Juliana looked at the gun, at the cane, at Brogan. If she were going to die today, she wanted Brogan’s face to be the last thing she saw. She traced the bend in his nose that spoke of all the blows he’d taken, and all the times he’d climbed back to his feet. The stubborn angle of his jaw that charmed her when it wasn’t so irritating. The clarity of his ocean blue eyes that seemed to see deep into her soul.
She didn't want this to be her last moments on earth. She wanted to spend hours laughing in bed with Brogan, making babies with him, growing old in his arms. But if it wasn't meant to be, if her eyes closed forever on his face, she would die content.
She and Brogan locked gazes. She rolled her eyes to the cane and back.
He shook his head. To tell her no, or that he didn’t understand?
It didn’t matter. She had one chance to end this, to protect the people she loved.
She nodded once, and took a deep breath, steeling herself. How badly did a bullet tearing through flesh hurt? Her heart raced. She could do this. If only she could make her limbs move. The barrel of the pistol looked huge. There was no way Snowdon would miss.
She drew her shoulder blades back. She’d wanted to make a difference. Well, now was the time.
She sucked down another deep breath, her muscles tensing.
But before she could make her move, all hell broke loose.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Brogan rolled onto the balls of his feet. It was a stupid, foolish, brave idea Juliana had. If he could have stopped her from implementing it, he would have. But there were several feet between them, and, besides, she never let anyone get in her way.
Damn, fool woman.
Since he couldn’t stop her, he needed to help. Her chest was bobbing up and down like pistons at full speed. As nervous as she was, he was surprised she didn’t swoon. Her hand twitched towards the cane’s head, and his time to work on a plan was up.
He whirled, swinging his fist straight at the marquess’s face.
Dunkeld’s eyes flew wide a moment before Brogan’s hand connected.
Brogan hadn’t used full-force, but pounding into the Scotsman’s thick jaw bloody hurt.
Dunkeld stumbled to one knee, and Brogan towered over him. “You’re in on this with Snowdon.”
The marchioness gasped and dropped next to Dunkeld, glaring at Brogan. “How dare you? You’ll pay for striking my husband.”
Dunkeld blinked up at him, his left eye already beginning to swell. Every other eye was turned toward Brogan, too.
Including Snowdon’s.
Juliana reached out, snatched Rose’s cane from under his hand, and grasped it tightly. With a move sure to make her former fencing instructor proud, she whipped the cane over her head and brought it down on her brother’s wrist.
Snowdon howled.
The gun dropped to the carpet.
And Juliana practiced a few more moves, walloping her brother over and over until he collapsed to the ground in tears.
As she was smacking the fleshy bits of her brother, areas that wouldn’t cause permanent damage, Brogan saw no reason to end her fun. Juliana had a lot of anger to release, and beating the source of it seemed fair to Brogan.
He picked up the pistol then turned to offer Dunkeld a hand up.
The Scotsman grunted, and got to his feet without Brogan’s assistance.
Brogan sighed. There went his job.
“No good… two-faced… sap skull…” Each oath from Juliana’s lips was accompanied by a sturdy swing of her cane.
Brogan studied her form, frowning.
