The Notorious Lord

silence. Cory reached very quietly for the pistol at his belt.

He started walking again, softly, carefully. The footsteps followed him. He could almost feel eyes on his back. Yet he knew that if he turned, there would be no one there.

The attack came with a silent uprush of shadows. There was the sound of running feet and then a bullet whistled past his ear, so close that Cory felt the breeze of its passing. He flung himself down into the ditch and drew his own pistol in one movement, firing by the same instinct that had prompted him to dive for cover and thus save his life. He heard a muffled cry. Hauling himself out of the ditch, he was just in time to see a shadowy figure leap over a farm gate and head towards a covert of trees some fifty yards distant. In the faint moonlight it looked insubstantial, a wraith of a creature yet one capable of murder.

The urge to pursue was a strong one, but a cool head and tactical thought overrode Cory’s natural instinct. He was alone, he did not know the terrain and his assailant had a lead of twenty or so yards. He doubted very much that the attacker would return to take another shot.

Cory let his breath out in a long sigh. ‘I am not so easy to dispose of as Jeffrey Maskelyne,’ he muttered grimly as he stowed the pistol back in his belt. Doubtless his assassin would have been surprised to find that he was armed. He guessed that they had planned to bring him down with one shot and follow it up with a second from close quarters. And he had given them the perfect chance by electing to walk back on his own. They had come very close and only his instinct for danger had saved him. He could feel the cold sweat trickling from his brow now.

A carriage rounded the corner behind him, lamps blazing, and drew to a stop beside him on the road. The door swung open.

‘Can I offer you a lift?’ Richard Kestrel’s voice said wryly.

Cory had never been so glad to see anyone in his life. He swung up into the carriage and closed the door behind him with a decisive click.

Once he was seated on the thick red cushions with the Richard Kestrel looking at him with quizzical amusement, he felt rather a fool.

‘Everything all right, old fellow?’ Richard asked. ‘You did not have any trouble at Midwinter Royal, did you?’

Cory shook his head. Rachel Odell was trouble, but of an entirely different sort.

‘Someone had been there before me,’ he said. ‘The books had all been ripped apart. If Maskelyne had used them for concealment, then the secret is lost.’

There was a silence. ‘Someone else knew about them,’ Richard said slowly.

‘It would appear that way, certainly.’

Richard eyed him closely. ‘Was that all that happened? I thought you were in better shape than to get in a sweat over a walk home!’

Cory rubbed his sleeve across his forehead. ‘Did you see anyone on the road?’ he asked.

Richard’s eyes sharpened in interest. He shook his head slowly. ‘Not a soul,’ he said. ‘I’ve driven back from Midwinter Marney. Ross Marney and I went from dinner to what passes for a club in this godforsaken spot-’ He broke off, eyeing Cory closely. ‘But I do not believe you want to hear my social engagements, old chap. What happened to you?’

Cory grinned. ‘Someone just took a pot shot at me,’ he said baldly.

Richard was too cool a hand to show a great deal of surprise at this intelligence.

‘Are you injured?’ he enquired.

‘Of course not,’ Cory said.

‘Did you injure your assailant?’

‘Of course.’ Cory’s tone turned grim. ‘Though not as much as I would have wished. The bullet winged him-or her-in the arm, I think.’

‘Her?’ Richard questioned.

Cory shrugged. ‘It could have been. I only caught a glimpse, and it was impossible to tell. It could not be Miss Odell, though,’ he added on an afterthought.

Richard looked quizzical. ‘Why not?’

Cory laughed. ‘Because she would not have missed me,’ he said. ‘I taught her to shoot myself.’

Richard sat back on the seat and stretched his long legs out in front of him. In the light of the carriage lamps his expression had turned calculating. ‘I will get Justin to ask around,’ he said. ‘He has the right contacts. Someone may know something. They always do if the price is right.’

‘It could have been a poacher or a footpad,’ Cory conceded, ‘but I do not think it likely.’

‘Neither do I,’ Richard said. ‘But how convenient that you injured your quarry, Cory.’ His tone hardened. ‘The reading group meets tomorrow afternoon. Lady Sally told me so herself at the dinner this evening. I think we might pay an impromptu call at Saltires.’

‘It would be courteous,’ Cory said, his lips twitching.

‘And we shall see,’ Richard added, ‘which of the ladies is indisposed-or nursing some sort of injury. It should be most enlightening.’

Chapter Eight

The mood of the reading group had felt somewhat prickly that afternoon. Rachel’s sleep had been broken by disturbing dreams after her meeting with Cory in the stables, and she was nursing a headache that not even Mrs Goodfellow’s tincture of valerian had been able to banish. The other ladies all seemed a little out of temper and it was difficult to concentrate on The Enchantress under the circumstances. Helena Lang was absent with an indisposition that Lady Benedict unkindly referred to as over- indulgence at dinner the night before, Lady Benedict herself had her arm in a sling from a tumble down the stairs and Lady Sally Saltire had her hand bandaged and could barely turn the pages of the book. She explained that she had been tending her precious roses that morning when a thorn had driven into the palm of her hand. All in all, the ladies were subdued and a little sharp.

When Bentley, the butler, announced the arrival of visitors, they greeted the news with some relief. Lady Sally put her book aside and raised her brows enquiringly.

‘Is it anyone to whom we wish to be at home, Bentley?’

‘It is Lord Richard Kestrel and Lord Newlyn, ma’am,’ Bentley said woodenly. ‘Lord Richard said that he was certain that you would be at home, ma’am.’

A small smile twitched Lady Sally lips. ‘Very well, then,’ she said, rising from the sofa in an elegant flurry of silk. ‘If Lord Richard is so certain that we are receiving guests, then who are we to disappoint him? Tea on the terrace, please, Bentley. I am sure that Lord Richard and Lord Newlyn are both most partial to a cup of tea.’

Rachel had dropped her book when Cory’s name was mentioned and had to grope around on the floor to retrieve it. She felt her colour rise as everyone turned to look at her. Lady Benedict was staring at her in a speculative fashion, a malicious smile on her lips. Rachel, all fingers and thumbs, put the book on a side table and tried to breathe calmly.

By the time Cory was announced she was flushed and flustered and annoyed to find that her heart was beating a tattoo as she watched the door like a cat at a mouse hole. It was inexplicable; she had seen Cory many times before and his entry into a room had never caused this constriction in her throat before. She felt as though she wanted to turn and run, and it was all to do with the previous night…

As soon as Cory came in, he looked directly at her. Rachel’s heart jumped. In that moment she knew that Cory wanted to come across to her straight away. He hesitated visibly, but after a moment walked over to Lily Benedict instead. Rachel saw him gesture to the sling, a look of concern on his face, and saw Lady Benedict tilt her face towards him, smiling like a flower reaching to the sun. Rachel felt cross and disappointed and obscurely angry with Cory. She was forced to remind herself rather strongly that she might be Cory’s friend but it was of no consequence to her whom he chose to flirt with. Even so, she felt annoyed that last night his choice had fallen on her, but now he was happy to trifle with another lady’s feelings. It branded him insincere and proved that he had only been entertaining himself at her expense in the stables. A tiny part of her, the part that had wanted it not to be a game,