adventurer. And hadn’t Agnes said that Phinneas had once had a vision about a “great one” discovering their map? She
relaxed a bit.
“Little more than a grazing,” she added.
Lydia’s eyes rounded, and Calliope opened her mouth to argue, but Agnes shook her head. “Calliope, pour the marquess some
more of your fine whiskey.”
He sat taller. “Wasn’t the first time I got shot,” Max ground out. “Probably won’t be the last.”
Lydia poked a scar on his back. “Shot in the back, I see. Perhaps you shouldn’t invade people’s homes in the middle of the
night.”
“Lydia,” Calliope chided as she handed Max the whiskey.
“Who were those men?” Sabine asked as she continued to wash his wound.
“I don’t know. Thugs hired to find something would be my guess.” He winced. “They were digging through all your belongings,
then headed upstairs to continue their search.” His blue eyes locked onto hers. “Care to share what you’re hiding?” he asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. We have absolutely nothing to hide.” She turned back to the basin and poured clean
water into the bowl. “They obviously had mistaken our shop for someone else’s.”
“Then why were they intent on going upstairs?” he asked.
“Perhaps they planned on ravishing us,” Calliope said with great drama.
Sabine pressed near his wound until he grimaced. “The bullet seems to still be lodged in your chest,” she said.
“I thought you said it was a grazing,” he gritted through his teeth.
“My mistake,” she said with a shrug.
“Let me remove the bullet. You can prepare the ointment, Sabine.” Agnes stepped forward. “But first you tell me who you are.”
She leveled her gaze on him.
He nodded once. “Maxwell Barrett, Marquess of Lindberg.”
“And precisely what were you doing in our shop?” she continued.
He met Sabine’s glance. “I just happened by and saw the intruders. Perhaps I was merely in the right place at the right time.”
Sabine made no move to correct him. “Our hero,” she said tightly. She watched as her aunt gathered the tools she needed and
then approached the table.
“I am Agnes,” her aunt said as she sat in the chair next to him and scooted it forward. “These are my sisters: Lydia, whom
you probably have realized is the one who shot you. And Calliope, my youngest sister, the one responsible for that foul liquid
you’re consuming at a rather alarming rate. And this is our niece Sabine, but it appears that the two of you have already
met.” She paused and met his gaze. “I’m afraid this is going to hurt.”
“Splendid,” he said dryly. “And up until now this evening had been so pleasant.”
Sabine watched Agnes use the tweezers to pull the bullet out of the marquess’s chest. His jaw tensed and ticked, but he made
no sound. Of course, he’d had three glasses of Calliope’s homemade whiskey, so he wasn’t feeling much of anything.
While Lydia finished cleaning the wound, Sabine turned away from them to ready the salve. She scooped out a small amount into
a shallow dish, then stirred it to loosen the compound. She had assisted her mother this way when she’d treated villagers.
But that was a long time ago, back before everything had changed for Sabine.
His wound was worse than she’d expected, and one of her aunts had caused it. All they needed was for him to turn them in to
the police, and attract all kinds of attention from the newspapers. Not a great way to hide.
Of course, he had broken into their shop. The story he’d told her aunts was convenient and prevented her from having to answer
any of their questions. But she’d need to be left alone with him to inquire further about the truth.
He’d been here to ferret around just as those other men had been. Was he their accomplice? That seemed unlikely considering
the fight they’d gotten into.
“He’s going to need stitches,” Agnes said.
relaxed a bit.
“Little more than a grazing,” she added.
Lydia’s eyes rounded, and Calliope opened her mouth to argue, but Agnes shook her head. “Calliope, pour the marquess some
more of your fine whiskey.”
He sat taller. “Wasn’t the first time I got shot,” Max ground out. “Probably won’t be the last.”
Lydia poked a scar on his back. “Shot in the back, I see. Perhaps you shouldn’t invade people’s homes in the middle of the
night.”
“Lydia,” Calliope chided as she handed Max the whiskey.
“Who were those men?” Sabine asked as she continued to wash his wound.
“I don’t know. Thugs hired to find something would be my guess.” He winced. “They were digging through all your belongings,
then headed upstairs to continue their search.” His blue eyes locked onto hers. “Care to share what you’re hiding?” he asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. We have absolutely nothing to hide.” She turned back to the basin and poured clean
water into the bowl. “They obviously had mistaken our shop for someone else’s.”
“Then why were they intent on going upstairs?” he asked.
“Perhaps they planned on ravishing us,” Calliope said with great drama.
Sabine pressed near his wound until he grimaced. “The bullet seems to still be lodged in your chest,” she said.
“I thought you said it was a grazing,” he gritted through his teeth.
“My mistake,” she said with a shrug.
“Let me remove the bullet. You can prepare the ointment, Sabine.” Agnes stepped forward. “But first you tell me who you are.”
She leveled her gaze on him.
He nodded once. “Maxwell Barrett, Marquess of Lindberg.”
“And precisely what were you doing in our shop?” she continued.
He met Sabine’s glance. “I just happened by and saw the intruders. Perhaps I was merely in the right place at the right time.”
Sabine made no move to correct him. “Our hero,” she said tightly. She watched as her aunt gathered the tools she needed and
then approached the table.
“I am Agnes,” her aunt said as she sat in the chair next to him and scooted it forward. “These are my sisters: Lydia, whom
you probably have realized is the one who shot you. And Calliope, my youngest sister, the one responsible for that foul liquid
you’re consuming at a rather alarming rate. And this is our niece Sabine, but it appears that the two of you have already
met.” She paused and met his gaze. “I’m afraid this is going to hurt.”
“Splendid,” he said dryly. “And up until now this evening had been so pleasant.”
Sabine watched Agnes use the tweezers to pull the bullet out of the marquess’s chest. His jaw tensed and ticked, but he made
no sound. Of course, he’d had three glasses of Calliope’s homemade whiskey, so he wasn’t feeling much of anything.
While Lydia finished cleaning the wound, Sabine turned away from them to ready the salve. She scooped out a small amount into
a shallow dish, then stirred it to loosen the compound. She had assisted her mother this way when she’d treated villagers.
But that was a long time ago, back before everything had changed for Sabine.
His wound was worse than she’d expected, and one of her aunts had caused it. All they needed was for him to turn them in to
the police, and attract all kinds of attention from the newspapers. Not a great way to hide.
Of course, he had broken into their shop. The story he’d told her aunts was convenient and prevented her from having to answer
any of their questions. But she’d need to be left alone with him to inquire further about the truth.
He’d been here to ferret around just as those other men had been. Was he their accomplice? That seemed unlikely considering
the fight they’d gotten into.
“He’s going to need stitches,” Agnes said.
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