“Satisfied?” she asked, starting to lower her skirt.
After a pause during which Guillaume did nothing but stare at her leg, and then at her face, he said, “Not yet. You and I will go to the bedroom,ma cherie,and I’ll give you another chance to understand what we can have together. Or at the very least, you’ll discover what you’ll be missing by betraying me.”
“Gui,” Jean-Paul warned. “What are you doing? We were only going to bring her back to Paris.”
“I’ve changed my mind,” Guillaume growled. “Keep this one—”
Before he could finish, Malcolm broke free. “You bastard!” He lunged at Guillaume. “Serena, run.”
But she stayed frozen in place. Guillaume had raised his pistol once again, and this time, it was pointed at Malcolm’s forehead.
“Serena, do you say?” Guillaume looked between her and Malcolm. “I think you have been too familiar with our French women. In fact, I think you deserve to die for your crimes against the empire. Why should I waste my time taking you back to Paris?”
“Guillaume, no,” she said, inching her left hand down her leg.
“No?” he asked. “You care for him?” His voice grew louder. “Do you play the filthypétassefor thisAnglais?”
“Gui,” Jean-Paul warned again. Yet when Guillaume cocked the hammer of his flintlock, Jean-Paul stepped back, clearly fearing being shot by mistake.
Seeing no other choice, Serena swiftly drew her pistol from the holder strapped to her left ankle, wondering that her friend had never noticed she was left-handed.
Fearing she would be too late, she fired, hearing Guillaume do the same.
However, Malcolm stayed standing, and it was Guillaume who fell to the ground, his pistol having discharged wildly to the side when she shot him. Jean-Paul took a long look at the blood seeping from the wound in his friend’s side and ran out the door.
***
MALCOLM COULDN’T BELIEVEhow quickly things had gone from bad to worse, nor how lucky he was the Frenchman’s hand had wavered when he’d been shot. And Serena had enjoyed the advantage of being so close to the man she couldn’t have missed.
Bending down, he turned the one she called Guillaume over. The bullet had entered from low in the small of his back and remained inside him, clearly having done mortal damage. Malcolm had seen wounds on the battlefield, and it would certainly have been better if the bullet had come cleanly out.
Instead, blood was trickling out of the side of Guillaume’s mouth as well as from the wound. Straightening, Malcolm looked at the woman who had saved his life. She was deathly pale and her gorgeous green eyes were wide.
In his heart, he already knew she was destined for him. Indeed, he’d chased southwest across the countryside to catch her and tell her so. And he didn’t give a tinker’s damn she was French and a mere vintner’s granddaughter. He didn’t even care if she was experienced in the ways of the flesh. He would make her his wife and then his viscountess and let thetongo to hell.
He took a step toward her and she stumbled against him. Wrapping her tightly in his arms, he rested his chin atop her head and simply held her. In a flash, he imagined telling their children how brave their mother was, how she’d walked beside an emperor and defended a kingdom. Maybe he would leave out the part about how handy she was with a pistol, at least until they were older.
Regardless, he loved her and would happily abandon his immature, rakish ways and be honored if she would marry him.
She already had his heart, and he owed her his life.Again!
But she was staring at the dying man, and it was not the time to ask for her hand, which was even then trembling where it touched him, as her whole body began to shake. Malcolm could do nothing for Guillaume, but he could make it easier on Serena.
“Sit,” he ordered. When she didn’t move away from him, he pushed her gently down onto the chair she’d used to show her ankle. Knowing Serena had drawn her little Queen Anne pistol with her left hand outside the Tuileries Palace, he’d felt a surge of relief when she’d exposed her right leg. His only worry had been how quickly she could draw her weapon, which had been very fast as it turned out.
“Serena,” he said her name, but she continued to stare at her former friend.
Concerned by the glazed look in her eyes and how she quaked under his touch, Malcolm quickly took off his coat and draped it around her slender shoulders. She was suffering from the shock of the situation.
“Just stay right here,” he said and brushed his lips across her forehead.
She’d barely blinked and didn’t respond. Quickly as he could, he grabbed the dying man by his boots, not sure if Guillaume had breathed his last yet, and dragged him out of the manor’s front door, leaving a trail of blood on the cool, square tiles.
As Malcolm made his way with his burden across the gravel drive, a woman in an apron appeared around the corner of the house, gasping at the sight and dropping the basket she carried. A small dog that had been trailing behind her stepped in front, alternately baring its teeth and yapping like a banshee while performing a little dance of darting forward and retreating.
“Do you work here?” Malcolm asked.
She nodded, obviously frightened.
