Page 70 of The Secret of Flirting
Then Monique said to Gregory, “If you don’t mind, monsieur, I should like a more vigorous ride. Race you to the temple?”
Gregory was about to say it wasn’t a good idea when Pontalba said, “Yes, indeed!” and urged his horse into a canter.
Then he and Monique were off, bolting down the edge of the woods, laughing as they vied for first place.
Bloody hell. The woman would be the death of him yet.
Gregory spurred his own horse into a gallop, determined to stay close to her. He had nearly caught up to them when he heard a noise and saw Monique’s pink hat go flying off. Only when her gelding broke into a panicked run did he realize the noise had been a gunshot.
With a sick roiling in his stomach, he goaded his mare into a run, too, determined to reach her before her damned horse threw her. At least she didn’t appear to have been hit by the shot. She was crouching low in the saddle and keeping her seat remarkably well. Still...
He choked down panic. He had to keep his head about him and pray that he could catch up to her. His marewasthe quickest, but her gelding was frightened, and fear lent wings to a horse.
As Gregory went thundering past the duke, another shot sounded from close by. He had to get to her!
Pontalba cried, “I’ll go find the bastard!” and peeled off, headed for the woods. Gregory had no time to wonder about that, no time even to look back for telltale signs of smoke. He was coming up on Monique now. As he got even with her, he reached over and jerked her onto his mount.
Just in time, too, for a third shot rang out and her gelding went down. The bastard had shot the horse, damn him! Monique gave a little cry, and for a moment he feared she’d been hit. Then she maneuvered herself better onto the saddle between his arms, and he realized she hadn’t been.
But that didn’t quell his terror. She was still in danger, and if he couldn’t get her away...
He dug his heels into his mare’s sides, desperate for more speed. Monique was shaking, her breath coming in quick, desperate gasps. Like his. He leaned over her, hoping to shield her with his body. Then, with his heart knocking in his chest, he steered his mare toward the temple. At least they could find shelter there.
And he’d heard no more shots. Belatedly, it occurred to him that he shouldn’t have let the duke go into the woods alone—Gregory was responsible for Pontalba’s safety, too, after all—but right now he could only focus on getting Monique out of danger.
Moments later, they reached the temple. They both slid to the ground. Grabbing her by the hand, he yanked her behind a pillar. The building had no entrance—it really was just for show—but the columns were large enough to block the view of anyone in the woods, and he was certain that was where the shots had come from.
He pinned her against the pillar, wishing he could surround her completely with his body. He barely resisted the urge to run his hands over every inch of her to make sure she was all right. “You’re not hurt, are you?”
“Non,” she whispered, and laid her head against his shoulder.
“Thank God,” he said fervently, and pressed a kiss into her hair. “When I saw your hat fall...”
He couldn’t bear to think what he would have done if that shot had hit home.
They stood there frozen a long while, hardly daring to breathe. But as the moments ticked by and no more shots came, they both began to breathe more easily. He glanced around the edge of the pillar but saw nothing except her horse lying in the field, obviously dead. Damn that villain. Gregory would hunt him down just for that alone.
“Do you think it’s safe now?” she whispered.
“Probably. No doubt the duke frightened the shooter off.” He drew his head back behind the pillar. “But I’m not taking any chances. We should remain here a while longer.”
She nodded. More time passed before she ventured, “Why are they doing this?Whois doing this?”
“I wish I knew.” His voice hardened. “I’ll tell you one thing, though—it wasn’t local ruffians shooting recklessly. They were bloody well aiming foryou.”
“I know.” Fear darkened her eyes as she gazed up at him. “You must have some theories about who would want Aurore dead.”
He thought about telling her of Lady Ursula and her suspicious—possibly romantic—interest in Prince Leopold. Then it dawned on him that the lady-in-waiting had supposedly been in bed when they’d left. She could have been waiting for them to leave the house before following them.
Then there was Pontalba’s eagerness to go after the shooter. What if he’d hired someone to do the deed and, when the shots hadn’t hit their mark, decided that he’d better silence his accomplice?
“I have a few ideas,” he said, “but I would rather investigate them before I speak of them to anyone.” He kissed her brow, his frenzied pulse having slowed only a little. “First, however, I must see you safe inside the house.”
The sound of hooves approaching made both of them tense up, and instinctively, he tightened his grip on her.
“The damned fellow is gone,” Pontalba said from beyond the pillars.
Gregory stuck his head out to stare at the duke, who looked the worse for wear after tramping through the woods. “Are you sure?”
