“Unless you kill me first. Is that it?” Ida pressed her back into the doorframe behind her. She really didn’t want to shoot him, but she would if she had to.
He held up his hands. “I just came to talk.”
“About what?”
His gaze darted to the pistol, then back to her face. “Your misguided attempt to pin your father’s sins on someone else will destroy my family’s reputation.”
“Seems suspicious to me that you happened to leave Town right before his arrest.”
He stilled for a moment. “What?”
“My father came to you for help but you were gone.” She took a deep breath. “Where were you?”
Setting his jaw, he gave her an angry look. “That’s none of your business.”
“My father was innocent,” Ida said while gripping the doorframe behind her with her free hand.
“You’re his daughter. Of course you would think that.” He moved closer still.
Ida retreated through the parlor door. “Stop there or I’ll shoot.”
“God damn you, girl. You’re not good company for an earl. Can’t you see that? You need to be gotten rid of, and since Fielding isn’t capable of it, I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands.”
Ida’s mind raced. Two attempts had already been made on her life. He was one of the suspects. When she’d failed to grant him entry, he’d forced his way in and now he was saying she had to disappear. Her hold on the pistol tightened. “I must insist you leave. Fielding will not like finding you here.”
Don’t panic.
Keep a clear head.
Guthrie’s words of advice marched straight to the front of Ida’s head, bringing calm reassurance with them. She steadied her aim and took a deep breath.
“Then it’s probably best if we make this quick.” Mr. Nugent reached inside his jacket pocket and began retrieving an item while closing the distance once more.
Ida pulled back the trigger and fired.
Mr. Nugent’s mouth fell open, Miranda screamed, and Ida knocked her shoulder against the parlor door.
“What the bloody hell?’ Mr. Nugent howled as he stumbled against the wall. “I—argh—you damnable little hussy!”
Ida stared at the spot where she’d shot him. Blood was starting to pool beneath his trousers. She’d deliberately aimed for his leg, hoping to make him immobile without threatening his life.
“Dear me,” Miranda muttered. She peered past Mr. Nugent and straight toward Ida. “Forgive me, miss, but what do we do now?”
Ida’s heart, which had been eerily calm throughout the entire ordeal, began to race. “I suppose he needs to sit. Can you fetch a chair while I keep an eye on him?”
Miranda rushed back to the kitchen while Mr. Nugent proceeded to groan between curses. His eyes were squeezed shut in pain, his one hand clasping his left thigh while the other remained in his jacket pocket. His shoulder offered support as he leaned against the wall.
“I think we need his lordship’s help with this mess,” Miranda said when she returned with the chair. She placed it directly behind Mr. Nugent so he could drop onto the seat. “As reluctant as I am to leave you alone right now, I should probably try to find him.”
“Show me your other hand,” Ida told Mr. Nugent. Eyes flashing with raw hatred, he retrieved a piece of paper and held it toward her. She stared down at it and frowned. “A promise note. For ten thousand pounds?”
“I thought you might appreciate the blunt. In exchange for leaving Fielding alone.”
“Idiot,” Ida muttered. “I thought you had a weapon. Why the hell did you not say something?”
“I didn’t expect you to actually shoot me.”
Ida stared at him for a moment in dumbfounded disbelief, then turned to Miranda. “Go. Find Lord Fielding. And come back as quickly as you can.”
