“Have you been threatened, either recently or at any time in the past?”
Nando glared at Archer Tierney, thinking that if this interrogation was to continue, he’d require either the calming presence of Eleanora or another dose of laudanum. The hour was far too early, and he’d spent the torturous night unable to sleep, his arm paining him unmercifully.
“No,” he answered grudgingly.
Tierney’s eyes narrowed. “No missives, no angry letters, no furious husbands?”
Damn it.His reputation apparently preceded him, even in London.
“Undoubtedly there are any number of furious husbands,” he drawled, feigning boredom.
There had been that ruddy-faced earl—Levering—who had caught Nando with his adventurous countess… Vague recollections of the lady in question on her knees before him when the chamber door had opened swirled, but Nando banished them swiftly. The irate earl had challenged him to a duel, but Maxim had bribed the cuckolded husband, and the entire incident had been forgotten, if not forgiven.
“Do you have any enemies?” Tierney asked next, using a no-nonsense tone Nando couldn’t help but feel was better reserved for naughty children.
And whilst Nando was unassailably naughty and had been for the entirety of his misbegotten life, he was no child.
“I reckon that depends on one’s definition of the word,” he said, needling the man just because he could.
Yes, Nando was reliant upon Tierney’s hospitality. However, he also didn’t like being questioned so soundly when he was exhausted, weak, and in pain. Even his shimmering cloud had long since faded, leaving him mired on the bed with no one, save Bruno and Tierney to attend him.
Both were a far cry from the delectable Eleanora.
He wanted her back.
Hewouldhave her back. Perhaps he had to throw another object to get his way. He wasn’t above further destruction.
“My definition is someone who hates you enough to shoot you,” Tierney said, his voice as grim as his expression. “Do you have any enemies of that sort?”
“I appreciate your efforts on my behalf, Tierney. Truly, I do. But can you not simply set a Bow Street Runner on it? I’m reasonably certain the entire affair was a dreadful mistake.”
“A mistake?”
“An error,” Nando elaborated, as if Tierney didn’t understand.
All the better to nettle him.
“I’m aware of the meaning of the word.” Tierney’s tone was pointed. “I was merely baffled that you would consider being shot in the street a mistake. Bullets don’t ordinarily fly through Mayfair. Moreover, you could have been killed.”
Nando preferred not to think about that.
“An unpleasant thought,” he said, something else occurring to him suddenly. “I do hope you haven’t sent word to my brother about this little bit of nonsense.”
He wasn’t certain that Tierney would have the means of reaching Maxim, but his wife, Princess Anastasia, certainly would. And Nando wasn’t in the mood for tongue-lashings from his stern, formidable older brother. He’d had enough of those to last a lifetime already.
Also, he didn’t want Maxim to worry. His brother deserved happiness. He’d lost his first wife in brutal fashion during the war, and he was blissfully content with his new queen. Nando would be damned before he would be the one to encroach on their much-deserved idyll. Indeed, that was partially why he’d left Varros for London.
“I won’t have to send word to him,” Tierney was saying now. “When a royal prince is nearly assassinated in the street, the newspapers tend to report on such matters.”
“Assassinateis such a strong, misleading word,” Nando said with a wave of his good hand. “I suffered a mere scratch. Nothing more. Only look at how hale and hearty I am.”
“The bullet that grazed your arm was far more than a scratch.” Tierney frowned. “You’re fortunate it avoided muscle and bone. A few steps in the other direction, and your injury would have been far more grievous. Indeed, I daresay you wouldn’t be lying here attempting to dismiss my inquiries.”
Tierney was an intelligent man and cunning as well. Nando respected him for it, even if it was proving irritating in the moment.
“I’m doing nothing of the sort. But I confess, I’m rather weary. Do you think we might carry on this conversation later?”
Never would be preferable. But Nando kept that to himself. Archer Tierney was like a terrier with a bone.
