A Portrait of Love (The Academy of Love #3) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,128

crouch and began stealthily moving toward the window.

There was one last tree between her and Raymond; it was another ten or fifteen feet from her. If she could make it to the tree, that would cut her distance in half. It would still be a difficult shot, but it was the best chance she had before he threw that lantern, which was clearly—

Quit dithering and do it now!

The voice in her head was like the report of a pistol and Honey ran.

It was no more than twenty feet, but it felt like miles.

She expected him to turn any moment and shoot her.

“Two minutes,” he yelled, just as she reached the safety of the tree.

Raymond was crouched beside the window and was fiddling with the lantern; the white cloth began to flame.

“That wasn’t a minute, Raymond. Do you want to borrow my watch,” Simon shouted.

Honey slapped a hand over her mouth, smothering a half-laugh, half-sob; Simon was well enough to taunt.

“This is the last time you will mock me, Simon!” Raymond hollered.

The black smoke began to billow more thickly and Honey saw flames shooting from the lantern itself.

Raymond raised his arm just as a blood-curdling scream came from the direction that Heyworth had run.

Raymond spun around and Honey barely managed to duck out of sight.

He was still clutching the now-flaming lantern, his head jerking back and forth as he searched for the source of the scream. But all was silent.

Honey feared it had to be Heyworth. The other man—Raymond’s groom—must have found him.

She was on her own.

Do it now.

Honey raised the gun with shaking hands and moved toward Raymond, who’d set down the lantern and was smacking his burning cuff against his thigh.

A boot came flying out of the window and Raymond spun around at the noise, kicking the lantern in the process.

Simon hurtled out of the jagged opening, screaming like a creature out of a nightmare. He held a stick in one hand and launched it like a javelin. He hit the ground running but lost his balance and the stick flew wide of its target.

“He’s got a gun!” Honey screamed as Raymond raised the pistol.

Raymond turned at the sound of her voice and Honey squeezed the trigger.

The gun jumped in her palm and Raymond staggered back, stepping onto the still burning lantern. He raised his gun, his arm unsteady, and pulled the trigger just as Simon leaped onto his back, knocking him to the ground.

Honey heard a bang and felt a searing pain in her arm as she ran toward where Simon was sprawled facedown across Raymond’s motionless body.

“Simon?” Honey dropped to her knees beside him.

When he looked up, she saw blood gushing from the side of his neck.

“You’re bleeding!”

He smiled weakly and began to push up to his feet.

Honey stood and offered him a hand. He took it and rose with a groan, his weight almost pulling her to the ground.

Once he was standing, Honey peeled back the bloody collar of his shirt, wincing at the wound on his neck. “Simon—we need—”

“Shhhh,” he murmured, taking her hand and squeezing it gently. Doesn’t hurt.” His eyes flickered to her shoulder. “Lord, Honey, you’ve been shot, too.”

Honey turned and saw the shoulder of her coat was torn and bloody. “Oh, goodness,” she said, a wave of nausea rolling through her.

“Here, let me have a look.” He carefully parted the ragged wool. “It’s a flesh wound—like mine—but it will soon begin to smart like the dickens.”

“It already smarts.”

He turned his brilliant blue gaze on her and grabbed her face with both hands, crushing her mouth with a passionate but far too brief, kiss. “We’ll talk later about how you jumped in front of a man with a gun, love. Right now, I’ve got to get Wyndham to a doctor.”

“What about him?” Honey pointed to Raymond. “Shouldn’t we do something?”

Simon glanced down at his cousin, who’d rolled onto his back and was gazing wide-eyed at them.

Raymond was bleeding profusely from where Honey’s bullet had entered his chest. He was gasping for breath and red froth was coming from his mouth.

A sneer contorted Simon’s handsome features. “I think he’s getting exactly what he deserved.”

Some hours later …

Simon closed the door to the room where Wyndham was resting and made his way down the corridor.

For a moment he was tempted to go to the library, where he knew there was a cabinet with brandy or whiskey.

But then he recalled Raymond’s last words and decided that he’d better not drink anything other than water that