The Great Christmas Ball by Joan Smith Read Free Book Online

“Lord Costain! Are you going to sit there and do nothing while they escape?” The echo of his voice shattered the stillness of the night.
    Lord Costain’s answering voice was drawn thin with aggravation. “Sir Gordon?” he called.
    “Of course it’s me. Let us take after them.”
    Gordon headed in the direction of Costain’s voice, with Cathy darting after him. The night had been a sorry letdown. She had expected some heroics from her hero. An attack, gunshots, an arrest, perhaps, would have been interesting.
    “Costain?” Gordon called again, for he could not seem to find his mentor. A dozen trees loomed before him, any one of which might conceal Costain. Why did he not answer? He heard a rustle in the bushes ahead, then the sound of rapidly retreating footsteps.
    “By Jove, he’s turned tail and run. Costain!” he called after the fleeting footsteps. “Well, if that don’ beat the Dutch!” He took another step, stumbled, and fell on his face.
    An inhuman sound rent the air. “Aaargh!”
    “What is it, Gordie?” Cathy asked, rushing forward to help him up.
    “A body! I’m lying on top of it.”
    He leapt up as if the body might be infected with the black plague. Peering down, he saw a dark head, with a curled beaver lying beside it. The body was covered in a dark cloak.
    “We’d best have a look and see who it is,” Gordon said in a hollow voice. He already had an idea who it was. That black head had a familiar shape. He leaned down and gently turned the body over.
    Cathy saw a pale face wearing the features of Lord Costain. A trickle of black moved inexorably down the side of his forehead, into his hair. She had never swooned before in her life, but she swooned then, sagging against her brother. “You’ve killed him!” she gasped.
    “I? No such a thing. I don’t even have a gun.”
    She leaned down and touched his cheek. “He’s cold,” she said.
    “Of course he’s cold, lying on a bed of snow. Check his heart.”
    Her trembling fingers moved his cloak aside and slid under his jacket. She felt his body warmth emanating from the strong wall of his chest beneath her fingers. There was a faint heartbeat. She looked at his face, as still as death, and her heart stopped. “Get a doctor at once,” she said.
    Costain’s eyelids fluttered open, and he gazed at her in confusion. “The left flank!” he said, distracted. “For God’s sake, cover the left flank. There are hundreds of them.”
    Cathy jumped back. “He is delirious, Gordon.”
    “Thinks he is back in Spain, I daresay. At least he is alive. I say, Costain—”
    Lord Costain looked up at the sky and frowned. What was that white stuff on the trees? Snow? Snow! “Good Lord,” he said, and sat up, shaking his head. “Did you see him? Did you get a good look at him?”
    “We saw him right enough,” Gordon said. “Why did you not follow him? It is my thinking that the lady he met was a man in disguise.”
    “No, it was Angelina Me—er, it was a lady right enough. The billet-doux was just a billet-doux after all, but your intruder mistook it for a code. I meant, did you see the fellow who cracked me on the skull.”
    “We never got a whiff of him,” Gordon said. “He must have come in t’other way and slipped up behind you.”
    “Are you all right, Lord Costain?” Cathy asked.
    He touched his head tenderly. “I shall be as soon as you two stop spinning in circles.” Gordon helped him to rise, and steadied him on his feet.
    “You must get that bruise looked at, Lord Costain,” Cathy said.
    He drew out a handkerchief and patted the blood away. “How do you two come to be here?” he asked, his manner stiffening. “I told you I would handle this. This is no place for a lady, Miss Lyman.”
    “I told her so, but you might as well talk to the hat stand,” Gordon said. “Anyhow, it is well we came, or you might have lain in the cold all night and come down with pneumonia. Go on home, Cathy. I’ll get Costain to a