A Countess by Chance(18)

“What am I doing here?” she replied. “What are you doing here?”

“Get over here! They’ll see you!” Olivia darted forward and snatched Annabelle by the arm, dragging her deeper into the safety of the bushes. The men were too absorbed in their ritual to notice.

“Oh, God! What are they doing? This is not how things were meant to turn out,” Annabelle said nervously, peering through the foliage.

Olivia stared at Annabelle for a long moment, finally piecing together the truth. She’d planned this. Well, perhaps not the duel—she seemed just as surprised about that as Olivia was. But the kiss in the billiard room, several guests just happening upon them. It was all too convenient. Clearly Adam had refused to marry her, which would explain the pistols.

A tense shift in the air drew her attention to the men. Wood and Adam faced each other, each with one arm outstretched, pistols pointed at each other’s chests.

“Gentlemen,” James intoned, and Olivia’s heart stopped. “Shoot on the count of three. One, two…”

That was the point where all rational thought ceased. Olivia sprinted from the bushes—covering the short distance like a charging lioness—and tackled Wood, who was closest to her. Due to Wood’s sheer astonishment, she was able to knock him to the ground. And in her blind panic, she tried to wrest the pistol from his grasp. In the struggle, it went off, and Olivia only saw it vaguely, as through a veil of clouds.

The deafening bang reverberated through her entire body and Olivia watched, as if in slow motion, as Adam fell to the ground.

Good heavens, she’d shot him. She’d killed the man she loved.





              Chapter Eight



Olivia paced outside Adam’s bedroom door, still wearing her nightgown, waiting for the doctor to emerge. He’d been in there an hour—an infinite amount of time, as far as Olivia was concerned. James had rushed from the room a half hour ago, but had yet to return. What did it mean? If Adam were dead or dying, the doctor would have no cause to linger. Would he?

Guilt seeped into every nook and crevice of her heart. Had she not lunged at Wood…well, Adam could have still been shot, but at least he would have had a fighting chance. Curse her impulsive nature. If she’d only restrained herself, then Wood may have deloped and Adam might still be standing, whole and hale.

Just as she’d quit her pacing and decided to knock on the door, the thick slab of oak whipped open to reveal Dr. Brookston. He stopped short at the sight of her, a frown etched into his aging features.

“Doctor!” In her terrified state, she advanced on him, nearly toppling the elderly man. “How is he? Tell me everything. What is the extent of his injury? Is there any hope of recovery?” The words rushed out of her mouth in a quick, panicked slur.

“He’s strong and still quite young—I daresay he’ll live to make more foolish mistakes.”

“Oh, thank heavens!”

Relief flooded her. Adam was going to be all right.

“I’ve given him laudanum and he’s resting comfortably. I’ve given instructions for his care to Mr. Leventhorpe.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

As the doctor left, Annabelle rushed up the hallway, her pedal-pink lips pressed into a firm, unreadable line. She was dressed in a yellow morning gown, hair pulled up into perfect ringlets, a handkerchief clutched in her hand. “Well, what did the doctor say?”

“He is…”

Olivia was about to tell her the good news, relieve the chit of her well-deserved torment, when Mr. Wood approached from the far end of the hall. Annabelle had her back turned to him and a plan instantly bloomed in Olivia’s mind—a wonderfully devious plan.

“The news is grim.” Father had always told her she bluffed well. She drew on that talent now, shaking her head sadly. “I fear that if he doesn’t survive, your brother will be tried for murder.” She said the last in a low, dramatic whisper—which gave it a more sinister quality.

Although Olivia had (regrettably) lunged at Wood, the gun had still been in his hand when it had gone off. It was feasible he could stand trial for such a crime, so Olivia wasn’t being dishonest. Exaggerating the situation, perhaps, but entirely truthful in her assertion.

Annabelle clutched a pink handkerchief, her eyes wide. “I only meant to hook the man, not kill him! And now because of me, my brother will be tried for murder!”

Olivia arched a brow. “You meant to hook Lord Huntington?”

Annabelle grew flustered at Olivia’s accusing tone. “Don’t look at me like that! I am nearly twenty-two and the only men who court me are decidedly beneath my station. Besides, he would have come around eventually—I merely hurried things along by forcing his hand.”