“I’m not ly—”
Gunfire cut off Luke’s words.
Moira screamed as he fell to the floor.
∞∞∞
“I’ll not be back for dinner,” Smith told David, as his servant helped him into his overcoat.
“Very good, sir. And should—”
Somebody pounded on the door hard enough to make the windows rattle.
David looked at Smith. “Should I—”
“Open it,” Smith said, pulling on his gloves.
A young, breathless man in livery stood in the opening—Armand, Smith thought his name was—and there was blood smeared over his cheek.
“What happened?” Smith demanded.
“There’s a man with a gun and—”
Smith shoved past him and ran.
∞∞∞
“Get up,” Charles ordered.
Moira ignored him and pressed a torn piece of her day gown against the blood staining Luke’s shoulder.
“I said get. Up.” A boot struck Moira’s lower back, knocking her over Luke’s body.
She whipped around and glared up at the man holding the gun a few feet from her face.
“What iswrongwith you? He will bleed to death if I don’t—”
There was a light touch on her arm and she looked down.
Luke was smiling up at her, his hand fumbling with the cloth she’d been about to tuck under his coats and shirt to stop the bleeding. “I can do it, Moira. Do what he says.”
She opened her mouth to argue and the boot struck her again, jolting her spine.
“Yes, Moira,” Charles said in a mocking tone. “Do what I say.”
Luke nodded again and Moira took a deep breath and pushed up slowly. The urge to hunch protectively over her midriff was almost crippling.
Charles grabbed her arm and yanked her toward the door.
“What do you want?” she demanded, her eyes flooding with tears while her chest filled with rage.
“What do I want?” His eyes pulsed with rage. “What do you think I want, you stupid bitch? I want Smith back.” When he yanked open the door, she saw servants clustered in the hallway.
Charles pointed the revolver at Moira’s head. “Any of you try anything and I’ll kill her.”
The servants scattered like pigeons before a cat.
“Go and help Luke,” she called over her shoulder as Charles dragged her toward the stairs.