“If we were attacked,” Colin continued, one of his hands moving expressively as he wove his tale, “it would be quite noisy, and frankly, I find it disturbing to think—”
“Colin!” Anthony bellowed.
“Don’t mind me,” Colin said.
“I’m going to kill him,” Anthony announced. “Does anyone mind if I kill him?”
No one did, although Sophie did look up and mention something about blood and messes and not wanting to have to clean up.
“It’s an excellent fertilizer,” Phillip said helpfully, since, after all, that was his area of expertise.
“Ah.” Sophie nodded and turned back to her book. “Kill him, then.”
“How’s that book, darling?” Benedict called out to her.
“It’s quite good, actually.”
“Will you allshut up?” Anthony ground out. Then, his cheeks coloring slightly, he turned to his sister-in-law and mumbled, “Not you, of course, Sophie.”
“Glad to be exempted,” she said cheerfully.
“Do try not to threaten my wife,” Benedict said mildly.
Anthony turned to his brother and skewered him with a glare. “The lot of you should be drawn and quartered,” he grunted.
“Except for Sophie,” Colin reminded him.
Anthony turned to him with a deadly expression. “You do realize this gun is loaded, don’t you?”
“Lucky for me fratricide is considered quite beyond the pale.”
Anthony clamped his mouth shut and turned back toward the target. “Round two,” he called out, taking aim.
“Waaaaaaait!”
All four Bridgerton men sagged and turned around, groaning as they saw Eloise careening down the hill.
“Are you shooting?” she demanded, stumbling to a halt.
No one answered. No one really needed to. It was quite obvious.
“Without me?”
“We’re not shooting,” Gregory said. “Just standing about with guns.”
“Near a target,” Colin added helpfully.
“You’re shooting.”
“Of course we’re shooting,” Anthony snapped. He flicked his head off to the right. “Sophie is by herself. You should keep her company.”
Eloise planted her hands on her hips. “Sophie is reading a book.”
“A good one, too,” Sophie put in, returning her attention to the pages.
“You should read a book, too, Eloise,” Benedict suggested. “They’re very improving.”
“I don’t need any improving,” she shot back. “Give me a gun.”
