Roderick stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Mr. Lowth, you asked to speak with me. How can I be of service?”
Swinging around to face him, Marcus poked a finger in Roderick’s general direction as he slurred, “You! It’s all your fault.”
Remaining calm, Roderick asked, “What is my fault?”
“This. Everything. I never would have ended up like this if not for your club.”
“Ended up like what, exactly?”
“I’m going to Newgate for sure.”
“Now, Mr. Lowth, I doubt your brother would allow that.”
“My brother’ll leave me to rot. He already thinks me a fool. This will only prove it.”
Marcus’s shouting dropped to a pitiful whine on the last words. Roderick walked slowly toward him. The boy needed to sleep off his drunk before any sense could be driven into his head.
“Come, I will have my carriage take you home. All will seem less dire once you’ve gotten some sleep.”
“You don’t understand,” Marcus wailed as he swayed back and forth on widespread feet. His chin dropped heavily to his chest and his shoulders slumped. “I can’t go home. It’s over for me.”
Something in the young man’s tone sent a rush of alarm through Roderick’s body. As he saw Marcus reach into the pocket of his coat, he reacted without thought. Lunging forward, he crossed the room in a few long strides just as Marcus managed to drag the pistol free of his pocket.
The young man looked up in surprise, clearly not having expected Roderick to charge him. He stumbled back, tripping over his own feet. The pistol came up and discharged, just as Roderick grabbed his wrist.
The report of the shot was deafening in the empty room, and Roderick felt a sudden searing heat slide across his upper arm. He twisted the pistol from Marcus’s hand, and the boy crumpled to the floor with the wrenching sobs of a drunk.
Roderick turned away, leaving the boy to his misery. His only thought had been to get the gun away from him so Marcus couldn’t put anyone else at risk.
Bishop appeared in the doorway just then and took in the scene with a keen gaze. Then the footman grinned. “Got it all in hand, I see. Well done.”
“And where were you? Isn’t this the sort of thing I hired you on for?”
Bishop shrugged as he sauntered forward. He took the pistol from Roderick’s hand and slid it into the pocket of his coat. “Among other things, but it’s early. These hours of the day are my own, and a couple of lovelies in the west wing were desperately in need of my attention.”
Roderick gave him a fierce glower for his impudence.
“Tuck that gun away where it will do no further harm. Then see to Mr. Lowth. He is going to need a solid meal and some sleep. Settle him into one of the extra rooms, with a guard. I want to talk with him when he wakes.”
Someone needed to try to force some sense into him.
“As you wish, sir.” Bishop strolled toward the rumpled young man.
“You do not intend to alert the authorities?”
Roderick turned sharply at the sound of Emma’s voice. He found her standing calmly in the doorway that led to the gaming room, her hands clasped at her waist, her eyes fixed on Bishop as he helped the sagging Marcus to his feet. She must have come down the balcony stairs and through the gaming room.
“What the hell are you doing down here?” Roderick asked.
Had she been there when the gun went off? An icy chill crossed the back of his neck at the thought that she may have been in the path of the stray bullet.
She turned to look at him, her gaze sweeping over his frame before she answered, “I heard the shot.”
Roderick ran his hand back through his hair. Agitation made his voice harsh. “So you came running toward it rather than keeping yourself at a safe distance? What did you think to accomplish with such recklessness?”
She raised her brows at the anger and condescension in his voice and replied coolly, “I thought I might be of some help.”
“It is not your job to help.” Roderick turned away as another footman came to assist Bishop in half carrying, half dragging Marcus from the drawing room. “I expect you to keep your nose in the books. You could have been injured.”
“Oh?” The haughtiness in her tone brought his gaze back around to her. “Like you were? Are you going to tend to your wound?”
She sent a pointed look to his left arm.
Roderick looked down to see a patch of dark blood soaking the material of his coat just below his shoulder, and recalled the searing pain he’d felt when the gun went off.
“It’s nothing. Go back upstairs until I can be sure Marcus is fully subdued.”
She strode toward him. Her gray gaze was direct and uncompromising and her jaw was set at a stubborn angle.