Page 15 of The Hero

Yet someone had shot Dunhill. Someone, as it seemed Whiting had already stated, who had yet to come forward and admit to having done so.

Gideon could think of only two reasons for that oversight.

Firstly, that the culprit was too embarrassed to admit what they had done.

Secondly, and far more likely to Gideon’s way of thinking, that Dunhill was the one responsible for killing Plymouth.

If that were the case, then Gideon did not doubt the other man had likely been blackmailed into it. But that did not make him any less guilty.

Whatever the reason, Gideon’s presence here this weekend seemed to have alarmed the blackmailer, to the degree he had decided to remove Dunhill from the chain of events altogether.

The biggest factor against that being the case was Dunhill himself.

During those months of fighting the previous year, it had been obvious the man was not naturally a fighting man. So much so that even the possibility of him killing another English soldier in cold blood now seemed untenable.

Gideon could see the worry and concern bracketing Harry’s eyes. “You may ask to check my gun, if you wish. It has not been fired this morning.”

“Why hasn’t it?”

“I accompanied the other gentlemen, but was not in the mood for the sport of shooting today.”

“Oh.”

He nodded. “We will perhaps learn more about this unfortunate event when your father is not in so much pain and is able to converse coherently. He is too uncomfortable at the moment to concentrate on anything else. He will feel much better in the morning for having rested in his bedchamber.”

She eyed him curiously. “You sound as if you speak from experience?”

“Because I do.”

Her gaze sharpened. “You have been shot?”

He nodded. “During the battle at Waterloo.”

At the time, they had all assumed it was a French soldier who shot him. The events which followed, and having recently learned Plymouth had been murdered rather than died in battle, had since caused the Ruthless Dukes to question the attack which had incapacitated the member of their exclusive group who also happened to be the best shot.

“Where were you shot?” Harry frowned in concern.

“In the back.” Gideon dismissed the cowardly action.

“High, in the shoulder? Or…” She broke off as he shook his head. “Then where?”

“Level with my heart, but luckily, it glanced off one of my ribs and embedded itself in my lung.”

“Luckily?” She drew in a harsh breath. “You might have died!”

Gideon couldn’t mistake the distress he heard in her voice for anything else. “That would have upset you?”

She glared. “Of course.”

He nodded. “I too would have considered it a tragedy.”

“I should think anyone would regret being dead before their allotted three score and ten.”

“Not for that reason,” he said gruffly, knowing, no matter what he might have decided in the clear light of day and far from Harry’s disturbing presence, that the moment he was in her company again, he instantly wanted to make love to her. As he did now. “You—” He broke off when he heard someone coming up the stairs in the direction of the hallway. “I believe we are about to be joined by your uncle.” He easily recognized the heavy tread and equally heavy breathing of his overweight host.

“Oh dear Lord!” Harry’s eyes were wide, an expression of absolute panic on her suddenly pale face as she turned to look down the hallway. “He must not see the two of us alone here together,” she hissed in warning.

“We are only talking—”

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