Nathan heard the shots and leaped to his feet. It was an automatic and instinctive reaction. He knew there was nothing he could do. The urge was to rush to the window but that would serve no purpose. A deeper urge to leave the house and investigate was also strong, but equally as nonsensical. With a monumental effort, he retook his seat.
“Gemma, please sit,” he said.
Gemma gasped and he realized his fatal error.
I am a fool! My mind is addled and my reactions are shot to hell. Damnation!
“Marshall, we must establish what is happening out there but I will not put anyone at risk. Is Pennington’s messenger still in the house?”
“No, Your Grace…he…he departed upon delivering his message, having arranged with Mr. Pennington to meet him at a certain location within the woods, known to them both.”
There was a note of distraction in Marshall’s voice that made Nathan’s heart sink. The butler was perceptive and sharp as a pin. He would not have missed the slip of name. Nathan thudded the arm of the chair with a fist, inadvertently using the scalded hand. He gritted his teeth against the pain.
“Marshall, water and bandages, please!” Gemma commanded, sharply.
But Marshall hesitated, another sure sign that he knew that the woman he had believed to be Emily Carlisle was an impostor. But one known to the Duke. The fact that his master was a party to the lie would be confusing the old retainer, making him wonder what was going on.
And already jumping to conclusions about my morality and hers. Even a loyal man like Marshall will wonder why I would lie about the identity of a female house guest. The example of my father is strong in his mind, no doubt.
“Marshall, I heard you given an order by Miss Stamford. Please, carry it out.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Marshall said.
“I do not care to explain my personal business, nor do I want it discussed. You will refer to Miss Stamford as Miss Carlisle. Do you understand?”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Marshall replied, with a touch of resentment in his tone.
He does not like to think that I am becoming like my father. Damn him and damn them all for their gossiping tongues.
Nathan heard him leave the room with alacrity and could almost hear the thoughts that went unspoken in the old man’s head.
“The cat is out of the bag,” he said as the door closed behind Marshall.
“It is, but I don’t think that’s the most pressing matter,” Gemma said. “What were those shots?”
Nathan waved a hand as though dismissing the thought. “Pennington is death on poachers. His brother was killed by a poacher on the Newall estate five years ago. He will have found some and shot first. He has the legal right.”
He heard Gemma take a seat near him and turned his head in that direction.
“What if that is not what it was?” she asked, concern strong in her voice.
“It is. What do you fear?” Nathan replied.
“Elliot Stamford,” Gemma said simply.
“Do you think he would risk being hung as a murderer?”
“I think he would act without thinking. As I often do. Elliot and I have always been similar in that respect.”
“Even if it were. We are safe and sound in this castle. If Elliot were trespassing on my property and was mistaken for a poacher, then he has made his own bed by his actions. But, as long as you are in this house, you are safe,” Nathan said soothingly.
“You don’t know them. Especially him. He is a brute.”
A knock came at the door and Nathan answered it sharply. He heard the door open and a servant enter. The sound of water in a basin came to Nathan and the sound of rustling skirts told him it was a maid that had brought it. He did not detect other sounds and presumed the woman was alone.
“Where is Mr. Marshall?” Nathan asked.
“Mr. Marshall has gone to Mr. Pennington’s office to await his return. He has taken Woodward and Cramling with him, Your Grace.”
