Page 44 of The Music of Love

Stacy gave her one of the frosty looks she’d just mentioned. “It would please me if you did not refer to yourself with that word, Kitty.”

“That look does not work on me, your highness. I know what a pussy cat you really are.”

“I can see I’ve been too lenient with you in the past.” He gave her the severest of his glares.

But she just shook her head. “I cannot come to your wedding, Stacy. It would not be a good way to start a life of domestic harmony. Have you told her about me—about us?”

“Not yet, but we’ve hardly had time to talk about much other than wedding arrangements. Besides, there isn’t anything to tell other than you are my best friend.”

Kitty heaved a sigh. “There is the fact I work in a brothel. There is the fact we were lovers.”

Stacy shrugged, refusing to give ground. “We’ve not been lovers for years.”

“Oh, men are so stupid. Trust me, Stacy, she wouldn’t welcome my presence at her wedding; she would be insulted. If she is as fierce as you say, you would not survive the wedding night intact. Indeed,” she bit her plush lower lip and then said, “you should not visit me again.”

They’d argued in earnest after that; through dinner and then through tea, Stacy using every argument he could muster—and no small number of threats—to get Kitty to agree to come.

And all for nothing.

But at least she had relented on ending their friendship.

“I will receive you again—you must know I will, Stacy—but you will jeopardize your marriage if you continue our friendship.” When he’d opened his mouth to argue she’d embraced him fiercely. “My dearest, dearest friend. I am so pleased for you. You deserve nothing but the best and it sounds as if you have found it. I wish you everything that is good and happy.”

Stacy pondered her words during the long carriage ride home. Was it an insult to Portia to invite his closest friend? He’d been agonizing over the question for a good two hours when Jewell shouted and a gun discharged, the sounds pulling him rudely from his revelry.

Powell, his valet, was ever at the ready, and handed him a pistol even as the carriage began to slow.

Stacy opened the vent and called out, “What is it?”

“Three men that I can see, sir.”

“You’re loaded, Baker?” Stacy yelled to the groom seated beside his coachman.

“Aye, sir, so is Freddy,” he said, referring to Stacy’s footman, who rode on the small perch on the rear of the coach.

Stacy peered out the window but could see little. It was just past dusk and the trees to the west of the road blocked the last rays of daylight. They’d begun their journey early in the day but had stopped to help a wagon that had collided with a gig. There had been two rather nasty injuries and no way to transport the victims other than load them into Stacy’s carriage.

As a result of their Good Samaritan actions they’d been hurrying against the darkness.

Stacy chewed the inside of his mouth as he considered the logistics. The lack of light would work in Stacy’s favor but not those of his men.

“Can you see well enough to get a good shot off?” Stacy asked his driver.

“Not any worth taking, sir. They’re all behind us still.”

“Did they hit anything with their shot?”

“No, sir. I believe they were aiming at young Freddy.”

Stacy cursed. Freddy was utterly exposed. He took a deep breath. “Listen carefully, here is what we will do.”

Portia was running before Soames finished speaking and almost trampled the elderly butler. Stacy was between Powell and Jewell, his arms around their shoulders, his booted feet dragging. His face, cravat, shirt, and hair were caked in blood.

She whirled on Soames, who’d shadowed her steps. “Send for a doctor.”

“Baker has already gone, ma’am.”

“Bring him into the drawing room,” she ordered, hurrying alongside the men.