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“Who killed the baron?”

The question dropped like a stone into still water.

“That … is my secret. The killer will have to pay me. I will demand passage from England, and they will arrange it to hide their identity.” Wesley’s voice was hesitant when he finally responded. He was not certain he would receive help, Brendan realized. There was an opportunity to negotiate and strike a deal.

In the background, where Brendan resolutely refused to look in the event he alerted Wesley to Michaels’s proximity, the butler stepped out from behind the door.

“I do not care about the baron’s murder as much as I care about my wife. I will pay you to release her and allow you to leave without hindrance, Wesley. On my word.”

That was the moment when Brendan noticed Michaels was raising a rifle to his shoulder. Brendan wanted to shout out for him to stop, that Lily could be hit, but before he could react, the butler cocked the hammer and then pulled the trigger.

It was as if time stood still, the musketball firing from the barrel with a loud bang and belting of smoke, and Wesley crumpled to the floor, dragging Lily down under him.

“Lily!” Brendan ran into the room, dropping to his knees to pull the large footman off his wife. He wrenched Wesley aside with brute force, breath ragged with dread as he reached for his wife.

Chapter

Sixteen

“100 soldiers who are in a desperate situation lose the feeling of fear. If there is no refuge, they will stand firm. If they are in a hostile country, they will show a stubborn front. If there is no help for this, they will fight hard.”

Sun Tzu, L’Art de la Guerre (The Art of War)

Lily lay curled beneath Wesley’s heavy form, dazed and trembling. A deafening blast had sounded, but her mind refused to place it. The footman was motionless above her, and she could scarcely think, let alone move.

With effort, she pushed against his weight, trying to dislodge him.

Moments later, the burden was lifted away, and a rush of cool air touched her skin. She fell back with a soft gasp, grateful for the release.

“Lily, are you hurt?”

It was Brendan. He hovered above her, his hands brushing over her arms and shoulders with urgent care.

“My throat is sore, and my knees are rather battered,” she whispered. “And I may have twisted my wrist. I … I cannot seem to catch my breath, and I have never felt such terror, but I am rather thrilled that …” She lifted her hands slightly before letting them fall again, adrift in the shock of it all. Now is not the time to ramble, Lily Billy.

“What happened?” she breathed, her voice shaking.

Brendan gathered her gently into his arms, enveloping her in warmth and strength. The embrace undid her. After the cruel grip of Wesley, Brendan’s presence felt like sanctuary.

“And what are you doing here?” she murmured.

He said nothing at first, only buried his face against her shoulder and held her as if he never intended to let go.

Then, at last, he raised his head.

“What the devil, Michaels?”

The butler replied in his usual dry fashion. “I was protecting the baroness.”

“With a rifle?” Brendan asked, incredulous. “What if you had missed?”

Lily heard Michaels click his tongue. Still cradled in Brendan’s arms, she did not look around. She had no desire to leave the safety of him. Not yet.

“I imagine your runner informed you that my father was a gamekeeper,” Michaels replied. “I know my way around a rifle. Besides, her ladyship is nearly a head shorter than the footman. My odds were solid.”

There was a soft thud behind her. Perhaps he had nudged something aside.

Rifle. Her thoughts reeled. Michaels had shot Wesley.