“You said we would talk today. Should I expect a note tonight, or have you changed your mind?”
He scanned her face, but he couldn’t read what she wanted of the conversation. Did she want a farewell? Or a future?
Before he could respond, he heard a crack of exploding gunpowder. There should have been a firework immediately after it, but the expected display never came.
His hackles rose. Gunpowder without a firework could only mean a gunshot, unless someone had brought firecrackers or one of the fireworks had malfunctioned. He looked out over the crowd. No one else had noticed. Their faces were all turned up to the sky, waiting for the next display. He heard laughter, happy conversation, easy jests — both the villagers and the aristocrats were enjoying themselves, despite the cold.
No one screamed. There was no indication that anything was amiss. He tried to relax and pretend nothing was wrong — that he hadn’t heard anything strange, and that he wasn’t a coward in the face of her questions.
She must have seen something of his conflict flicker across his face. “Is something wrong?”
“Perhaps we should rest tonight,” he said, pitching his voice low so no one would overhear him. “I’d wager neither of us have slept since I came home, and I at least am too old for all-hours revelry. There’s time to talk tomorrow.”
Her eyes narrowed. “If you’re too old for revelry, I’m too old to wait.”
He would have grinned, but a child ran up to them, weaving through the crowd and skidding to a stop just short of Ellie’s skirts. “Mr. Claiborne needs you, milady,” he said, his high-pitched voice creaking with excitement. “He said you must find Lord Folkestone and come to the church.”
Ellie frowned. “Was he alone?”
“He had a lady with him. He said to find you, then the surgeon. And not to tell anyone else.”
His eyes were wide and his shoulders were thrown back with importance, like a little lieutenant given his first command. Nick gave him a shilling and sent him running off through the crowd on the second half of his errand.
But when Ellie started toward the church, he grabbed her arm. “This could be a trap.”
She shook her head impatiently as another firework shot up into the sky. “The child belongs to the pub owner. He knows what Marcus looks like. Something’s wrong, Nick. And unless Marcus is the one setting the trap, we need to join him. Will you let me go? Or shall I start screaming until someone else takes me there?”
Her eyes flashed in a way that underscored her threat. Nick turned her loose. But he caught up with her as soon as she escaped the crowd and beat her to the church door.
“At least let me go in first,” he said.
She gestured him ahead of her. He tried the door and found it unlocked. The church was almost entirely dark. Only a single lamp illuminated the scene, enough to be visible through the windows but not enough to draw too much attention. Marcus knelt, facing a woman who sat in the pew closest to the door. With her dark bonnet and cloak, Nick couldn’t recognize her — but the concern and fury mingled on Marcus’s face gave him a guess.
“Close the door before Lucia catches a chill,” Marcus ordered.
Nick stepped aside, letting Ellie in to the church. But before he could close the door, a walking stick tapped against it. “Lovely night for a bit of worship, isn’t it?” Ferguson asked, strolling in before Nick could stop him.
Ellie had already rushed to Lucia's side. “What happened?” she asked, dropping into the pew next to her maid. “Did you feel faint?”
Nick knew the answer even before Lucia shook her head. “Your service is even more dangerous than I thought,” she said shakily.
The maid pressed her hand tightly against her left arm. Marcus tore a strip of fabric from what appeared to be her petticoat and handed it to her. She winced as she added it to the bloodstained cloth she already held against her skin.
“Did you see who shot you?“ Nick asked.
“How did you know she was shot?” Marcus interjected. “No one else seemed to notice. We came here rather than the pub to keep it quiet.”
“I heard the shot. The others must have thought it was a firecracker.”
“I heard it as well,” Ferguson added. He moved into the room, away from the door, as though he didn’t want to be the first man hit in a siege.