Those words tore at Francis’ chest. It was like the bullet had been fired after all, landing somewhere near his heart as he turned his eyes on Phoebe.
“All this talk of divorce will be over?” Baron Notley insisted from behind her. “You will withdraw the paperwork?”
“I will.” Phoebe nodded with the words.
“How can I be certain you will not run again?” Lord Ridlington asked, his tone demanding.
“Because I put my friends’ lives above my own. I’ll come with you, but you must promise not to hurt them.”
Francis opened his mouth to object, but the pistol just got nearer to his face, silencing him.
“Then we have a deal,” Baron Notley said. “Lord Ridlington, lower the pistol.”
Yet the Viscount didn’t appear to hear the words, for his gaze was still on Francis and the pistol. Francis stood a little straighter, realizing that no amount of persuasion was going to make it through the red mist of anger that had descended on Lord Ridlington now.
“If you are going to shoot me, then do it,” Francis said darkly, “I do not see the point of dragging out the moment.” His words were met by exclamations of horror from Diana and Phoebe.
“Do not shoot him, you fool,” Baron Notley said, his voice getting louder.
“There has to be a punishment,” Lord Ridlington said. “No, there has to be…”
The pistol was inches from Francis’ face as Lord Ridlington took a step forward.
“No, Graham!” Phoebe screamed, placing her hands over her face. Francis turned his gaze on her, wanting his last look in this world to be of something that he loved. Her green eyes were full of unshed tears and her skin had turned pale.
Then she reared forward.
Francis wasn’t prepared for it, but the pistol went off. He ducked down to avoid the fire, but he only just missed it as Phoebe had tackled Lord Ridlington. Francis looked up, feeling a hand going straight for his head, for the bullet had whistled through his hair, missing him by the skin of his teeth.
Lord Ridlington was falling over from where Phoebe had shoved him, trying to dislodge his hold on the pistol.
She saved me!
Francis went to help her, to grab Lord Ridlington and put this matter to rest.
“My Lord!” There was a cry from the footman. Francis glanced round in the commotion to see the footman throwing another pistol toward Lord Ridlington, this one clearly loaded and ready to fire.
Lord Ridlington snatched it from the air, just as he dropped the other one to the ground.
Francis could see where he was turning that pistol – straight toward Phoebe. Francis leapt forward, grabbing Phoebe around the waist before her father could get to her, and dragging her further back in the room, until she was firmly behind him with his body shielding hers. Her hands were buried in his arms, clinging to him, with her front pressed to his back.
Lord Ridlington lifted the second pistol and turned it back to Francis.
“I will not let you hurt her again,” Francis said.
“Then I’ll have to shoot you to get to her,” Lord Ridlington said, his finger reaching for the trigger.
“Stop!” The shrill cry that went up made them all flinch. Francis felt the way Phoebe twitched behind him, her fingers digging further into his arms.
Francis lifted his gaze to the top of the stairs to find Louisa was standing there. She was the source of the cry. Dressed in her night shift, with a dressing gown wrapped tightly around her shoulders, she was slightly murky in the faded candlelight, but what was clear to see was what was in her hands.
My pistol…
She must have gone to his room for help when she heard all the noise, for in her clutches was the pistol he had brought with him, evidently prepared with shot. He had seen her prepare the pistol enough times now by herself to know she was capable of doing it.
That pistol was trained on Lord Ridlington.
“The maid?” Lord Ridlington asked in confusion. “Laura?”
