Page 23 of His Wife, the Spy
The stag was near the tree line, badgered to and fro by the hounds nipping at his flanks and heels. He was a magnificent creature, with a wide set of antlers, powerful shoulders, and a broad back, all of which he used to his advantage in the fight for his life. Jasper stood watching, silently cheering for the beast to win.
A fly zinged by his ear, or perhaps it was a bee, given the sting to his cheek. Jasper brushed it away but ended up on his back in the hide with Kit towering over him, pointing his rifle in every direction except at the stag below. He put his boot in Jasper’s chest to keep him from standing.
“What the bloody hell?” he shouted.
“One of these bastards took a shot at you,” Kit shouted back. “Stay down until the firing stops. That bloody beast needs to go back into the woods.”
The baying receded as the dogs chased the stag into the forest. When they finally surrendered, the crashing continued. The animal would likely run to Marlborough. The duke could have him.
Jasper pushed Kit’s foot. “Let me up, y’ bugger.”
Kit didn’t relent until the shooting stopped. Jasper stood and met Spaulding’s wide eyes and raised hands over stones that lined the ridge of his hide.
“The boy couldn’t have missed me from there, and he would have hit you first anyway.” Jasper redirected Kit’s aim down the hill. “It was likely a wild shot with the excitement of following the stag. The dogs had him dithering in every direction.”
Kit relented, but the set to his jaw said he didn’t believe him. The cold pool of dread in Jasper’s gut said it didn’t believe him either.
Jasper used his shirt sleeve to wipe the blood and dirt from his cheekbone. Whoever had done it had been close enough to hit the rock beside him. He scanned the area himself, searching his guests for a guilty stare and then the landscape for a surefooted sniper. He ended staring at the valley, at the gamekeeper surrounded by his hounds.
“Send them again,” he shouted to the man. “We’ve not taken our fill of birds this morning.”
“Jasper,” Kit whispered. “This is mad.”
“It’s a party,” Jasper replied. “We need them to have a good time.” He stretched out in the hide the best he could and used his coat as a pillow. His valet would chide him for days about the state of his clothes. “Keep shooting. I’m going to nap.”
He closed his eyes, but every rifle report jarred him alert. Every whoop of success made his feet twitch.
The successful shooting made the return trip to the house much more of a party. Even Raines was happier, given that he’d bagged the largest bird—a pheasant Jasper pledged to serve for dinner during the party. Kit, dour-faced and trudging two steps behind, refused to be drawn into the celebration. Jasper, itchy, filthy, and cold, spent less time talking than he did listening.
It wasn’t the words he heard. No one would be daft enough to say something about an errant shot. He listened for the tone of each comment. Did someone sound guilt-ridden over almost killing their host? Worse, could someone’s disappointment in the outing be interpreted as failure at meeting another goal?
Stapleton met them at the end of the stairs, and his eyes went wide at Jasper’s appearance. “My lord. Should we send for the constable?”
“I’d be better served by a laundress, I believe.” Jasper sighed when the man refused to smile at his joke and move from their path. Both would have been satisfying. Either would have been sufficient.
“You can’t blame him for asking, Ramsbury,” Wareham said. “You look as though you’ve been through the war.”
As though the tipsy blowhard would know anything of war.
“It’s not that, my lord.” Stapleton leaned forward to whisper, “One of the pistols is missing from the armory. Did you take one?”
“We didn’t.” The pool of dread re-formed low in Jasper’s stomach, filled by the cold trickle running down his spine. “Search the house and the grounds.”
“It’s being done now. The house has been searched from attic to larder. The young men are in the garden now. I’m going back to direct them.”
“Thank you, Stapleton.”
Jasper trudged up the stairs and into the house, imagining he could feel Kit’s breath on his neck. When they reached the door to his room, Kit stepped around and entered first. For the first time, Jasper didn’t mind his friend’s overprotective instincts.
“Our plans must change,” Kit said once they were alone in the room. “I cannot leave for Cardiff with a killer in the house.”
Jasper stripped out of his boots, trousers, and shirt before pouring water in the basin. “We cannot send Claudette to Wales alone, and she must go.” He scrubbed the dirt from his face and hands, and the bracing water helped clear his thoughts. “She and Gareth’s family have to stop blaming each other and put pressure on the police to investigate his murder.”
Travis, his valet, entered the room. “I apologize, my lord. The house is in an uproar, and I wasn’t…” He took in Jasper’s appearance and the pile of dirt-splotched clothes. “Oh dear.”
He went to work then, dressing Jasper in clothing more suited to an afternoon at home. Jasper shook his head when he lifted the coat. “I’d like to be able to move freely, Travis. Thank you.”
After all, an assassin might be lurking around every corner, or even at the top of the stairs.
