Page 154 of His Grace, the Duke
The darkness was growing. He panted, trying to swallow his fear. He didn’t want James to see it. “I love you,” he muttered, needing whatever words he spoke now to matter. “I-I love you. James...”
Darkness took him.
73
Tom
Tom had hiseyes narrowed on Marianne. She was snarling at Rosalie, her mask of gentility utterly abandoned. For the first time in his life, Tom felt like hesawher, the real Marianne. The poor woman was undone with grief or madness. Both.
Then he saw the pistol. His first thought was that Marianne meant to shoot Rosalie. At point-blank range, she’d kill her for certain. Rage and panic erupted from his chest in the form of a guttural cry as he lunged forward. But then a force slammed into him from behind, twisting him as the weight dragged him to the ground. At the same time, the shot rang out, echoing around the great hall.
All around, people screamed as Tom scrambled out from under the weight of whoever had shoved him aside.
Burke’s body went limp as he slid to the floor. “No,” Tom panted. “Oh God—Burke—no!”
Behind them, James let out a feral cry, shoving his way forward. He dropped to his knees, helping Tom turn himover. “Where is it?” he barked, his hands searching frantically against the black of Burke’s coat. “We need a doctor!Now!”
Burke groaned as they jostled him. His eyes were open, but his gaze was unfixed as he panted through his pain.
“Shoulder,” Tom grunted, sighing with relief even as he blinked back tears of rage. Right shoulder. Away from the neck. Through and through. If they could staunch the bleeding. If the bullet had broken no bones. If no fragments remained to poison the blood. If—
“Rosalie,” James growled, placing both hands over Burke’s wound, red blood seeping through his fingers. “Renley—”
Burke’s blood.
Tom was going to be sick. “Tom!” James barked. “Rosalie!”
Tom gasped as a wave of new terror flooded him. “Wha—where is she?”
“I don’t fucking know,” he snapped. “Go fucking get her! We can’t lose them both!”
Stumbling to his feet, Tom took off. He barreled through the crowded hall, shoving people aside. “Out of the way!” he bellowed. “Move!”
He couldn’t think about Burke bleeding on the floor. He couldn’t think about James and the terror in his eyes. Rosalie was all that mattered now. Finding Rosalie. Keeping her safe. He blinked as he spied a familiar face in the crowd. Little Madeline Blair.
“They ran off,” she cried, tears wet on her cheeks. “The lady with the pistol ran, and Rosalie followed.”
“Which way did they go?”
“That way.” She pointed with a shaking finger.
He took off, slamming through the side door into themusic room. This room connected on either side to a long set of en suite rooms. He ran to the middle of the room, glancing sharply left, then right. Both doors were open. They could have gone either way.
Damn.
He paused, taking a deep breath and holding it, quieting all sounds but the echo of his beating heart. He closed his eyes tight and waited.
A shriek.
A slamming door.
Right.
He took off again, sprinting through the right-side door, into the ladies’ sitting room, though to the morning room. He came skidding into a back hallway. At the end of the hall, he spied the tail of Rosalie’s blue pelisse disappearing around the corner. Desperation filled him. She was chasing after Marianne. She was going to get herself hurt or worse.
At the end of the hall, he darted left, nearly crashing into an ornate pair of glass double doors. The left one was partially open, and he shoved it, spilling into the conservatory. The heat of the room and the thick smell of exotic flora filled his nostrils.
“No!”
