pulled back. That was the hammer of his pistol. That had been real, not imagined.
The sound of someone tapping on his door was real as well. As was the clink of the latch being lifted and the door creaking open.
“Good God!” said the man. Nash saw the shape raise his hands. For a moment, he thought he should fire. The intruder might have a pistol, but Pru’s hand was on his arm, her fingers digging in deep. “Now you think to shoot me?”
That voice. Nash shook his head, trying to place it. But he was in the middle of a battle. And there was a child running toward him.
“My lord,” Pru said, her voice sounding far away as well. “I am sorry to be so forward, but you are Lord Beaufort?”
Nash tried to see the child through the smoke. Did he have a weapon? Something glinted in his hand. A knife?
“I am. Who are you? More importantly, can you persuade my son to lower that pistol?”
My son. Beaufort. His father.
On the battlefield, Nash had to make a decision. He pulled the trigger, and the boy’s small body flew back.
“I will, my lord, but you needn’t worry. He has no pistol balls or powder.”
The sound of a throat being cleared came from outside the door, presumably behind the earl.
Now Nash had to make another decision—an action that might haunt him for the rest of his life.
“Actually,” said Clopdon, “that’s not quite true. I’m afraid Mr. Pope found my hiding place. We must assume the pistol is primed and ready to fire.”
PRU FELT ALMOST DIZZY as the valet’s words washed over her. The scene in the chamber was nothing short of a nightmare. The earl stood in the open door, hands held up in a show of surrender. She had known he was the earl not only because his voice and accent had declared him one of the uppermost classes, but because Nash bore a resemblance to his father that was impossible to deny. They both had dark hair, though Nash’s was longer and unruly, and they both had blue eyes. Again, Nash’s were bluer and more vivid, but they crinkled in much the same way as the earl’s. Their mouths were the same as well—that same scowl that pressed their lips into a thin line.
Behind the earl stood Clopdon, his arms empty, seeming to have stepped out of thin air. Pru wasn’t fooled. The valet had been nearby in case his master needed anything. He’d probably heard the sounds coming from the bedchamber and withdrew to wait until she departed. Or perhaps the valet had discovered his hiding place had been pilfered and Nash’s pistol was once again lethal.
Nash’s pistol. The same one pointed at the Earl of Beaufort. Pru closed her eyes and prayed. It had been years since she’d prayed, for all that she was constantly in church, but she prayed now. Please don’t let him fire.
“Nash,” she said quietly, stroking his bare arm. She’d managed to don her shift and a petticoat, but she was still only half-dressed. It was not the way she’d imagined meeting the powerful lord. “It’s your father. Lower the pistol now.”
Nash didn’t react to her words. He didn’t move, hardly seemed to breathe. She had a glimpse of what he must have looked like as a sharpshooter during the war—utterly calm and utterly deadly.
“Nash,” Pru said again. “Listen to me.”
“He’s entirely mad,” the earl said. “He’ll kill us all.”
“He’s not mad,” Pru argued. Did the earl think saying such things would help the situation? “You arrived unexpectedly and surprised us. Nash doesn’t do well with surprises.”
“I should say not,” the earl said.
“Nash,” Pru ran her hand down Nash’s arm. It seemed impossible, but it was tenser and tighter than even a moment ago.
“Might I try, Miss Howard?” Clopdon asked.
“By all means,” the earl said. “Step into the line of fire.”
“Sir,” Clopdon said, speaking to Nash. “Lower the pistol. It’s time to dress for dinner.” He walked into the bedchamber as though there was no danger. “I see we shall have to start all over,” the valet said, gathering clothing from the floor. “So we’d best begin or Mr. Payne will be cross. You know he is rather unpleasant when he is hungry.”
Nash’s gaze flicked to Clopdon, and Pru began to feel a glimmer of hope. The valet moved into the dressing room and returned with a silk dressing gown. He crossed to Nash and held the gown out. “I do believe we have