Stephen lifted his lips from hers, their eyes locking.
“I shall not be ignored!” the voice insisted.
They ran to the nearest window. A man stood on the edge of the green grass, ten yards out from the tree line, wearing a blatant copy of the Duke of Wellington’s red regimental uniform. Black boots, white pantaloons, crimson-and-gold coat, black bicorn hat—even the exact insignia on the shoulders, earned by the duke and not by the impostor below.
“His Grace, Richard Reddington, grows impatient,” Reddington yelled up.
“Is he talking about himself in the third person?” Stephen whispered.
“And using an honorific as though he were a duke,” Elizabeth confirmed. “This is a new development. I expect he thinks it’ll help sell his reenactment, starring himself as England’s hero.”
Stephen inclined his head. “Maybe he’s hoping to position himself in his peers’ minds as a god on par with Wellington, or at least in the same category.”
“His wiles won’t work on me.” She glared at the red-uniformed lord on the lawn.
Reddington held up a square of parchment. Presumably, the IOU Stephen’s cousin had signed when he’d lost the castle in a wager. “Densmore! This castle belongs to His Grace and you know it.”
“You can’t have it,” Elizabeth shouted down.
“With all due respect, miss, His Grace is hardly afraid of awoman.” Reddington chuckled in obvious amusement. Just as he’d done the day she’d tried to join his squadron.
She reared back from the window with a huff. “All due respect? I hold absolutely none for him whatsoever. Can I please borrow the guillotine?”
“I’ve been advised to ignore bullies,” Stephen advised.
“And let him think he’s managed to cow us? Over my dead body.”
“Send down that deed,” Reddington shouted, “or His Grace will come in there and take it from you.”
Elizabeth leaned out of the window. “You, and whose army?”
Reddington grinned and snapped his fingers.
One hundred infantrymen emerged from the forest. Each in matching uniforms… and carrying long black muskets, all equipped with bayonets.
Stephen looked aghast. “Er…thatarmy.”
Elizabeth bounced on her toes. Reddington really had shown up with every scrap of ammunition he could find… to even the odds in a fight against Elizabeth and one other person. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me!”
“Do not go charging out there,” Stephen warned.
“I can’t behead them all from in here,” she pointed out reasonably.
He tugged on her elbow. “Stay back from the window. He has arrows. I don’t think his animosity extends to anyone other than my cousin, but it’s better to be safe.”
“Reddington’s men aren’t armed with arrows now,” she assured him. “His soldiers are carrying muskets.”
“Which means bullets,” Stephen enunciated. “Objectively as inconvenient to find in one’s chest as arrows.”
She unsheathed her sword. “I’ll deal with this.”
“You can’t take a sword to a gunfight!”
“Reddington is as much a war hero as my left shoe,” she reminded him. “They’re just ordinary menplayingat soldiers.”
He arched his brows. “That arrow didn’t play its way into my hat.”
“A lucky shot. I wager their muskets aren’t even loaded.”
