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Authors: Charlotte Featherstone
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commence.”
Larabie suddenly whirled, warning Black away. That was when Iain saw his chance and took it, wrestling the pistol from his opponent. He had not expected it to be loaded—and he had certainly not expected to hear the ear-shattering crack of a bullet blast in the silence of the night.
Time seemed to shift, to stall, as Larabie’s jowled face grew white. With a smile born of arrogance, Alynwick waited to watch the earl’s expression turn from shock, to pain, to terror. It didn’t. Instead, Iain felt the burn of his own skin being torn apart. Then the heat of his blood seeping out, onto his shirt. The force of the bullet threw him back against Black, who caught him, covering his body with his own.
“You ass,” Iain rasped as he clutched the sleeve of Black’s coat. “Isabella will hang me by my bollocks if you get hurt.”
“Shut up,” Black muttered as he efficiently placed Iain on the damp ground. “The doctor!” he ordered, and Iain saw the tips of Larabie’s boots and those of his second move back, making way for the physician.
His body burned, the pain was substantial, and he suddenly was thankful that he had sat in his carriage for hours, drinking himself into a stupor. It had numbed the pain somewhat, and made it so he had not cried out, either in surprise or discomfort. He would not give that fat, fucking Larabie the pleasure of his weakness.
“I trust you are satisfied,” he said, trying to breathe as normally as possible.
BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012
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CHARLOTTE FEATHERSTONE
63
“Honour was met,” Larabie’s second announced, and Black all but flew between the small space that set them apart, confronting the man with his fist knotted in his cravat.
“Honour was not met,” he snarled. “Larabie shot him in cold blood. None of the rules were adhered to. It wasn’t a fair duel.”
“It wasn’t fair of him to bed my wife!” Larabie roared, and Iain, not wanting to hear the earl’s pompous voice a second longer, rasped and waved his friend back over.
“Let it go,” he murmured as Black knelt down beside him. “I don’t think it’s fatal, anyway. Besides, I plan on playing this up to the lady. Surely she will see to it that I am well compensated for this business.”
“Damn you, this plan of yours is going to hell.” Iain shrugged and winced in pain as a tearing burn made its way down his left arm. “Shoulder, I think.
Bloody bastard is lucky it’s my left.”
“Make way, gentlemen,” the physician ordered. He set his black bag down on the damp grass beside Iain’s head. Alynwick’s coachman had taken a carriage lamp and was holding it over them, allowing its soft glow to illuminate the scene. Above him, Iain could see Larabie’s jowls quivering. To his left stood Black, his expression the colour of his name. The doctor pulled at Iain’s coat, revealing the soaked shirt beneath.
“Well, will the bastard live, or shall I make plans to leave for the continent tonight?” Larabie muttered.
“Shoulder wound,” the physician announced. “There’s no need to flee the scene, my lord.”
“Lucky bastard. Like a cat, he is. But one day, Alynwick, you’ll use up those nine lives, and I hope that when you are on the ninth and final one, it is my bullet that BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012
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TEMPTATION & TWILIGHT
sends you straight to hell. Come along, Sheridan,” the earl ordered. “It is time to return home to deal with my wife.”
“Into the carriage, my lord,” the physician instructed.
“I shall follow in mine. The bullet must be removed and the wound cleansed.”
“I thank you,” Iain growled as Black hefted him up from the wet grass, and none too gently, either. “My man will see to it.”
“You keep a surgeon at the ready, do you?” the physician said with offended hauteur.
Iain laughed at the thought. Sutherland was no
Larabie suddenly whirled, warning Black away. That was when Iain saw his chance and took it, wrestling the pistol from his opponent. He had not expected it to be loaded—and he had certainly not expected to hear the ear-shattering crack of a bullet blast in the silence of the night.
Time seemed to shift, to stall, as Larabie’s jowled face grew white. With a smile born of arrogance, Alynwick waited to watch the earl’s expression turn from shock, to pain, to terror. It didn’t. Instead, Iain felt the burn of his own skin being torn apart. Then the heat of his blood seeping out, onto his shirt. The force of the bullet threw him back against Black, who caught him, covering his body with his own.
“You ass,” Iain rasped as he clutched the sleeve of Black’s coat. “Isabella will hang me by my bollocks if you get hurt.”
“Shut up,” Black muttered as he efficiently placed Iain on the damp ground. “The doctor!” he ordered, and Iain saw the tips of Larabie’s boots and those of his second move back, making way for the physician.
His body burned, the pain was substantial, and he suddenly was thankful that he had sat in his carriage for hours, drinking himself into a stupor. It had numbed the pain somewhat, and made it so he had not cried out, either in surprise or discomfort. He would not give that fat, fucking Larabie the pleasure of his weakness.
“I trust you are satisfied,” he said, trying to breathe as normally as possible.
BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012
9780373776627_CS5_txt.indd 62
12-01-31 4:03 PM
CHARLOTTE FEATHERSTONE
63
“Honour was met,” Larabie’s second announced, and Black all but flew between the small space that set them apart, confronting the man with his fist knotted in his cravat.
“Honour was not met,” he snarled. “Larabie shot him in cold blood. None of the rules were adhered to. It wasn’t a fair duel.”
“It wasn’t fair of him to bed my wife!” Larabie roared, and Iain, not wanting to hear the earl’s pompous voice a second longer, rasped and waved his friend back over.
“Let it go,” he murmured as Black knelt down beside him. “I don’t think it’s fatal, anyway. Besides, I plan on playing this up to the lady. Surely she will see to it that I am well compensated for this business.”
“Damn you, this plan of yours is going to hell.” Iain shrugged and winced in pain as a tearing burn made its way down his left arm. “Shoulder, I think.
Bloody bastard is lucky it’s my left.”
“Make way, gentlemen,” the physician ordered. He set his black bag down on the damp grass beside Iain’s head. Alynwick’s coachman had taken a carriage lamp and was holding it over them, allowing its soft glow to illuminate the scene. Above him, Iain could see Larabie’s jowls quivering. To his left stood Black, his expression the colour of his name. The doctor pulled at Iain’s coat, revealing the soaked shirt beneath.
“Well, will the bastard live, or shall I make plans to leave for the continent tonight?” Larabie muttered.
“Shoulder wound,” the physician announced. “There’s no need to flee the scene, my lord.”
“Lucky bastard. Like a cat, he is. But one day, Alynwick, you’ll use up those nine lives, and I hope that when you are on the ninth and final one, it is my bullet that BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012
9780373776627_CS5_txt.indd 63
12-01-31 4:03 PM
64
TEMPTATION & TWILIGHT
sends you straight to hell. Come along, Sheridan,” the earl ordered. “It is time to return home to deal with my wife.”
“Into the carriage, my lord,” the physician instructed.
“I shall follow in mine. The bullet must be removed and the wound cleansed.”
“I thank you,” Iain growled as Black hefted him up from the wet grass, and none too gently, either. “My man will see to it.”
“You keep a surgeon at the ready, do you?” the physician said with offended hauteur.
Iain laughed at the thought. Sutherland was no
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