It brought a surprising flush to her aunt’s cheeks before she regally bowed her head. “I have not had that pleasure. But I see you and my niece are well acquainted, my lord.” She turned her wily gaze on Laura. “My niece and companion, who has not seen fit to mention such an occurrence to me.”
“We became better acquainted at the Grosvenors’ ball some months ago,” Debnam explained. “If you will allow it, madam, I should like Miss Peyton to take a turn around the dance floor with me.”
Aunt Gertrude waved with her fan to encompass most of the guests, some of whom had turned to view them. “Certainly, my lord. Thetonis in dire need of more entertainment.”
Debnam chuckled and held out his arm. Laura rested her hand on his sleeve, and they walked together along the edge of the ballroom. She glanced up at his handsome profile, wanting to pinch herself. Was she dreaming? Guests stopped in their conversations and turned to observe them as they passed. Some hailed Debnam, while others greeted her. Whispers followed them.
He led her through an archway into a corridor. They walked down it. Opening the door, they entered the library. It was unoccupied and bathed in shadows, with faint candlelight from a candelabra on a table at the far end, where sofas and chairs were grouped before the fireplace.
Laura spun around to face him, her gaze roaming his face, taking note with pleasure his lightly tanned skin, his sculptured features, somehow less strained than she’d remembered, his mouth softer. She put a hand on his chest. “Will you please tell me what has happened? How were you hurt?”
“I see you haven’t learned patience, Miss Peyton.” He chuckled. “Never learn it, sweetheart,” he murmured. As his good arm held her in place against him, he kissed her, long and deeply. Too soon, he ended it, took her hand, and led her over to a sofa. “Shall we have a glass of wine? I have much to tell you.”
Impatient, she bit her lip while Debnam delayed answering her questions. At the drinks table, he poured himself a brandy and a glass of Madeira for her. Coming to hand her the glass, he returned for his own, then sat beside her.
“Now,” Laura demanded.
“Very well,” he said, amusement brightening his eyes.
She sipped the wine, delighting in the rich timber of his voice. What he told her grew more extraordinary as Gaylord’s murderous plan and subsequent demise unfolded.
“Gaylord shot you?” She shook her head in horror. “He might have killed you.”
“That was his intention. Hunter saved me. Attacked him and gave me more time.”
Her eyebrows flew up. “Hunter?”
Debnam nodded. “He attacked Gaylord but was bludgeoned for his pains.”
Laura moaned. “Oh, no. Not Hunter. Is he…?”
“He has healed well,” Debnam grinned. “And is almost back to his old tricks.”
“I’m so relieved. I know Gaylord hated him.”
“You knew?”
“The day I met the viscount at the lake, he threatened Hunter. Said he interfered with his hunting. He eyed the dog as if he would like to kill him. It frightened me. I couldn’t get Hunter away fast enough.”
“My uncle was a monster.”
She drew in a sharp breath. “I think I always knew in my heart your father wasn’t mad. That there had to be another explanation.” She leaned against his shoulder, taking comfort from his familiar scent. “And I knew you would never succumb to madness.”
“I inherited my megrims from my father. It gave me cause to worry.”
“My mother suffered from them. She found relief with the alternative applications of ice and heat. I shall adopt the practice if you have another.”
“It’s odd, but since I was shot, I haven’t had one. Dare I hope they won’t return?”
She reached up and spread her fingers over his chest to reassure herself he was strong and well. “I pray that is so.”
He took her hand and kissed it. “I intend to be busy. To continue breeding thoroughbreds.”
“What about Honey, Brendan? Do you still have her?”
“I do. I was going to make a gift of her to you when the time was right. It never eventuated. Until now.”
She rested her head against his shoulder. “Tell me you no longer fear the future, Debnam.”
