Gavin nodded.
“Very well,” Lord Ben said. “All ready!” He waited a beat and then began the count. “One . . . two . . .”
He had not reached three when Sarah noted a slight movement on Lord Rovington’s part. Instinctively, her trained actor’s eye, honed in the art of anticipating the actions of others upon a stage, knew he was going to fire before the count.
“Gavin,” she shouted in warning, a split beat before Lord Rovington’s shot cracked through the air.
Chapter Sixteen
Sarah’s shout saved Gavin’s life. The warning in her voice had broken his concentration and he’d given a start, the slightest of movement but a telling one.
Rov had aimed for the heart. Gavin would have been mortally wounded.
Instead, because he’d turned toward Sarah, the ball went through his shirt into the fleshy part of his left arm. Gavin felt the burn of it as it traveled out the other side.
There was a beat of shocked silence from the sidelines, and then Ben shouted, “Murder.”
The charge was quickly agreed upon by Rov’s second and the witnesses with disapproving faces. Sarah scrambled from her perch on the phaeton and was ready to charge out onto the field. Ben caught her and pulled her back.
“Wait,” he ordered. “It is His Grace’s turn for the shot.”
Gavin tipped his pistol at her. “I’m fine,” he assured her.
She looked as if she didn’t believe him. Why should she? Like all flesh wounds, the one on his arm was starting to bleed profusely, staining the white sleeve of his shirt and making the matter appear more dire than it actually was.
Gavin turned his attention to Rovington who appeared ready to swoon. The next shot was Gavin’s and both men knew it. Rovington was nothing more than a simple target should Gavin choose to see him that way—and he did.
This man he had once considered his closest friend had not only set about undoing politically all that Gavin had accomplished, he had just attempted to murder him and had probably been behind a plot to disgrace him. There was no honor in Rovington.
And yet, putting a ball in Rov, no matter the momentary satisfaction, would create sympathy for him from certain quarters. Gavin would not allow that to happen.
He pointed his pistol off to the side toward the ground, and fired. The gesture was a symbol of disdain.
Across from him, at the crack of his shot, Rovington collapsed to the earth as if struck or perhaps as if relieved he still lived.
“Both men stay your mark,” Ben announced. He set Sarah aside with the admonishment to wait while the physician walked to Gavin. Ben and Rov’s second walked over to Rovington who had risen to his feet.
“Not a scratch on him,” Rov’s second declared, something all the witnesses knew, and then Ben and the second came back to Gavin.
“What a cowardly worm,” Ben said, letting his voice carry.
“I am ashamed,” the second agreed, equally loud. He bowed to Gavin. “Your Grace, I pray you will pardon my role in this disaster.”
“May you choose your friends more wisely in the future,” Gavin suggested.
“I shall.”
There was the sound of hooves and they all turned to see Rovington riding away. “If he believes he can escape the story of this morning’s work, he is wrong,” his second said with disgust. “I shall personally see that it is all over town. The man has no courage.”
Gavin was pleased. The muscle of his arm burned where the shot had gone through but he would heal.
Rovington, on the other hand, would not recover. His reputation would be in tatters. He must resign as Chairman of the Committees by nightfall and Gavin would send him a letter to that effect. After all, who would follow Rov’s advice or directions now?
The physician had Gavin remove his shirt and inspected the wound to see that it was clean and no fibers from the fabric were caught in it. He then bound the wound tightly and the bleeding began to slow.
Sarah stood away from the men by the phaeton. She was pale and quiet.
Gavin put on his shirt and crossed over to her. She didn’t greet him, but watched his approach with solemn green eyes.
