Dominic dropped to one knee and fired.
The man’s ball hurtled past Dominic’s ear, but his pistol found its mark. With a cry, the gunman slumped to the ground.
Dominic was up and running to where the man lay unmoving among the dead leaves. He fell to his knees beside the prone figure. He’d known. Oh, dear lord, he’d known. Gazing into George’s eyes, he saw death approaching. His voice cracked. “Why, George?”
George gasped, fighting for air. “I owe…a lot more than I confessed, Dom. Criminals want their pound of flesh. I needed to disappear. It’s this…or something far worse at their hands. Been waiting for you. Knew you rode this way. Didn’t want to shoot you…fond of you. Might have known…I couldn’t pull it off.” He gave a breathy chuckle, and blood trickled down his chin. “Put up at an abysmal inn in the next town,” he rasped. “Lice in the sheets. See to my horse, will you, Dom?”
“I will. Don’t worry.” Dominic untied George’s creased neckcloth and unbuttoned his soiled shirt. No longer the meticulous dandy he prided himself on being. His lifeblood ebbed away from the wound in his chest. “I wish you’d told me the whole truth.”
“You wouldn’t have wanted to hear how I hired a footpad to kill you…in Grosvenor Square.”
A chill ran down Dominic’s spine. “Dear God, George, you were behind that?”
“I’m a weak fellow, Dom.…wanted to live like a king on a pauper’s income.”
“Did you kill Alberic?”
George clutched his bloody chest and groaned. “Did someone kill old Alberic? Not a bad idea… Too late…”
Dominic watched George’s eyes grow blank.
He sat blinking tears away. Then he rose and slowly walked into the trees in search of Onyx and George’s horse.
*
Olivia walked backfrom the village, mulling over her conversation with her old friend, Meg Turner, at her cottage. Lady Lowry’s former housekeeper was yet to take another position, and if his lordship required a housekeeper, she would certainly apply.
She explained how Lady Lowry put her off because she’d stepped in when her employer abused a young footman. “Hateful woman,” she said. “In a bad mood, since Lord Redcliffe refused her dinner invitation. Apparently, she had grand plans for him. But you know her, Olivia, how you endured her, I don’t know. Needs must, I suppose. I don’t regret leaving her employment. As you know, Turner wasn’t rich, but he left me enough money to get by. If I live simply, I don’t need to work. But I get lonely. And I enjoy the position of housekeeper in a big house. Never a dull moment.”
Olivia smiled, so pleased to see her again. “Then I have something to ask of you.”
Meg raised her reddish eyebrows. “Certainly. Anything.”
*
When Olivia reachedthe end of the avenue of trees, she gazed at the old house, the stone walls bathed in golden, honeyed light. She wished she could embrace the future with joy and certainty, but her limbs were lead-like. As she walked along the drive to enter through the servants’ door, Redcliffe emerged from the trees on horseback. As he rode closer, she saw the splash of crimson blood on his gloves and coat. Panic gripped her like a steel trap. She shouted out his name and broke into a run, her breath shortening with fear.
His shoulders drooped as he reined in beside her.
She studied his face for signs of pain and only saw sorrow. “Are you hurt?”
He shook his head as he dismounted. “Walk with me a little way, Olivia. I have something to tell you.”
He led Onyx by the rein while they continued to the stables. Something awful had happened. She waited for him to speak.
“George Yardley was the gunman. He’s dead.”
“Mr. Yardley?” She caught her breath, not sure what to say. Yardley had been a relative. Redcliffe’s good friend. How that must hurt him. “But why?”
“My death would give him the earldom. He was in desperate straits.”
Growing increasingly horrified, she listened as he explained what had occurred in a flat, emotionless tone. Weak with relief that Redcliffe wasn’t hurt, she longed to put her arms around him and hug him to her. She held herself back. He was shocked and saddened by Yardley’s betrayal and needed time to himself.
She felt no sympathy for George Yardley. She hadn’t liked him. And what he’d tried to do was unforgivable. It could have been Redcliffe lying dead in the woods. The thought made her tremble. Tears sprang to her eyes.
Redcliffe’s sad eyes met hers. “I didn’t have a clear view. After his first shot came so close, I couldn’t let him have another crack at me. Hoped to wing him.” He glanced at her and saw the tears in his eyes. “I didn’t want to believe it could be George. Wouldn’t have shot him had I known.” Redcliffe dragged in a shuddering breath. “After the war, I was determined never to kill another soul.”
She understood. Men had returned to the village after the war, carrying wounds in their hearts and minds apart from bodily injuries. Redcliffe’s experience of conflict would be no different. “You didn’t have a choice,” she said passionately.
