Max steeled himself. He saw it in her eyes. She was going to shoot him, and there was nothing he could do. His friends wouldn’t pull their triggers in time. After she shot him, one of them would take her down, but not before.
He looked up at the stained-glass window high above the altar, not wanting Molly’s face to be the last thing he saw. His last thought before the gun went off was that at least Colleen would be safe.
The reverberation of the shot echoed around the stone chamber, and Max frowned. There should be pain. He blinked, looked down, and saw Molly’s slight form crumpled on the altar, a circle of blood staining the stomach of her silk gown.
Shoulders unclenching, Max turned, wondering which of his friends had taken the shot. The three men had their pistols pointed at the ground and were staring down the aisle at Colleen.
She lowered her arm, smoke drifting from the barrel of her gun. Tossing the used weapon on the body of an unconscious man, she shuddered. “This belongs to him.”
Chapter Nineteen
Colleen tapped her fingers along the rim of her glass, the brandy within untouched. She’d sat with the same glass of liquor for the past two hours, ensconced in a chair in Max’s sitting room, as government men came and went. Each of Max’s three friends had given statements of the events, all glancing her way when they came to the end of their tales.
She’d killed someone. And this time, it hadn’t been an accident. She’d found a weapon in the man’s pocket, pulled it free, and aimed at Molly’s head. When it had become apparent that she was going to shoot Max, Colleen had pulled the trigger. Without hesitation. Without remorse.
What kind of person was she?
Max had placed her in the chair when he’d brought her to his house. Had given her a drink ‘to settle her.’ And had left her alone since. Probably too disgusted to even look upon her face.
The Earl of Summerset took a seat across from her and crossed one leg over the other. He fingered one of the artfully coiled locks of hair that curled across his brow. “That was a nice shot. Have much practice with weapons?”
Colleen pursed her lips. “I was aiming for her head. I think I hit quite a bit lower.”
“Still.” Picking up a decanter from the low table that lay between them, the earl poured himself a glass. “How are you faring?”
What an odd question. “I am unharmed. Molly’s the one who’s dead.”
“It’s never easy.” He leaned forwards. “I only wish I had taken the shot, saving you from it.”
The backs of her eyes burned. This conversation didn’t make sense. Why should she be saved from anything?
Summerset raised his glass. “To the living.” He lifted it to his lips and paused. “I made a toast, now you take a sip.”
Colleen followed suit, ignoring the fact she detested the taste of brandy. The liquid burned a path down her throat and cleared some of the fog from her mind.
Tossing his drink back, Summerset slammed his glass on the table. “You might not think it now, but everything will look better in the morning.”
The Duke of Montague and the Earl of Rothchild joined them. “Trying to get the poor girl half-sprung?” Montague asked. “I think she’s had it rough enough without you pursing her. Sutton won’t appreciate it.”
Summerset smoothed the tail of his cravat down his chest. “Sutton isn’t here, and she is.” He gave a pointed look to the duke. “Alone.”
Tracing the rim of her glass with her thumb, Colleen sighed. “You don’t need to keep me company. I’m all right.”
“Of course, you are,” Rothchild said. “But that doesn’t mean that after an evening like tonight, you wouldn’t want some companionship. I think we all need another drink after tonight.” He fixed the duke and himself glasses and topped up Colleen’s and Summerset’s. “To the end of Zed.” He held his glass up.
“To friends having one’s back.” Montague raised his glass.
Summerset crossed one leg over the other. “To adventures that come out right in the end.”
They looked at her expectantly. She was supposed to come up with a toast now, too? She had a hard enough time just sitting there quietly, not turning into a puddle of sniffles and tears. Now they expected poetry?
She lifted her own glass, her hand trembling. “To lucky shots.” To saving Max. Even if that confirmed in his mind just the type of woman she was. She threw back the liquor and bent over coughing.
A warm hand rubbed her back. Max’s hand. She jumped out of her chair in surprise.
“Sorry.” He lifted his palms, his left one wrapped in a thick bandage. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She coughed a couple more times into her sleeve. Clearing her throat, she said, “I didn’t hear you come in.”
