“Yes, of course.” She could hardly confide her suspicions about Claude’s wife to him. She forced a smile. “Perhaps I’ll run into him in the garden.”
Suddenly Demosthenes let out a bark that reverberated through the hallway and charged down the hall. Fear flooded Laura. She ran after the dog, and Claude followed her curiously. When Laura opened the back door, Dem shot across the terrace, cleared the steps in a single jump, and tore off down the path.
Her heart thundering in her chest, Laura took off after him in a run. Claude was right behind her.
James climbed the steps from the road, his head down in thought. After the magistrate left, James had walked along the road, trying to ascertain where and how someone had caused Laura’s carriage accident. It wasn’t necessary, of course, but it still bothered him that her would-be killer had so little motive for what he had done. James was a man who liked to have all the details.
But he had found nothing—no broken shrubbery where someone might have hidden, nothing that might have been used to frighten the horses and they tossed aside. Finally, admitting defeat, he started back to the house. Perhaps Laura would have some ideas. The two of them hadn’t spent much time in conversation since he’d arrived home.
He was smiling at the thought—until he looked up and saw a woman sitting on the bench at the head of the stairs. When he saw the blond hair, his heart leapt, but then he realized that her hair was too bright a gold, the curls done up in blue ribbons to match her frilly blue dress. It wasn’t Laura, but Adelaide. No doubt she wanted to take him to task again for having doubted Claude. He suppressed a sigh. He must be polite and listen to her; Laura would wish it.
“James,” she greeted him gaily, rising to her feet. “I hoped I would catch you.”
“And so you have.” He reached the clearing at the top of the steps and paused politely.
“It’s such a lovely day. I thought we might take a walk down to the ruins.” She moved toward him, her hands by her side, half hidden by the voluminous folds of her skirts.
“That sounds charming,” James lied. “However, I must get back to work.” There was, after all, only so much sacrifice a man could make, even for Laura’s approval.
He started to pass by her, but Adelaide stepped into his path and raised her hand from the concealment of her skirts. In her dainty gloved hand was a pistol, aimed straight at his chest.
Well. He hadn’t expected this.
Adelaide raised an eyebrow. “What? No sardonic retort?”
Gone were the dimples and gracefully fluttering hands, the huge limpid eyes, the bright smile, the soft, pliable posture that made her look smaller than she was. Instead she stood straight and firm, the gun steady in her hand. Her face was cold and decisive. She might have been another person, distinctly out of place in her ruffles and ribbons.
“So it was you,” James mused. “I must say, this comes as a surprise.”
“I know. Poor, silly, vapid Adelaide.” Her voice dripped scorn. “So dear, so sweet. So boring. It’s quite useful.”
“I can see how it would be.” James moved closer. “You teamed up with Netherly, I take it. Or, no, I imagine it was more that he worked for you. What did you repay him with—money, your doubtlessly lovely body?” He took another step.
“Oh, no.” Adelaide took a step back, waggling the pistol at him. “Don’t think I won’t shoot you. Or that I’ll miss. I’m an excellent marksman. My brothers made sure of that.” Her smile was sly. “I’m even better with a slingshot.”
James’s eyebrows rose. “So that’s how you frightened the horses. Impressive.”
“You always discounted me. I knew you made fun of me. It made me laugh; I was the one making fools of all of you.”
“What’s your plan now?” he asked in a conversational tone, edging forward. “I take it you’ve returned to targeting me.”
“You’re the important one. If you’re gone, Laura will be unprotected, and I’ll have plenty of time to deal with her afterward.”
“That’s reasonable.” His cool tone concealed the surge of rage inside him.
“Stop talking. We’re going to the ruins.” She gestured with the gun.
“The thing is . . . don’t you think people will find it a mite suspicious if I am shot after the other attempts on my life and Laura’s? Say you kill me, you’ll still have Laura to murder, and, well, I’m assuming from your use of Netherly that your ultimate plan is to do away with Claude, too. That’s a great many bodies to explain.”