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Authors: Michelle Diener
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breathless. “I didn’t mean you no ’arm.”
James followed him, but Miss Hillier’s intruder had decided to take a stand. As he reached the wall and looked over, he saw the pistol aimed straight at him and ducked down, crouching on the thick, smooth lawn of the bowling green.
The shot missed him by inches.
He leaned against the stone, trying to catch his breath, and he heard the intruder doing the same on the other side of the wall.
“You’re like a dog with a bone, mister.” The man choked and then cleared his throat. “I’ve got a second pistol loaded. I’m walking away backward ’cross the fields, with it aimed at the wall. Don’t force me to pull the trigger again.”
“Who paid you to kill Miss Hillier?”
The man gave a genuine bark of laughter at the question. “As if I’d blab. An’ it’s Miss Hillier , is it?” He gave a snort. “Sure you don’t know her a bit better ’n’ that, being as you were all alone wi’ her in a little secret garden ’round ten at night?”
“Inconveniently for you.” James turned back to face the wall, still crouched low.
“You might say that. You might say I’ll have to get out o’ town for a bit now, ’cause I don’t think the lady will be caught by surprise again, and them what wants her out the way won’t be well pleased by tonight’s work.”
“I think that would be best. I would certainly advise you against another attempt.” James heaved himself up and onto the top of the wall again, but the intruder took a few stumbling steps back, fumbled with his second pistol and raised it.
“You stay right there. I’m warnin’ you.” He walked back slowly, disappearing into the dark of the open field, and when James judged he was too far away for an accurate shot, he leapt down, but after a few steps he heard the sound of a man running. The noise faded into the night and he knew he wouldn’t catch him now.
He turned back and climbed the wall again.
He was getting very good at climbing walls.
Chapter Twelve
P hoebe had just slid between the cool, smooth sheets and was about to blow out the lamp beside her bed when there was a rattle at her window.
It sounded like a piece of gravel had been thrown at the glass.
She lay still, listening, and it came again, harder this time. Almost hard enough to smash through.
Wittaker.
It had to be.
She got out of bed and ran to the window, pulling up the lower half and leaning out.
The Duke of Wittaker stood below, arm flung back as he readied himself for another throw.
She’d been worried for him, running after the intruder with no weapon, and now, relief made her incautious. “You’re all right!”
He dropped the stone in his hand. “Perfectly. And yourself?”
She gave a nod, and the thrill of exchanging pleasantries from her window at eleven at night wearing her night shift gripped her. Made her shiver.
“I need to speak with you.”
She must have misheard him. “Now?”
“We have urgent matters to discuss.”
She looked behind her, as if Lewis and her aunt were already rapping on her bedroom door, although thank goodness, they were not. “I’m afraid we’d wake the household and…”
She trailed off.
Impotent rage, her old friend, ran a familiar hand down her back and she stiffened under its hot, prickly fingers. Why shouldn’t she speak with someone? With whomever she pleased? She was twenty-four years old, responsible, intelligent.
She had all but accepted the anger and the frustration as constant companions, but Sheldrake cutting her free, the incidents of the last day, opened her eyes to how big they had grown, hulking beasts that rubbed up against her. Crowding her and making her life smaller.
Tears stung her eyes as she fought for composure. For the stoic acceptance she’d forced on herself time and again.
Below her, Wittaker rubbed his face. “It is urgent, but I understand. I shouldn’t have asked it of you. My apologies. I’ll see you first thing in the
James followed him, but Miss Hillier’s intruder had decided to take a stand. As he reached the wall and looked over, he saw the pistol aimed straight at him and ducked down, crouching on the thick, smooth lawn of the bowling green.
The shot missed him by inches.
He leaned against the stone, trying to catch his breath, and he heard the intruder doing the same on the other side of the wall.
“You’re like a dog with a bone, mister.” The man choked and then cleared his throat. “I’ve got a second pistol loaded. I’m walking away backward ’cross the fields, with it aimed at the wall. Don’t force me to pull the trigger again.”
“Who paid you to kill Miss Hillier?”
The man gave a genuine bark of laughter at the question. “As if I’d blab. An’ it’s Miss Hillier , is it?” He gave a snort. “Sure you don’t know her a bit better ’n’ that, being as you were all alone wi’ her in a little secret garden ’round ten at night?”
“Inconveniently for you.” James turned back to face the wall, still crouched low.
“You might say that. You might say I’ll have to get out o’ town for a bit now, ’cause I don’t think the lady will be caught by surprise again, and them what wants her out the way won’t be well pleased by tonight’s work.”
“I think that would be best. I would certainly advise you against another attempt.” James heaved himself up and onto the top of the wall again, but the intruder took a few stumbling steps back, fumbled with his second pistol and raised it.
“You stay right there. I’m warnin’ you.” He walked back slowly, disappearing into the dark of the open field, and when James judged he was too far away for an accurate shot, he leapt down, but after a few steps he heard the sound of a man running. The noise faded into the night and he knew he wouldn’t catch him now.
He turned back and climbed the wall again.
He was getting very good at climbing walls.
Chapter Twelve
P hoebe had just slid between the cool, smooth sheets and was about to blow out the lamp beside her bed when there was a rattle at her window.
It sounded like a piece of gravel had been thrown at the glass.
She lay still, listening, and it came again, harder this time. Almost hard enough to smash through.
Wittaker.
It had to be.
She got out of bed and ran to the window, pulling up the lower half and leaning out.
The Duke of Wittaker stood below, arm flung back as he readied himself for another throw.
She’d been worried for him, running after the intruder with no weapon, and now, relief made her incautious. “You’re all right!”
He dropped the stone in his hand. “Perfectly. And yourself?”
She gave a nod, and the thrill of exchanging pleasantries from her window at eleven at night wearing her night shift gripped her. Made her shiver.
“I need to speak with you.”
She must have misheard him. “Now?”
“We have urgent matters to discuss.”
She looked behind her, as if Lewis and her aunt were already rapping on her bedroom door, although thank goodness, they were not. “I’m afraid we’d wake the household and…”
She trailed off.
Impotent rage, her old friend, ran a familiar hand down her back and she stiffened under its hot, prickly fingers. Why shouldn’t she speak with someone? With whomever she pleased? She was twenty-four years old, responsible, intelligent.
She had all but accepted the anger and the frustration as constant companions, but Sheldrake cutting her free, the incidents of the last day, opened her eyes to how big they had grown, hulking beasts that rubbed up against her. Crowding her and making her life smaller.
Tears stung her eyes as she fought for composure. For the stoic acceptance she’d forced on herself time and again.
Below her, Wittaker rubbed his face. “It is urgent, but I understand. I shouldn’t have asked it of you. My apologies. I’ll see you first thing in the
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