As Brendan entered the hall, Laura hurried down the staircase. He waited for her, met her serious gaze, and they went outside together.
The coach pulled up. The groom jumped down and went smartly to the horses’ heads while the footman rushed to open the coach door and put down the steps.
Netterfield leaned out of the coach door, making no attempt to alight. “You devil, Debnam!” he yelled, waving a pistol about. “You promised to take good care of Laura.”
“And that I have done.” Brendan stared at the dissolute baron. What the devil had gotten into the fellow? He needed to get him safely inside and learn what had caused this startling change.
“I am packed and ready, Robert,” Laura said, anxiety shaking her voice. “We can leave immediately.”
Netterfield ranted and took no notice of her. When she moved to go to him, Brendan held her back, a hand on her arm. The pistol Netterfield handled so carelessly alarmed him. He wanted to take her inside and shut the door on the disgraceful fellow.
“Put down the gun, Netterfield.”
If the man didn’t drop it immediately, Brendan would take it from him. He was reluctant to haul him out of the coach by his cravat in front of Laura, but he was prepared to do precisely that.
Fortunately, as Brendan started toward him with that aim, Netterfield, a foot on the top carriage step, lowered the pistol. Holding the gun against his chest, he fumbled in his pocket and with drunken glee, produced a piece of paper. “Then why have I received this from your neighbor, Lord Gaylord? He writes that you have mistreated my sister, that you have failed in your promise to behave discreetly.”
“That is nonsense. I am perfectly well, as you can see,” Laura said, a catch in her voice. “Please come inside, Robert. We can sit and talk. Make sense of this.”
The brave footman made another attempt to assist him but was waved away again. With the letter in one hand and the pistol in the other, Netterfield yelled, “I insist on a duel. You will pay for your dishonor.”
“Don’t be absurd.” Brendan had no intention of humoring the foolish fellow. But it did not surprise him about Gaylord. He had done exactly what Brendan had feared. Why his uncle hated him so much, he could only guess. It was time the man was dealt with.
“I won’t rest until…” Attempting to climb down, Netterfield stumbled on the steps and fell heavily to the ground. The sound of a gunshot exploded into the quiet air. The pistol clattered away on the gravel. The baron lay with his arms flung out. He didn’t move.
With an anguished cry, Laura rushed to him.
Stunned, the footman stood helplessly as Brendan crouched beside the fallen man. He was still breathing. “He still lives,” he said to reassure Laura.
Laura knelt in the gravel and took her brother’s hand. “Robert!”
Netterfield’s eyelids flickered but failed to open. Blood seeped with alarming speed from a wound in his shoulder.
Brendan removed a handkerchief from his pocket and tucked it in firmly against the wound as he called to Redfern, who waited by the door. “Have the baron taken to a bedchamber. And tell them to do so with care! Summon Dr. Phillips. Advise him it’s urgent.”
Brendan patted the man’s pale cheek, not too gently. “Robert!”
Netterfield moaned but didn’t stir.
As the footmen ran to obey the butler’s orders and carry the baron inside, Brendan assisted Laura. His arm around her, she trembled against him as he led her into the house. He cursed the drunken idiot. Anger churned in his gut at Gaylord’s sly act. What had driven him to write that letter?
In the hall, tears blurred Laura’s eyes as she looked up at him. “Will he live?”
“The ball appears to have entered high on his shoulder and lodged there.” He squeezed her arm. “Don’t worry. Your brother’s young, healthy body is in his favor, and he obviously has a fighting spirit.”
She wiped a tear from her cheek. “But he doesn’t. A few weeks ago, he threatened to shoot himself.” Her voice broke. “I don’t think he cares whether he lives or dies.”
Could this have been the means her brother had employed to force Laura to come here? Guilt twisted Brendan’s stomach.
“I must go up to him,” Laura said, straightening her shoulders.
“A footman will undress your brother and put him to bed. Dr. Phillips is a capable surgeon. He will be here soon.”
Distressed but evidently calmer, Laura nodded. She turned away and hurried up the stairs.
What would happen to her if her brother died? Deeply concerned for her, Brendan put a hand to his forehead.Damn it!Don’t let this be the onset of one of his strange spells. They crippled him, despite liberal doses of feverfew and laudanum. His father had suffered from the same affliction. No fuss had been made of it. He’d merely retired to his suite for a day or two. Was it a sign of the madness which could one day strike Brendan?
Life was so damned unfair. He tasted bitterness on his tongue.
