Corrie saw Jason leap in front of his father, saw Judith’s bullet slam into him, then saw her own bullet hit Judith through the neck as she was turning toward Corrie’s voice.
At the same time, Annabelle Trelawny, or whoever she was, whirled about, the dueling pistol aimed at Corrie. But Hollis, now coming up quickly behind her, shoved her to the floor. He stood there a moment, staring at the first woman he’d loved in more years than he could remember, and said, “It is enough, Annabelle. It’s over. Give me the gun.”
“I’m Marie, you ridiculous old man.” She raised the gun to shoot him when another shot rang out. She grabbed her chest, stared for a moment at Corrie, who was now on her knees on the carpet, holding her derringer in both hands, the smell of gunpowder sharp and powerful in the still air. Slowly, Marie swayed where she stood. She looked over at Judith, who lay on the floor, blood gushing from her neck and out of her mouth. Then she fell, making little noise, her skirts cascading around her.
Corrie heard a noise, a keening sound, and realized it was coming from her own throat. Douglas held Jason in his arms, tearing open his shirt to bare the wound. He never looked up, but his voice was more urgent than she’d ever heard it. “Corrie, quickly, fetch Dr. Milton here right away. Hurry.”
Douglas wasn’t even aware Corrie had run out of the room. He was aware that Judith was probably dead, lying on her side not ten feet away, the derringer beside her, her aunt lying not far from her. He was looking down at Jason’s still face. His son had saved his life, the last thing Douglas would have wanted. Then Jason’s eyes slowly opened. “I brought her here, Father, I brought her here. I’m sorry.”
“No, Jason, you didn’t know. None of us realized. Be still now, don’t move. I swear to you that everything will be all right. Corrie’s going to get Dr. Milton. She shot Judith and her aunt. I think both of them are dead. Even though your brother hates it, I’m very pleased that Corrie is such an excellent shot.”
A small smile touched Jason’s mouth, then his head lolled to the side. At that moment Alexandra came running into the drawing room, saw her husband holding their son in his arms, rocking him back and forth, his face leached of color but the rage in his eyes still burning deep.
“Jason? Oh God, Douglas, oh God. Where is James? Oh God, where is James?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
THE BRIDLE STRUCK Louis squarely in the nose, all of James’s strength behind it. The force of the blow knocked him back, and he yelled with the shock of pain and furious surprise. Blood spewed from his nose. He howled as he jerked the gun up, but James was faster. Even as he fired, James was rolling toward him. The bullet struck the floor, sending rotted splinters flying upward.
James was on him in an instant. He was aware of a sharp stab of pain in his head where Louis had struck him down, and ignored it. He grabbed Louis’ wrist and squeezed, feeling the bones crack. He wanted that gun. He wanted to shove it down Louis’ throat and pull the trigger. Louis’ nose was broken, blood still gushing out. But he was strong, and death was in his eyes and in his brain. He wanted James to die; he wanted to take his place, and he fully intended to.
They grappled, rolling across the hay-strewn floor, rotted through in many places since this old barn had been abandoned many years. They were of nearly equal strength, but it was James’s soul-deep rage that gave him the edge. He knew it, nourished it, let it fill him. He heard the words come out of his mouth, so calm he sounded, the rage banked, “I’m going to kill you, Louis. I’m going to kill you right now.” James jerked down Louis’ arm until the gun was between them. James felt Louis’ wrist break, heard him moan, but it didn’t matter. Louis drove his knees into James’s back. James nearly buckled with the pain, but he managed to hold on. He drew the gun lower, lower, until it was pointed at Louis’ chest. He looked down into the young man’s eyes, the young man who wanted to obliterate his family for no other reason than he believed he could do it. All the rest of it, a lie woven to justify his greed.
James squeezed the trigger.
The bullet slammed into Louis Cadoudal’s chest. His body heaved, arched upward. Then he fell back. He looked up at James, opened his mouth, his blood bubbling out. “Brother,” he said, then he said no more.
James threw himself to the side and jumped to his feet, breathing hard. He was alive. Alive. He didn’t waste time on Louis. He grabbed up the gun and began running. He was a half mile from the Hall. And Judith was there. Had she and Annabelle Trelawny killed his father?
JAMES CAME RUNNING through the front doors of Northcliffe Hall at the same time Dr. Milton arrived. Neither man spoke to the other, James because he was breathing too hard. Hollis was there, tall and straight, but his face was pale. “In the drawing room,” he said, then watched both men run into the room.
For the first time in his seventy-five years, Hollis didn’t know what to do. His mind was a barren wasteland. He walked slowly after Master James and Dr. Milton into the drawing room, and stood there by the door, guarding all of them, he supposed, and then he simply prayed. He looked up to see Ollie Trunk, the Bow Street Runner, stagger through the front doors. Hollis said, “The doctor is here, thank God.”
Ollie whispered, “The blighter got me, Hollis. He got me!” And he collapsed onto the front entrance hall.
It was in that moment that Hollis came back into himself. No matter what had happened, it was up to him to make things right. He knelt beside Ollie Trunk and said, “You’ll be all right, Ollie, you’ll be all right. I’m here now.”
Douglas looked up at Dr. Milton, saw James, and thought he would yell with the relief of it. He slowly raised his palm that he’d been pressing hard against Jason’s shoulder and saw that the wound was bleeding only sluggishly now. “The bullet struck him in his left shoulder, too close to his heart, dammit; it’s still in him. It looks bad. Charles… please hurry.” He recognized in that moment that he’d been scared when Freddie had come to them in London and told them that James was ill, but it was nothing compared to this. His boy had saved his life, damn him. Douglas was beyond fear now; he planned to kill Jason himself if only he would survive this.
James stood there, white-faced, watching his father move aside for Dr. Milton, looked at his father’s hands, covered with Jason’s blood. He watched his father take his mother into his arms, and they stood there together, holding each other, making no sound, their eyes on Jason. Then he heard someone whisper his name.
“Corrie, oh God, Corrie,” and she was in his arms, pressed hard against him, and she was whispering about Judith and Annabelle Trelawny.
“I killed her, James,” Corrie said, but she didn’t cry, held on tight. “I shot her just as she fired at your father, only Jason ran in front of him, then I killed Annabelle Trelawny because she was going to kill Hollis. She’s really Judith’s aunt.”
“Good for you,” he said against her hair. “I’m very proud of you, Corrie, more proud than I can say. You belong to me. Don’t you ever forget it.”
She became perfectly still against him, then she sighed, a soft deep sigh and leaned into him, her head on his shoulder.
They stood silently until Dr. Milton looked up and said, “I will not lie to you, my lord, my lady. It will be a close thing. However, Jason is young, healthy, and very strong. If anyone can pull through this, he can. Now, we must get him upstairs in his bed, and I must get that bullet out of him.”
TWO NIGHTS LATER
“I knew he was going to die,” Douglas said, his face in his wife’s hair. “At midnight, his breathing hitched and then it just stopped. I knew he was dead, Alex. I nearly died myself. I held him against me, then I shook him, I was so angry at him for throwing himself in front of me. Then, thank God, he started breathing again.”
She held him even more tightly. “He’s all right now, Douglas. He will survive this.”
“Yes, I know that now.”
They weren’t alone in Jason’s bedchamber. James and Corrie were sitting very close together on a sofa that
