Page 87 of The Duke of Pain

Gideon’s horrid stepfather.

Laying on the ground off to the side was a horse in distress, white foam oozed from his nose and mouth.

“It’s Whinstone,” Henderson said, coming to stand nearby.

Olivia raised her rifle. “Do not move, or I will shoot. It will be my pleasure to blow a hole in you. You certainly deserve it.”

“You must be Watford’s slut. I have my horse, allow me to escape, and nothing further needs to be done or said.”

Olivia stood with Althea as well as the servants. “I think not. You’ve caused enough damage. You will stay here and wait for the police.”

“I think not,” Whinstone replied drolly. “Be damned if I will take orders from a brothel whore.”

The servants gasped.

“You will,” Olivia yelled. “Move an inch, or I’ll shoot.”

Whinstone laughed. Literally threw back his head and laughed like a villain in a play. It was enough of a distraction that Althea was able to pull out her Bull Dog revolver and get off a shot. Whinstone dropped to the ground like a large sack of potatoes.

He howled in pain, holding his knee.

“You shot me!”

“No, that was Miss Galway,” Olivia replied. “I would have aimed for your blackened heart instead of your knee. We need rope, and we need to put out that fire before it spreads.”

The cook and the butler hurried to fetch a rope while the maids grabbed the buckets sitting by the trough and filled them with water.

Two horses galloped into the rear yard.

“Gideon!” Olivia dropped the rifle and ran to him as he dismounted.

He gathered her into his arms. “Are you hurt?”

“No. Whinstone set the stable on fire and was stealing another horse.”

Gideon turned to glare at Whinstone, who was still yowling.

Henderson handed the policeman the rope, and the copper soon had Whinstone trussed like a turkey.

“You shot him?” Gideon asked.

“No, that was Althea.”

Althea came to stand next to them. “Olivia didn’t hesitate. Got the butler to fetch a rifle then she marched out to confront the intruder. I was her back up.”

“Well done, all of you. Where are the stable boys?”

“They come four days a week, Your Grace. They do not live on the premises,” Henderson replied.

“I see,” Gideon replied. “Belcher, do you still have your pistol?” Gideon took it and headed toward the horse lying on the ground.

“Oh, no, Gideon. Is there nothing to be done?” Olivia asked.

“No, love. The poor horse is suffering. Turn away, all of you.”

A shot rang out, and the tortured whinnies mercifully came to an end.

Gideon handed the gun back to the policeman. “Now the fire. We must stop it from spreading.”