Page 68 of The Texan Duke
“I can assure you, Miss Carew,” Mr. Kirby said, “I do not lie. It is the presence of a beautiful woman such as yourself that keeps my young friend from shouting all manner of obscenities.”
She expected Connor to say something, but Mrs. Ferguson was digging into the wound. She felt Connor’s arm tighten beneath her. Her hand moved from his wrist to his palm. Their fingers interlocked and he squeezed her hand just once, a wordless acknowledgment of her need to offer him comfort.
“I’m sorry if I was a harpy, earlier,” she said softly. “I was just worried.”
“I want another kiss.”
It was evident from Mr. Kirby’s chuckle that he had heard Connor’s comment. Had the duchess? She was most definitely not going to look in Rhona’s direction right now.
She really did need to deflect everyone’s attention. Just for a few moments until her cheeks cooled.
Thankfully, Mr. Kirby came to her rescue.
“What happened, Miss Carew?”
She half expected Connor to answer, but he kept his eyes closed.
She glanced over her shoulder at Mr. Kirby. “Someone shot at us,” she said.
“Did you see who it was?”
She shook her head. “Would you please ring for the majordomo? I need to send some men over to Castle McCraight to see if they can find any clues.”
“I have some experience at tracking men, Miss Carew,” he said. “If you’ll allow me, I would be pleased to supervise the investigation.”
She glanced at him and then away, certain that she’d never seen a man’s face change so quickly. One moment he was affable, even teasing. The next, his eyes had flattened and turned hard.
She was very grateful he was Connor’s friend and that he was demonstrating some loyalty. No one else was. Members of the staff looked more concerned than the family. Rhona hadn’t gasped in horror. The three daughters didn’t look distressed. Felix certainly hadn’t stepped up and offered to help.
For the first time since she’d come to Bealadair she was ashamed of the McCraights.
“Thank you, Mr. Kirby,” she said. “I would appreciate your help.”
No doubt she was going to pay for those words, too.
The bullet wasn’t easy to find.
A few minutes into the operation, Elsbeth closed her eyes and practiced breathing very slowly. It didn’t seem to quell her nausea, however. To keep herself from becoming sick at the smell of Connor’s blood, she concentrated on the feel of their linked fingers.
Mrs. Ferguson was pressing Mr. Kirby into service. Were the two of them probing the wound? She wasn’t going to look. She couldn’t. Instead, she bent her head, almost as if she were praying, and rested her cheek against the back of Connor’s hand, willing this ordeal to be over for him.
“Tell me about Texas,” she said. “However do you manage two million acres?”
“Not all at once,” he said. To her amazement his tone sounded almost amused. Pained, but holding a dose of humor.
With her eyes closed, and so close to him, she could almost pretend they were alone. If somehow she could ignore Mrs. Ferguson talking about the bullet slipping from her grasp and Mr. Kirby marveling at the amount of blood.
“Do you have a great many cattle?”
“About a hundred seventy thousand head,” he said, the words spoken from between clenched lips.
Was he delirious? She couldn’t even conceive of that many cattle.
She felt him stiffen just as Mrs. Ferguson made a triumphant sound.
“Got it!” she said.
Elsbeth opened her eyes to see the housekeeper’s blood-drenched hands triumphantly holding the bullet. She was truly afraid she was going to get sick. If she was with anyone else, she might have succumbed, but she didn’t want Connor to see her that way.
