Page 37 of Seduction of a Widow

Chapter Ten

“I must admit, I wouldn’t have taken you for the sort to cheat,” Leslie told Sir Stirling ten minutes later.

“It isn’t cheating, exactly,” he said. “Henry and I”–he nodded toward the footman who stood to his right—”simply made sure neither of them could shoot the other, even accidentally, and honor was satisfied.”

Honor.

She willed back the tears that hovered too close to the surface, and said, “I think Mr. MacLaren would be angry if he knew you tampered with the pistols.”

“I imagine not,” he replied.

Leslie regarded him. “You seem to understand him quite well. I assume you were once like him?”

He gave a wry smile. “Not so long ago.”

Anger tightened her stomach. “I imagine there is no way to prove that Lord Barnton was the man shooting from within the trees?”

Sir Stirling shook his head. “I am afraid not.”

“If anything happens to Evan, Lord Barnton will not answer for the crime.” Leslie glanced in the direction of the stairs. She needed to return to him.

Sir Stirling squeezed her arm. “I have great faith in Doctor Graham. Not to mention, as I said earlier, Mr. MacLaren is a strong man.”

She started to turn, then stopped. “Forgive my earlier behavior. I accused you of being reckless. You are anything but reckless.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“You might have told me you tampered with the pistols,” she said.

“I thought it better if no one knew.”

“I wonder why Lord Barnton shot him,” Leslie said more to herself than Stirling. “What has he to gain?”

“The duel will take the attention away from him, muddy the waters,” Stirling replied.

He was right, of course. She nodded, then hurried away.

When Leslie reached Evan’s room, she half expected him to be sitting up in bed, eating some of the broth Baroness Trent had made for Lord Barnton. Instead, his eyes were closed and the blanket that covered his chest lifted and fell with each shallow breath. She drew a chair up to the bed and laid a hand over his heart. A strong, even beat thumped against his chest.

The door opened and Baroness Trent entered. She crossed to the bed. “I thought I would find you here. The doctor said he needs rest. I can have one of the servants sit with him. Come, my dear, eat something and get some rest.”

Leslie shook her head. “Nae. I am not hungry.”

The baroness sighed. “I will have tea and biscuits sent up.”

Leslie nodded, but her attention remained on Evan. The door clicked shut behind the baroness and Leslie finally gave into tears. Why didn’t he wake up?

“You fool,” she whispered. “Lord Barnton’s lies were not worth your life.”

She lowered her head and let the tears slide down her cheeks. This was too much. She barely knew the man, yet the fear that he would die and leave her twisted her heart. Was he always this reckless? Leslie pictured him on the bow of his ship as a cannonball whizzed past his head. How many brushes had he had with death? A duel with a fop like Mr. Drucker must have seemed like child’s play to him—and would have been so, if not for Lord Barnton.

Leslie swiped at the tears. If Evan didn’t recover— She cut off the thought. He would recover. And when he did, she would forbid him from such dangerous behavior.

“You understand?” she whispered. “This foolish behavior must end.”

Please.

Her thoughts came to a screeching halt. How many times had Carr said those very words to her…including the plea? Was this how he had felt when he forbade her from certain behavior…racing, in particular?