“With a hairbrush? What do you intend to do, groom him to death?” Rose glanced at the pillow, and a hysterical laugh leaped unbidden from her throat. “Then tuck him into bed?”
“Knock him about the head, then smother him, more like.”
“I wouldn’t advise it. He’s quite large, and quicker than he looks.” It was rather unfair that a man of that size should have such distressingly speedy reflexes.
“God above, Rose.” Abby sagged against the wall, the pillow sliding from her slack fingers. “I thought you’d beenshot.”
“No. I, ah, I was the one doing the shooting.” Was that better, or worse?
Worse, because Abby went such a strange gray color Rose rushed toward her and caught her before she fell into a swoon. “Here, perhaps you’d better sit down.” She steered Abby from the corridor into the bedchamber, and across the room to the bed.
“Who did you shoot?” Abby grabbed her hand. “Please tell me there’s not a dead body downstairs that needs burying.”
“Not a single one.” Though it had admittedly been a near thing. If the duke had shifted even a scant half foot to the right . . . well, it had been a remarkably foolish thing for him to do, attempting to seize the pistol as he had, and it would have served him right if he had ended up dead. Still, it was a blessing she hadn’t shot him, as no one wanted to start their day with a dead duke in their kitchen. “I didn’t shootathim, just, er,nearhim.”
“Him? Who?” Abby was still clutching at Rose’s hand, her knuckles white. “Don’t tell me you’ve shot at Mr. Turnbull?”
Mr. Turnbull was one of the shopkeepers in town. They’d run up quite a debt with him over the past year, and the man hadn’t been patient about collecting it. Not that patience would have done him any good. One couldn’t squeeze blood from a stone.
“It wasn’t Mr. Turnbull.” Which was rather a pity, as it would have been a great deal simpler if it had been.
“Who, then?”
“Er, well . . .” Rose bit her lip. She didn’t want Abby involved in this mess, but how did one hide having nearly shot a duke? The entire village would know of it soon enough, and the duke would no doubt have the magistrate upon them before they’d even had their morning tea. “Well, as I said, I didn’t actually shoot—”
“Who, Rose? Who was it?”
“I gave him a dozen chances to leave before I fired, but he—”
“Rosamund Elizabeth St. Claire, you will tell me the truth at once! Who did you nearly murder in our kitchen?”
Rose squeezed her eyes closed. “The Duke of Grantham.”
Silence. She opened one eye, then wished she hadn’t.
Abby was staring at her in horror. “The Duke of Grantham! Oh, dear God, Rose.”
“What else was I to do? He broke into the house! I ordered him to leave ever so many times, but he refused! And he attacked our door!”
“Do calm down, Rose—”
“It’s not as if Iintendedto shoot at him, Abby! He tried to snatch my pistol out of my hand, and it went off, completely of its own accord! I assure you, he left in full possession of all of his bits and pieces, and with the same arrogant swagger with which he entered.”
Oddly, the shot hadn’t appeared to frighten or humble him in the least. It was as if he thought a pistol ball wouldn’t dare to strike the Duke of Grantham.
Perhaps he was right. It was astonishing that ball hadn’t hit him.
Orher, come to that.
Dash it, there went her knees, wobbling again. “He’s going to come back, Abby. He said as much before he left.” He wouldn’t come alone, either. No doubt he had dozens of burly footmen awaiting his orders at Grantham Lodge, all of them prepared to knock down doors and shatter windows on the duke’s command.
“He’ll be sorry if he does!” Abby brandished the hairbrush and waved it about threateningly as if daring the Duke of Grantham to come anywhere near her horsehair bristles. “But why should be come back? What does the Duke of Grantham want with us?”
With them? Not a thing. The duke hadn’t come to Fairford forthem.
He’d come for Hammond Court. She and Abby were no more important to him than the spiderwebs dangling from the cornices in the drawing room. Something to be dealt with, to be swept aside, and never again given a second thought. “He wants Hammond Court, Abby.”
Which was rather a problem, considering they had no place else to go.
