Braced for impact, Conrad flinched at the blast of gunfire.
A heartbeat later, when the pain didn’t come, he looked down at himself and saw no gaping injury. His gaze went to Anne, whose smug smile was still in place as blood trickled from her nose and mouth. She fell forward, a wound at the back of her head. Rooted in place, Evie stared down at the dead woman.
“Evie, are you all right?”
It was Gigi’s brother, James. Dropping the smoking pistol, he ran to his wife.
Then Conrad lost track of everything else as Gigi dashed toward him. He caught her against him and just…just held on.
“I was so scared.” Her voice was muffled against his waistcoat. “When I saw you throw away the gun, I thought Anne was going to?—”
“I’m all right, love. Are you?”
“No.” She shook her head against his chest.
Tipping her head back, he gazed at her beautiful, tear-stained face.
“You will be,” he said huskily. “You’re the bravest woman I know. I love you, Gigi, and I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to tell you. Afraid that I would leave this earth without having the chance to apologize. To tell you that I was wrong: vengeance isn’t the most important thing to me—you are. I would do anything for you. Nothing else matters.”
“I do love you so,” she blurted. “And I’m sorry for my part in our fight. I shouldn’t have given you an ultimatum. I should have listened and tried to understand?—”
“I shouldn’t have kept secrets from you. And I won’t do it again.”
He sealed his promise with a kiss, pouring his emotions, everything he felt for her, into it. She kissed him back with equal fervor, her love shining through the dark forest and showing him the path home. Home to his wife, his Gigi.
Finally, he registered the voices in the background. Reluctantly, he lifted his head and saw that they had gained an audience. The entire Harrington clan and some of the villagers were present. The Marquess of Blackwood had his arms crossed and was staring at Conrad through slitted eyes. Lord Ethan had a similar stance. Lord Owen and the ladies weren’t quite as unapproachable, but they weren’t exactly welcoming either. The only friendly face belonged to Gigi’s friend, Duffield, who stood next to a brawny, dark-haired fellow with an eye patch.
The draper gave Conrad an encouraging smile before saying to the crowd, “Let us see if the constable and his men need help and give the family their privacy.”
After the villagers dispersed, Gigi nudged Conrad.
“Don’t just stand there,” she whispered. “Go greet my family.”
Right. You’ve been given another chance, man. Do not make a mull of it.
Yet he was already off on the wrong foot, given that his crazed niece had kidnapped Gigi and Evie. Then there was the fact that his in-laws had just caught him with his tongue down Gigi’s throat. The only thing that might save him was that James appeared to be doing the same to Evie, with a passionate intensity Conrad wouldn’t have expected from the proper, buttoned-up earl.
He sighed. Delaying helped nothing. Keeping a firm hold on his wife’s hand—if he had to do this, he wasn’t doing it alone—he went over.
“Good evening, my lords and ladies.” Clearing his throat, he strove for a conversational tone. “How did you know to come here?”
“Kenny Sommers.” The unexpected answer was supplied by Xenia. “Apparently, he was being pursued by bullies and was hiding in a pile of rubbish in the alley. By the by, he attributed the ‘run and hide’ technique to you, Mr. Godwin. He says it has saved his hide more than once.”
Conrad glanced at the Blackwood patriarch, who didn’t look too impressed that Conrad had taught the lad to hide in a heap of garbage. While some might consider the tactic cowardly, from Conrad’s perspective, it was better than Kenny getting beaten to a pulp.
“I only suggested that strategy in the instances when Kenny couldn’t win a fight,” he muttered. “Unfortunately, in Kenny’s case, that might be in every instance.”
“In this instance, it proved fortunate,” Xenia said. “For Kenny saw the brutes take Gigi and Evie and managed to get a good look at the carriage. He told Mrs. Sommers, who sent word to us. We contacted Constable Rawlins—he and his men are here, taking care of the cutthroats out front—and together we canvassed the village for information. Everyone wanted to help. By piecing together observations made by Mr. Thornton, Mrs. Pettigrew, and others, we were able to ascertain the direction the carriage was headed. Then Mr. Duffield, who has a keen eye, noticed that the muddy tracks left by the carriage had a reddish tint?—”
“Duffy is a genius with color,” Gigi said fondly.
“And Mr. Keane—he’s the blacksmith, in case you haven’t met him—recalled getting that same sticky, red mud on his boots when he went fishing in the stream. That brought up the question of what the kidnappers might have been doing by the stream, and Wally, who knows Chuddums better than anyone, thought of the abandoned mill. He had a hunch that the kidnappers might be using it as a hiding place, and the carriage was last seen heading in its direction. We came to investigate, and the rest, as they say, is history.”
Conrad wondered why Xenia’s convoluted account made perfect sense to him.
Devil and damn. I might owe these Chuddumites. Even more than I realized.
He drew a breath. “I owe an apology. To everyone.”
