you?”
His eyes gave her the answer she needed.
“But you said the smugglers knew—” She clamped her mouth shut at the sight of Richard’s livid look.
Phelim grinned, a smile that held not a whit of humor.
Before she could say another thing, Richard had spun in a flash and snapped out the wet cloak.
It covered Phelim’s head.
Letty gasped.
Phelim dropped the gun.
Caught as off guard as the smugglers, Letty took a step backward, her eyes locked on Richard, who stood with his arm clamped around the smuggler’s neck. The man struggled beneath the cloak that held him prisoner, his curses muffled.
“Now it’s your turn not to move.” Richard looked at the others and warned, “Any of you.” He tightened his arm around Phelim’s neck, making him cough. “Or I’ll break his neck.”
He turned his harsh features toward her and gritted slowly, “Pick up the pistol.”
She glanced down. The gun was at her feet. She bent and picked it up. She’d never held a pistol before. It was much heavier than she would have thought, and cold, very cold.
“Bring it here.”
She glanced up.
Richard gave a quick nod of his head. “Quickly!”
She took a step.
Gus shifted and stretched.
She tripped.
And the gun went off.
Chapter 5
Someone was calling his name.
“Richard?”
“ Grrrrrrrrr .”
“Hush, Gus.”
Richard felt a soft hand stroke his cheek.
“Please wake up.”
He opened his eyes. The hellion stared down him. Out of instinct he shifted to move away. A jab of fire shot down his arm and across his shoulder. He groaned and let his head fall back onto her lap.
“Don’t move!” she cried, gently patting his jaw. “Please. I’ve been so very worried.”
The pain faded into a dull throb and he took slower and deeper breaths. He felt clammy, chilled, and realized his chest was bare except for his torn shirt, which lay tucked around him like a blanket. He looked at her and rasped, “What happened this time?”
Her face paled, looking suddenly white against the black soot that smudged her cheeks and chin. There were streaks in the soot on her cheeks. She’d been crying. She swallowed hard, sniffled, then took a deep quivering breath. “I—I shot you.”
He looked at his shirt. A wide brown blotch of dried blood stained the left sleeve. He moved his gaze to his left arm. It was wrapped in a piece of lacy white petticoat linen, the ends of which were tied in a neat but puffy lace bow.
It all suddenly came back to him: the gun at her feet, the dog yawning and stretching his long body out in front of her, the shock on her face as the pistol fired.
He looked up at her now. Her eyes were misty and red from crying, and she chewed nervously on her lower lip. Her whole demeanor showed self-censure. She blinked back her tears, took one quivering breath, and just sat there, waiting, a strange mixture of courage and defeat. He closed his eyes so that he wouldn’t have to stare into hers.
So the hellion had shot him. Nothing unusual there, just another day in the humdrum life of Richard Lennox.
For a brief instant he asked himself what else she could do to him, then realized that he was only asking for trouble. He opened his eyes. There before him was the face of trouble. She looked like a child waiting to be whipped. Her head hung down and her misty gaze was locked on her clasped hands, the knuckles of which were white from a tense grip.
His upper arm throbbed, a painful reminder that in truth, he was to blame. He’d told her to hand him the gun, which was rather like asking the Devil to pray for him.
Stupid fool. He might as well have just put the weapon in her hand and told her to pull the trigger. He stared at the rafters and asked himself what else could have happened. He supposed that if luck had been with him she could have shot one of the smugglers. But based on past experience, he was her usual target.
He looked at the wound again. It was no scratch, but he’d received worse in a
His eyes gave her the answer she needed.
“But you said the smugglers knew—” She clamped her mouth shut at the sight of Richard’s livid look.
Phelim grinned, a smile that held not a whit of humor.
Before she could say another thing, Richard had spun in a flash and snapped out the wet cloak.
It covered Phelim’s head.
Letty gasped.
Phelim dropped the gun.
Caught as off guard as the smugglers, Letty took a step backward, her eyes locked on Richard, who stood with his arm clamped around the smuggler’s neck. The man struggled beneath the cloak that held him prisoner, his curses muffled.
“Now it’s your turn not to move.” Richard looked at the others and warned, “Any of you.” He tightened his arm around Phelim’s neck, making him cough. “Or I’ll break his neck.”
He turned his harsh features toward her and gritted slowly, “Pick up the pistol.”
She glanced down. The gun was at her feet. She bent and picked it up. She’d never held a pistol before. It was much heavier than she would have thought, and cold, very cold.
“Bring it here.”
She glanced up.
Richard gave a quick nod of his head. “Quickly!”
She took a step.
Gus shifted and stretched.
She tripped.
And the gun went off.
Chapter 5
Someone was calling his name.
“Richard?”
“ Grrrrrrrrr .”
“Hush, Gus.”
Richard felt a soft hand stroke his cheek.
“Please wake up.”
He opened his eyes. The hellion stared down him. Out of instinct he shifted to move away. A jab of fire shot down his arm and across his shoulder. He groaned and let his head fall back onto her lap.
“Don’t move!” she cried, gently patting his jaw. “Please. I’ve been so very worried.”
The pain faded into a dull throb and he took slower and deeper breaths. He felt clammy, chilled, and realized his chest was bare except for his torn shirt, which lay tucked around him like a blanket. He looked at her and rasped, “What happened this time?”
Her face paled, looking suddenly white against the black soot that smudged her cheeks and chin. There were streaks in the soot on her cheeks. She’d been crying. She swallowed hard, sniffled, then took a deep quivering breath. “I—I shot you.”
He looked at his shirt. A wide brown blotch of dried blood stained the left sleeve. He moved his gaze to his left arm. It was wrapped in a piece of lacy white petticoat linen, the ends of which were tied in a neat but puffy lace bow.
It all suddenly came back to him: the gun at her feet, the dog yawning and stretching his long body out in front of her, the shock on her face as the pistol fired.
He looked up at her now. Her eyes were misty and red from crying, and she chewed nervously on her lower lip. Her whole demeanor showed self-censure. She blinked back her tears, took one quivering breath, and just sat there, waiting, a strange mixture of courage and defeat. He closed his eyes so that he wouldn’t have to stare into hers.
So the hellion had shot him. Nothing unusual there, just another day in the humdrum life of Richard Lennox.
For a brief instant he asked himself what else she could do to him, then realized that he was only asking for trouble. He opened his eyes. There before him was the face of trouble. She looked like a child waiting to be whipped. Her head hung down and her misty gaze was locked on her clasped hands, the knuckles of which were white from a tense grip.
His upper arm throbbed, a painful reminder that in truth, he was to blame. He’d told her to hand him the gun, which was rather like asking the Devil to pray for him.
Stupid fool. He might as well have just put the weapon in her hand and told her to pull the trigger. He stared at the rafters and asked himself what else could have happened. He supposed that if luck had been with him she could have shot one of the smugglers. But based on past experience, he was her usual target.
He looked at the wound again. It was no scratch, but he’d received worse in a
Similar Books
