, stripling,” Fletcher growled.
“Stripling? I’m nineteen.”
“Right now, you’re a pain.” Fletcher dumped Julius on the bed, where he landed with a thump.
Miss Wimbley rushed forward, disheveled hair askew, eyes widened in terror—and fury.
This was the second time in two days—Noah’s blood froze into an ice pool of slush—no…
He forced himself to slow even as red-hot rage should have dealt with the ice surging through him. Father had been stabbed in the heart. That made three incidents.
Miss Wimbley turned her fury on Fletcher. “Are you mad? He could be dying.” She raced to the basin of water on the sideboard and snatched up a clean towel, dropped it in the water, then wrung it out, slinging droplets. “Take off your coat,” she demanded of Julius.
The entire scene played out like a badly acted Shakespearean stage production that Noah couldn’t drag his eyes from.
Julius scowled at her. Fletcher stepped forward and did the deed himself.
“It’s just a scratch,” Julius bit out. But the slash on his coat and the gushing wound told a different story.
Miss Wimbley laid the damp cloth directly on the cut with trembling hands.
“Ow.” Julius’s less-than-masculine whimper startled Noah out of his stupor.
“How are you with a needle?” he asked Miss Wimbley.
“Not so good.”
“As good with a dagger, I’d wager,” he shot back.
“Oh, I’m much better with a…” Her voice trailed and slowly, she straightened to face him. “If you are implying something particular, sir, perhaps you would be so good as to spell it out in plain words. I am, after all, a resident of one of the more lacking London neighborhoods.” Her voice didn’t raise so much as a decibel.
Noah frowned. “What do you mean?”
“A knife flew from a copse of trees and hit my arm. If Miss Wimbley hadn’t shoved me, the nasty thing would have hit me square in the chest. Burns like the dickens,” Julius grated out. The room filled with a thick silence. His head tilted to one side and he narrowed his eyes on Noah.
Noah willed away a flinch.You’remybrother, he wanted to shout.
“Surely, you are not saying you believe Geneva tried to kill me, Noah,” Julius said softly. “Fletcher said she didn’t. He was there.”
