The slash across his cheek—administered by Julian only yesterday—had disappeared under dozens of angry welts. A warning or an interrupted murder? “How is he?” Miss Vance’s troubled gaze met his. Did the same questions whir through her mind—or did she know the answers? “He needs a doctor, and soon.” “I sent two of the grooms back to retrieve a sleigh.” Julian ripped his stare from the unruly tendrils defying her normal tidiness and focused on his niece. “Teresa, did you recognize any of your attackers? Were they from nearby?” “I don’t know.” Teresa’s chignon slipped a bit farther as she tilted her head to peer up at him. Her cousin’s blood sullied the trim of her riding habit and the fingers of her gloves. Anger and pride warred in Julian. No fainting spell or hysteria for his niece. She had kept her head during the assault, indeed her bravery bordered on foolishness. “That is, they spoke like local men, but they’d blackened their faces with soot, of course.”
