Married to the Rogue (Season of Scandal #3) - Mary Lancaster Page 0,90

Only yours. And I will contact you when I like for more money. Since a document naming you and your husband will be with my solicitor tomorrow, I really doubt you will add murder to your crimes.”

Meanwhile, the valet’s hand had found the pocket in her cloak. He leaned over her, grinning, and his sour breath filled her senses with revulsion. Then without warning, hand and breath vanished with a massive thud as he flew sprawling across the floor. Another hand entirely yanked her behind him, and Christopher—Christopher!—crouched to seize both pistols from the valet.

Barden’s mouth had fallen open. He began to back away toward the inner door leading to the horses.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Christopher snarled and strode after him.

Barden paused, holding out the parcel of money, almost waving it in Christopher’s face. “Here! Take it, take it! It was her idea to help an old friend, but I—”

Christopher let out a roar of fury. He seized Barden by the collar and then by the seat of his pantaloons and hurled him bodily across the room, where he sprawled next to his groggily rising valet.

“Go, go!” Barden hissed urgently, scrambling to his feet, hauling the servant with him. Together, all but falling over each other, they stumbled toward a third door at the far end of the storeroom, one Deborah had not even had time to notice before.

As they went, Barden swiped something off a shelf. Deborah didn’t care. Her gaze was drawn to Christopher, who walked toward her, still panting with fury. His eyes blazed brighter than the lanterns, yet seemed darker than the deepest night.

“Christopher,” she whispered.

He blinked, and then his gaze flickered to her left, toward Barden’s exit.

“Deborah!” he choked out, launching himself forward, and she jerked her head around to face yet another pistol, this one in Barden’s hold. His face was ugly with determination and fury.

That’s what he hid on the shelf for just this situation. And this time, I am dead…

But a many-headed fury crashed into Barden, and the pistol went off in a mighty crack just as it was shoved upward. Some unseen force seemed to spin her around into Christopher’s arms, and then together, they were rushing toward the fury, which bore the faces of her siblings. A terrible new fear rushed on her, but it seemed Giles held Barden’s pistol, Lucy at his side. But they didn’t need Christopher’s protection. Barden was haring off toward the front of the inn, and a second later, they heard a carriage and horses leap forward at a gallop.

Christopher made a start after them as the children rushed toward Deborah, then he paused, frowning down at her. “Your gown is wet.”

She swallowed. “I feel…I feel strange,” she said, and then the pain rushed on her, and she fainted against her husband’s chest.

*

Consciousness came to her quite fuzzily at first, a jumble of memories of pain and blood and the realization that Barden’s shot had hit her. Her brothers and sisters were part of the terrible dream, Giles with tears running down his face and Christopher’s voice saying urgently, “It wasn’t your fault. In fact, you saved her life by knocking off his aim.”

Then Christopher was holding a cup to her lips, and she was weeping, trying to explain to him, to tell him she loved him before she died.

“Don’t talk,” he said softly. “Just drink this.” And he tipped some foul-tasting liquid down her throat. She didn’t care because she was so cold, and Christopher’s arms and chest were so warm. There was movement, dizzying and painful, and the clop of horses’ hooves. And then she barely felt the pain as she slid back into darkness.

There had been disturbing dreams, but they seemed to melt away with the last fringes of sleep. Especially when she saw who sat by her bed. Christopher, in his shirt-sleeves and no necktie, his tousled hair fell forward over his closed eyes. She wanted to smile and weep at the same time.

“Christopher,” she croaked.

His eyes flew open, and he leaned forward, clasping her flailing hand. “I’m here.”

His voice was low and intense, stabbing straight to her heart as tears welled.

“Oh, Christopher, I am so sorry,” she whispered brokenly. “I thought I could pay him off and keep him away from us, but I couldn’t tell you in case you did something foolish, and he harmed you. But I never wanted to keep things from you. I never will again. And you have to believe me when I say I