Page 37 of Snowbound with the Scoundrel
She tugged her glove off to assess the damage.It was little more than a scratch, red but not bleeding.
She was starting to pull her glove back on when she heard an unmistakable metallic click.
Having spent the past month practicing with the little Queen Anne pistol Lady Winnifred had given her, Clarissa recognized that sound.It was a firearm being cocked.
She froze.A firearm being cocked.A metallic glint in the middle of the forest!
And Oliver Baxter standing in the open, unprotected.
She dropped her basket, shears, and glove and frantically scanned the trees, but she could not spot the assassin.Glancing back, she saw that Rupert was doing the same.
Suddenly, his eyes went wide.The expression on his face was not that of a seasoned spy, but a man in the throes of panic.AnOh, crikey!sort of expression.
Clarissa followed the direction of his gaze and spotted it—the brass-tipped muzzle of a gun, peeking from around a tree.
Oh God, oh God, oh God!She was too far away!She couldn’t get there in time.Indeed, she couldn’t seem to move her feet or even cry out a warning.She was frozen in place, and Oliver Baxter was going todie.
I’m a failure.The worst agent in the world.
Just when Clarissa was convinced that all hope was lost, Rupert sprang into action.“I say!”he exclaimed, his voice emerging a half-octave higher than it was usually pitched.“Are those some pinecones?Wouldn’t those look lovely on the mantelpiece?”
He took two steps toward Oliver Baxter then made a great show of tripping over a gnarled root.Grabbing the M.P.’s shoulders, Rupert tackled him to the ground just as the crack of the gun rang out.
All the guests began screaming and panicking, because the shot had clearly come from nearby.Lord Helmsley came sprinting up.Clutching her heart, Rosalind pointed to the bullet, still smoking, embedded in a tree mere inches from where she and her husband had been standing moments before.
Clarissa scanned the forest for the shooter but could see no sign of them amongst the trees.She hurried over and helped the earl pull Rupert and Oliver to their feet.“Get the other guests back to the house,” she told Lord Helmsley.“Say you’ve been having trouble with poachers.”
Lord Helmsley nodded.“Poachers.Yes, that’s good.”
Oliver Baxter was already running toward the house without an apparent thought for his wife’s safety, leaving Lord Helmsley to wrap an arm around Rosalind’s shoulders.“Come, Mrs.Baxter.We must get you inside.”
Rupert made no move to leave, which surprised Clarissa not at all.After watching him throw himself on Oliver Baxter, there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he was the other agent Sir Henry had sent.
He confirmed it immediately.“You’re working for Sir Henry, too.”
“I am.”Some mad impulse made her grin.“I knew it was you!”
He grinned back, withdrawing a pistol from the back of his coat.It occurred to Clarissa that she should do the same.She reached into her pocket and pulled out the little Queen Anne pistol Lady Winnifred had insisted she carry.
She felt completely ridiculous.She’d practiced with the thing for all of five weeks, and besides, she was Clarissa Weatherby, bluestocking extraordinaire.She spent her days curled up in the library with an esoteric book, not stalking through the woods with a gun, hunting for assassins!
And yet, as unqualified as she felt, she knew that if Rupert had given her a pitying look, had suggested that she head back to the house because she would only be in his way, she would have kicked him in the shins.
But Rupert did no such thing.Nodding at her pistol, he jerked his head to the side.“You go right.I’ll go left.We’ll meet in the middle.”
Even though she was terrified, she nodded.“The copse is freestanding, so we should check the perimeter.They won’t be able to flee without leaving footprints in the snow.”
His eyes brightened.“Brilliant, that’s absolutely brilliant.That’s just what we’ll do.”He gave her a firm nod.“All right.Take care of yourself.I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
Then, Clarissa found herself tiptoeing around the perimeter of the stand of trees, her miniature pistol clutched to her chest, searching for an armed assassin.She could notbelieveshe was doing this, but if there was one thing she knew about herself, it was that she was far too stubborn to admit when she was in over her head.And if that meant she had to creep through the snow doing her best imitation of the Rifle Brigade, so be it.
She had found nothing of note when she spied Rupert coming around the bend five minutes later.“Did you see anything?”she asked, breathing hard.
“Nothing.No footprints, no gunman.”
“Me neither.”Clarissa pressed a hand against her heart.
“Let’s sweep through the trees again,” Rupert suggested.“Make sure they’re not hiding somewhere inside.”
