Page 1 of When a Rogue Falls
Chapter One
Earl Connor’s Estate
Just outside of London
The moment Sir Stephen Moore stepped into the hallway, he sensed trouble. He grimaced at the scene which lay before him, then turned to his client. “I thought you said you had winged him?”
Earl Connor glanced in the direction of the large pool of red gore and gave a derisive sniff. “Well, he was moving a little slower than I had expected. Perhaps I got a decent shot in.”
A decent shot? That amount of blood on the floor means a badly wounded man.
Stephen gritted his teeth. He hated the sight of blood, could barely stomach it.
Another night and another jealous husband. Cleaning up the private indiscretions of thetonwas becoming tiresome. If the job didn’t pay as handsomely as it did, he would walk away with no regrets.
The crimson smear on the elegant parquetry floor trailed all the way to an open door at the end of the hall. Countess Connor’s not-so-secret lover had somehow managed to drag himself away and was more than likely dying in a pool of his own lifeblood in the rear courtyard.
Just what I need.
The earl took a step forward, but the bulk of Stephen’s six-and-a-half-foot frame blocked his way. He placed a firm hand on Lord Connor’s shoulder and levelled him with his piercing blue eyes. “My lord, I would suggest that you let me handle this. Go back to bed and pretend that nothing happened. Or better still—attend your wife. I expect she might be in somewhat of a state of distress at having her evening so violently interrupted.”
“But what if the blackguard is badly injured?”
You should have thought about that before you fired a bloody pistol at the man. Not to mention you don’t seem to give a damn about Lady Connor.
Stephen took a deep breath to calm his temper. Cool heads were what these sorts of situations required. “I am a professional. Handling this mess is what you pay me to do. If your wife’s friend does die, rest assured it will be somewhere far from here and your involvement will never be known. Now please, hand me the gun.”
Lord Connor grumbled something foul under his breath but did as he was told. The moment the earl disappeared upstairs; Stephen headed for the door.
Outside lay a young man. Blood soaked his white linen shirt, and his breathing was labored. The fact that he happened to be the Marquess of Witham only added to Stephen’s already complicated night.
“Ruddy hell,” muttered Stephen. He raced down the steps and came to kneel at the stricken man’s side.
“The beggar shot me,” groaned Lord Witham.
“Well, you were tupping his wife, so you are not exactly in a position to complain. But fear not. I have a carriage waiting outside in the street. After I get you away from here, I shall arrange for one of London’s best and most discreet physicians to attend to you.”
The marquess lifted his hand. “Thank you. My papa has always said you were a decent chap.”
Stephen gave a brief nod in response, grateful that for once it didn’t come with the usually added words of ‘unlike your father.’
All of London’s elite society knew Sir Robert Moore was a devious scoundrel. Fortunately, few members of thehaute tonwere aware that his son was up to his own eyes in smuggling, kidnapping, and pretty much anything else that was lucrative and illegal.
The apple didn’t fall far from the tree in the Moore family.
“Now this is going to hurt like the devil. So, on the count of three, suck in a deep breath and I will lift you to your feet. One. Two—.” Stephen didn’t bother with three, as he hauled the stricken aristocrat upright.
“Oh! What happened to three?” groaned Lord Witham.
“I find it is always better to let the agony flow through you,” lied Stephen.
Bullet wounds do tend to sting. And hopefully, you will remember how much and do your best to avoid these sorts of situations in the future. Though I seriously doubt it.
The marquess swayed unsteadily on his feet, and for a moment Stephen feared the young lord might swoon. He tightened his hold on him. “Lord Witham, I will get you out of here, but I require a number of things from you in return.”
The marquess gripped the front of Stephen’s jacket and whimpered. “Anything; name it. Just get me to a doctor.”
“One, keep quiet. And two, don’t die on me.”
