Page 10 of The Allure Of Lord Devlin
Devlin didn’t care that the swirling fog was so thick he could barely see his opponent. A man of his reputation—the traitor’s son—had been here before. The aim of this charade was never to kill. He closed his eyes and pointed his pistol wide of Campbell and fired. Both shots filled the still, misty air.
However, almost immediately, Devlin heard another shot and felt a bullet whisk past his head. He tucked and rolled toward his left. “Who has no honor now? That was a second shot, you bastard,” he called to where he heard Campbell and his second.
The two men raced over. “That second shot was not from me. It came from the trees over yonder. It would appear someone less honorable than myself also wants you dead.”
A shiver of foreboding entered his being. He hastily looked at Tobin, who had also raced to his side.
“My satisfaction has been met. I bid you a good day, Lord Devlin.” As the two men walked off, Devlin’s mind tried to process the fact a second person had shot at him. It could only mean one thing. His blood quickened, and he swept the surrounding area. The trees provided brilliant cover.
His inquiries were obviously making headway, and it’s likely one of the Bow Street runners he’d employed had perhaps found something. He had received a missive from a runner in Scotland who thought he was closing in on someone who could help.
“We need to get you in the carriage and home,” Tobin suggested. Devlin stared at Tobin. “It’s not safe. I can’t see a thing. Whoever shot you could still be in the area, waiting for another opportunity.”
Instead of running, Devlin made straight for the trees from where the shot had come, Tobin hurrying after him.
Someone had trampled the ground around the trees and left a cheroot on the ground. Devlin picked it up. It was still warm. “Whoever was here is long gone.”
“What does this mean?” his friend asked.
“It means I am finally on the right trail of my father’s betrayer.” His hands clenched into fists and he thumped the tree. “I will avenge him.”
“Not if you're dead,” His friend growled low in this throat. “Listen, you need to take this threat seriously. No going out on your own. Make sure you're armed at all times." He glanced over his shoulder. “The villain will not challenge you to a duel at twenty paces. He’ll hide in the shadows and strike like a slimy-snake”
Devlin silently agreed as he made his way toward his carriage. As he sat back on the squab a blanket over his knees, determination and hope filled his soul. He wiped his brow. He was close. So close. He’d send word to his men in Scotland at once. He wanted to know every detail of all they had learned.
He hung his head and tried to calm his racing heart by taking deep breaths. If he could unmask the real traitor, his life would be restored and he could… what could he do and what did he want to do?
An image of a stunning, fair-haired beauty whose eyes flashed like brilliant diamonds when provoked filled his head.
He smiled.
He’d always sworn he’d never marry until his father’s name had been cleared, but money saw that vow fall off an enormous cliff. The tin mine had slightly eased the family money situation, but he still needed to marry well.
He couldn’t wait for the opera tonight.
Dharma’s dowry would help him and if he could give her a title and name untarnished by treason, that would be a fair trade. He would not need to feel guilty at the knowledge his heart was so badly shredded he might never love again.
* * *
Devlin refused to look at his pocket-watch for a third time. Where the hell was Clayton? If they didn’t arrive soon, he’d have no chance to talk to Dharma before the Opera began. He hoped society would view him more favorably if they saw Lord Clayton and his family in his box at the Theatre Royal, which he hadn't been able to afford for several seasons. He’d spent the last eight years cultivating an unblemished reputation and many of thetonhad begrudgingly accepted he was not like his father.
Everyone except Lord Whetton.
And since young Hawthorne, Whetton’s heir, seemed to have set his sights on Rosemary, Devlin needed to restore their family name or at least show he was nothing like his late father, if Rosemary was to marry well.
He’d already grilled Rosemary regarding the couple’s stroll this afternoon. He’d been livid with jealousy when he heard Fencourt and Dharma had joined them. How had Dharma reacted to Fencourt? Rosemary’s impression was that Fencourt could be a contender for Dharma’s hand. His sister was loving his predicament a tad too much for his liking.
“Do stop pacing,” his mother gushed. “You’re making me quite dizzy.”
He ignored his mother, but stopped pacing. He took a seat next to Rosemary. “Will Hawthorne be joining us?”
“I’m hoping so. He said he was attending.” But he could see the doubt in Rosemary’s eyes. Was Hawthorne the man she thought he was?
“I’ve found Hawthorne to be a gentleman. If he said he would be here, he will be.”
She sighed. “But I believe his father is attending too. I don’t want to put him in the position of making a scene. I certainly don’t want theton’sattention on me.”
She’d had too much of that in her young life, and none of it was good. He looked toward the entrance to his box once again.
