“No. Do not go near that window.” He bent his head until they were nearly nose to nose. “Your trespasser had a rifle. Stay away from all the windows while I am gone. Do you understand me?”
She opened her mouth to argue, but he read her far too easily and gently shook her.
“No, Sophie! For once, listen and do as I ask. Your life depends on it. Swear to me you will stay away from every window in this house. Swear it!”
Fear for his safety filled her. “I swear as long as you promise to go by my workroom and arm yourself with extra weaponry. Pistols. Throwing knives. The bookcase behind my desk will swing inward to a concealed room filled with whatever you need. Push on its right side, the fifth shelf up from the bottom.”
He gave her a quick nod and a kiss, then bolted out the door.
She sagged down onto the settee, staring at the broken glass scattered on the floor, then squinted at the wall opposite the window. A ragged hole, dark and unnerving, marred the rose-covered wallpaper just above the waist-high wainscoting. Rage fought to overcome her fears, making her heart pound so hard she became breathless. Howdarethat devil almost kill her husband? “I hope Nash shoots that fiend,” she muttered, then shook her head. No. She didn’t want him to shoot the assassin. She wanted him to catch the blackguard and drag him back here so she could do it.
Maman rushed into the room with Marie close on her heels.
“Sophie!” She joined her on the sofa and hugged her close as Marie stood there wringing her hands. “When I heard the shot, then Nash shouted—oh, my darling girl.”
“My lady,” Marie sobbed. “Oh, my lady, you might have been killed.”
Sophie gently extricated herself from her mother’s hold and forced a smile. “And yet I wasn’t killed,” she said as calmly as her quaking voice would allow. “I am quite hale thanks to Nash noticing movement outside and reacting.” She pressed a hand to her still-pounding heart. “We must all gather ourselves and, as Nash said, stay away from the windows until he returns.”
“Mr. Wethersby barreled out the door as soon as the shot rang out,” her mother said. “I am quite sure he will have somestern words for his men about their failure as guards.” She gave an angry shake of her head. “Guards, indeed. I told you they were incompetent. That lurker should have been apprehended before he had the opportunity to take aim.”
Sophie further soothed herself by dissecting the situation. “An assassin with a rifle,” she mused aloud while staring at the bullet hole in the wall. “Who would consider us so dangerous, such a credible threat to them, that they wanted us dead? Blackmail for money was understandable. This? I cannot imagine the motive.”
“My lady, shall I get you something to drink to settle your nerves?” Marie asked, still wringing her hands. “Do you need to lie down? Shall I help you undress?”
“Some strong tea would be perfect,” Sophie told her, mainly to give her something to do.
The maid dropped a quick curtsy and stole out of the room.
“Poor Marie,” Maman said. “She is accustomed to our unconventional ways, but this is a strain even for her.” She reached out and touched Sophie’s cheek. “And for me as well. Your life has been threatened twice now. I cannot bear this. I simply cannot bear this.”
Sophie caught her mother’s hand between hers and held it tight. “We are strong women, Maman. We must look at the facts rather than dwell on what might have happened.” It was now easier to breathe even though she feared for Nash’s safety. They needed to discover why the blackmailer had elevated himself to the level of assassin. “Who have we, or have I, angered so? I am not important politically or socially. No one stands to gain anything by my death.”
Her mother clutched her hands as if fearing she would float away. “It might be an indirect attack on me. I made many enemies while working for the Crown. As did your papa, and he paid for it with his life. Perhaps they fear you now work toprotect our country and are privy to sensitive information that would cause them or whomever they work for harm.”
“Proper investigation would tell them otherwise. I only travel between France and England—not all over the Continent and beyond like you and Papa did.” Sophie slowly shook her head. “No, thisfeelsentirely different.”
“Come.” Maman patted her hand. “Let us go downstairs so this mess can be cleaned up. And now that Nash is home, your things need to be moved to the master suite.” She cast a worried glance at the broken window. “Those rooms will be safer, since they overlook the garden and the mews rather than the street.”
“Perhaps that would be best.” Sophie didn’t care what suite of rooms belonged to them. She was too busy trying to piece together the shooter’s motives to worry about such inconsequential things. Such violent attacks made no sense whatsoever. Ransoms had been paid, although their small amounts had been almost laughable. None of the banknotes had been cashed yet, either. So money was clearly not a motive. The entire situation smacked of an irrational mind.
Rather than risk the parlor at the front of the house, she led her mother to the drawing room that opened out into the garden. After Nash’s shoring up of any security weak points in that area, the back of the house should be quite safe. Also, the drawing room gave her more room to pace until he returned safe and sound.
“Sophie, do sit,” Maman implored from the settee beside the double doors open to the warm day.
“I cannot.” Sophie worked her fingers, slowly cracking them one by one.
Her mother blew out a heavy sigh but didn’t scold—proof enough that she was terribly upset.
A door slammed hard enough to shake the sound through the house. That was followed by scuffling and a steady stream of loud, coarse French. Another door slammed and silence fell.
“They’ve captured him, but where did they take him?” Sophie hurried to glance up and down the hall. “They are not going to interrogate him without me—Thornton!”
“Sophie!” Maman called out. “You must stay here.”
Sophie ignored her, took a few steps toward the front door, then stopped and listened. Nothing but silence filled the house, and the hall remained empty. “Thornton!”
Still no response, which was quite unusual, because the butler possessed the almost annoying habit of appearing when one even thought about asking something of him.
