Page 110 of Never a Duchess
Ironically, lying was the best way to get to the truth.
“Did you kill Moira?” Baudelaire cried, spittle dribbling down his chin. “Did you poison her perfume? Tell me, damn it!” He cocked the pistol, his hand trembling so violently the lead ball might miss the target.
“Yes!” Valmary clasped his hands together in prayer. “She would have come between us. You were not the same when she left.”
The devil’s own rage consumed Callan. He charged forward, his Gaelic battle cry filled with the pain he’d borne for fifteen years. With hatred flooding his heart, he lunged at Thaddeus Valmary.
The crack of pistol fire was but a distant echo.
Much like Lillian’s scream.
A sudden jolt stole his thunder. The shock whipped him round, sending him crashing to the floor and to the sudden darkness that claimed him.
ChapterTwenty
Lillian curled her body around Callan’s, hugging him as she had done since the surgeon left half an hour ago, relishing the heat of his body. He looked pale against the burgundy bed hangings. His eyes were closed, his breathing slow, but he was alive and would make a speedy recovery—as long as a fever didn’t claim him.
The morning scene played out in her mind. The pistol shaking in Monsieur Baudelaire’s hand. The lead ball missing the target and hitting Callan, sending him crashing to the floor.
Her heart had almost stopped beating.
Blood had pooled around his body, seeping from a wound she feared had killed him. While she dropped to her knees beside him, sheer terror holding her in a steely grip, chaos had erupted around her.
Monsieur Baudelaire had fainted from the shock.
Mr Daventry had hit Mr Valmary to prevent him from escaping, rendering the villain unconscious with a single blow to the temple.
Madame Delafont had slipped out of the room, only to be apprehended by the two constables summoned by Mr O’Malley.
Lillian didn’t care if they all hanged.
She cared about marrying Dounreay, loving him, living with him in the Highlands and bearing his children.
Adam tapped lightly on the open chamber door before entering the room. He made no comment about her being draped over a semi-naked man in bed.
“The surgeon said there will be no lasting damage. Dounreay should be on his feet in a few days.” Adam spoke in the grave tone of someone who knew to expect the worst. “He’ll need to rest for a week or two before making the arduous journey north.”
“We’ll remain here until he is fit enough to obtain a marriage licence. We’ll marry in London before we head to Scotland.”
She told herself there was no reason to alter the plans. And thoughts of their upcoming nuptials would help her through this trying time.
Adam managed a weak smile. “I’ll send word to his steward.”
“Have him reschedule all appointments, but assure him we’ll be home within the month.” Home. She had convinced herself she hated the blustery Highland weather but would brave Arctic conditions for Dounreay. “Tell him I’ll sleep in the duke’s chamber, but they should air the duchess’ suite in case—”
“Lillian.”
“Yes?”
“You’re allowed to be afraid.”
Oh, she was afraid.
She was scared to the marrow of her bones.
“I know.”
His gaze dropped to Dounreay’s bandaged arm. “Why don’t you come home with me? You need rest, and—”
