Page 92 of A Scandal at Stonecliffe

“No.” Malcolm’s voice was sad. “I didn’t. I thought that his name was Hall.”

Robert stepped back and suddenly he reached down to the unconscious Shoemaker and snatched a pistol from the man’s belt. He aimed it with shaking hands at Nathan. “Damn you! Damn all your family. You ruin everythi—” Verity began to edge toward him, and Robert swung the gun and fired at her.

Nathan jumped, taking Verity to the ground, his body covering hers. “Verity!”

Robert gaped, his eyes wild. Malcolm surged toward him, and Robert whirled and darted into the street. It was hard to tell if he turned his ankle on a pothole or just lost his balance, but one moment Robert was standing and the next he was down on the ground—directly in front of a horse drawing a carriage. The driver let out a shout and hauled back on the reins. But there was no time to stop, and the awful muffled sounds of the horse’s hooves on Robert’s body were followed by the wheels of the carriage.

There were shouts from all around, and Malcolm rushed out into the street, crying out, “Uncle! No!”

The others hurried after him. A man exclaimed, “My God, he’s dead!” A woman screamed and fainted, and more than one man turned away from the sight of Robert Douglas’s lifeless form.

The horse reared, and the driver of the carriage dropped the reins and jumped down from his seat. “He ran right out! I didn’t see him!”

Chatter and movement were all around him, but the tumult didn’t pierce Nathan’s awareness. He had eyes only for Verity.

“Verity!” Nathan ran his hands over her frantically. Her eyes were wide and frightened and her chest was still. “Where were you hit? Don’t you die on me.”

Verity’s hands flew to her chest, and her face was panicked. Finally she sucked in a huge breath. “I couldn’t breathe!” She sat up, pulling Nathan close and holding on tightly. “I’m all right now. It was just the wind knocked out of me.”

“Thank God,” Nathan said fervently, raining kisses across her forehead and hair. “I thought you were dead. I thought—” His voice choked off and he tightened his arms around her convulsively.

“I’m not. I’m fine. I wasn’t hit.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” She pulled back a little and glanced around. “What happened? Did he get a—oh.” She saw the body on the street. “Is Robert dead?”

“I think so. I wasn’t paying attention to anything other than you.” Nathan relaxed his arms, letting her go and sitting back on his heels. He lifted a hand to push back his hair. “Ow.” He looked down at his arm, aware for the first time of a searing streak of pain. The sleeve of his jacket was sliced through and blood stained the material around it.

“Nathan!” Verity gasped. “It’s you! You’ve been shot.” She shoved back his jacket and pulled it off, eliciting a little yelp from Nathan.

“Have a care, would you?”

She ripped his shirt sleeve farther apart, revealing a streak of red across his arm, and let out a sigh of relief. “Thank heavens. The ball didn’t go into your arm, just grazed you.”

Nathan peered down at his arm and said mournfully, “Another jacket ruined.” He sighed. “I’m growing rather tired of getting shot.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

“STOP WRIGGLING.” An hour later, Verity knelt beside Nathan on her parlor floor, washing the dirt and gunpowder residue away from his wound.

Her touch was as gentle as she could make it, but her tone was sharp. The sight of Nathan bleeding had scared her down to the bottoms of her toes. For an instant she had been unable to breathe again, and then her nerves had spiked, and she’d had to clamp down hard on her emotions to keep from dissolving into hysteria.

Nathan had not been a cooperative patient. She had managed to keep him from going with Malcolm to take the prisoners to jail, but he had flatly refused to let a doctor look at his arm. Finally she’d given up and brought him back to her house.

He had stripped off his shirt, which, frankly, had not helped to calm Verity. It no doubt showed some lowness in her nature that tingles of lust could spring up in her at a time like this, but it seemed somehow a natural part of the wild tangle of emotions inside her.

“I can’t help but flinch when you keep poking at me,” Nathan said.

“I’m not poking.” She paused and scowled into his face. “Though it would serve you right if I did. I don’t know what you were thinking, jumping in front of me like that.”

“I was trying to keep you from being shot,” he retorted.

“And you got yourself shot instead.” She tossed the rag aside and dabbed the ointment on the burn.

“What is that green slime?” He cast a doubtful look at the ointment in the jar.

“It’s good for burns, and that’s more what this is.” She began to wind the strip of cotton around his arm. Tending to him had helped her nerves, and when she tied off the bandage, she sat back on her heels and looked at him, a teasing smile beginning on her face. “Not to discount your heroism, but I got shot anyway.”