*********

Allie stared at the pistol and fought the panic threatening to overwhelm her. Surely her life would not end like this… at the hands of this madman. Her gaze darted about, but there was nowhere to escape. Because they stood in this small clearing, even if she attempted to run, he'd shoot her before she made it to the closest tree.

A wave of anger rolled through her, pushing aside some of her fear. No. She could not allow this to happen. Would not allow another man to control her, to steal something else from her-this time her life. Help was coming. All she needed was a little more time.

One look at her captor's face, however, withered any hope of him gifting her with that time. He appeared perfectly composed, the hand holding the pistol steady, his eyes intent. Still, she had to try to stall.

"Geoffrey-" Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. "Think about what you are doing. If you kill me, you will hang. You will be caught, and it will all be for naught."

"But I will not be caught, my dear. I already told you my plan, my explanation for when I am questioned. No one will dare gainsay the word of the earl of Shelbourne." He inclined his head, and what looked like genuine regret passed over his features. "I wish I did not have to kill you, Alberta. You're a very beautiful woman. Under different circumstances, we might have enjoyed each other immensely." His gaze flicked down her body.

Her breath caught as a combination of revulsion and hope slammed into her. Commanding herself to concentrate on hope, she bit back her disgust, and forced a tiny smile to her stiff lips. Say anything, do anything, to gain yourself a few more minutes…

"We still could enjoy each other," she said in what she prayed was a suggestive tone. "Your secret would be safe with me, Geoffrey. I would never tell anyone."

He raised his brows, and for several seconds mulled over her words. But then he shook his head. "A tempting offer, my dear. But I'm afraid this is the only way. Good-bye, Alberta." He raised the pistol several inches. Her brain shouted at her to run, but her feet seemed nailed to the ground.

"Stop!" The sharp, hoarse command came from her left and her knees nearly gave way with relief. Robert emerged from the trees, a knife gripped in his hand. Geoffrey's attention turned to Robert, and he swiveled the pistol in his direction. "Stay where you are, Jamison."

Her relief immediately turned to dread. Robert was alone. Her heart stuttered to a near stop. And now the weapon pointed at him.

Robert's gaze raked over her, and she jerked her head in a nod to let him know she was unharmed. Then, with his gaze fixed on Geoffrey, he moved slowly toward her.

"Halt, Jamison, or I shall shoot you."

"Go ahead," Robert invited in a deadly voice, continuing closer toward her. "That's the only way you'll stop me."

Fear iced her blood. She wanted to scream at him to stop, but before she could utter a sound, he dashed forward the last several feet separating them and shoved her behind him, making himself a shield between her and Geoffrey.

"There are two of us here, Shelbourne," Robert said, "with more on the way. You will not have time to reload after your shot. It's over. Throw down your weapon."

"This does not concern you, Jamison." His eyes burned with hatred. "You have no right to interfere in matters you know nothing about."

"I know all about it," Robert said, his voice dripping ice. "All about the contents of the letter in the ring box. All about the dead man on the path back there, and the numerous attempts you've made on Allie's life. I know that you are not in fact the earl of Shelbourne."

Geoffrey's face contorted with crimson rage. "The only proof is that note. When I get it-"

"You're wrong. There's also a marriage certificate documenting the union between your father and his Irish wife. And the recording of their son's baptism. I've seen both documents."

Every drop of color drained from Geoffrey's face. "Impossible. You're lying. How could you have seen such documents?"

"Your half brother, the true earl, showed them to me when he arrived at Bradford Hall less than an hour ago. He retrieved them from the church in Ireland where his mother married Nigel Hadmore. It's over. Toss down your weapon."

Surely Geoffrey would realize the hopelessness of his situation and listen to Robert. But when Allie looked at Geoffrey from around Robert's broad shoulder, all hope died at the desperation and hatred contorting Geoffrey's features. Dear God, one tiny movement of that madman's finger would mean the end of Robert's life.

"Who is he?" Geoffrey asked, his voice a near-croak.

Robert's shoulders tensed. "I'll not say this again. Put down your weapon."

"Tell me who he is," Geoffrey screamed.

"There's really no need to, as you'll be meeting him face-to-face momentarily. But as long as you insist, it is Michael Evers, the pugilist. I know you're already acquainted with him, as I've seen you at his boxing emporium."

An eerie stillness fell over the group, and for a few seconds, the only sounds Allie could hear were the beating of her own heart and Geoffrey's ragged breathing.

"It's not possible," came Geoffrey's strangled words. "He's nothing… he's as common as street trash."

"On the contrary, he's the foremost pugilist in the country. And he is the earl of Shelbourne."

Hatred such as Allie had never seen blazed in Geoffrey's eyes. "You mock me with your falsehoods, you bastard. I may not win the day, but I can at least make certain that your lying mouth is silenced."

Before the full horror of his intention could truly dawn in Allie's mind, Geoffrey raised the pistol and squeezed the trigger.

Robert surged forward, and then crumpled into a heap at her feet.

Chapter 24

The sharp report of a pistol rent the air, followed almost immediately by a woman's sharp call for help.

Mrs. Brown. Without breaking his run, Austin veered swiftly toward the sound. "The lake," he shouted to Michael and Miles, who followed hard on his heels. His heart slammed against his ribs, and he forced himself not to imagine what he'd find.

Less than a minute later, they burst into a small clearing, and his worst fears were realized. Robert lay on the ground. Mrs. Brown kneeled next to him, her face chalk-white, pressing her petticoat to his shoulder. A short distance away, Shelbourne lay in the dirt, his breathing labored, his features contorted with pain, the hilt of a knife protruding from his gut.

"See to Shelbourne," he said to Michael, then ran directly to Robert, with Miles following him.

"Thank God you're here," Mrs. Brown said, her gaze flicking over him and Miles for only a second before returning to Robert.

"Is he alive?" Austin asked, dropping to his knees. His stomach turned over at the ashen pallor of Robert's skin and the dark stain spreading on his jacket.

“Yes. But he's… he's bleeding badly. I don't know how serious the wound is." Her voice shook, but her hands were steady as she applied pressure to stem the blood. Austin watched the white petticoat turn a frightening red. "I… I couldn't rip my petticoat, so I just removed it. We need bandages. A doctor." She looked at Austin through frightened eyes. "He saved my life. Threw his knife as Geoffrey shot him and-"

"I know." Forcing his own fear aside, he looked at Miles. "We need a physician. As quickly as possible."

With a terse nod, Miles dashed off in the direction of the stables.

Austin then instructed tersely, "All right. Let's apply more pressure to slow this bleeding. Then we can examine the wound." He placed his hands over hers and pressed downward. And prayed for his brother's life.


*******

Michael crouched down next to Geoffrey Hadmore. Pain glazed his dark eyes, and his chest heaved with shallow, panting breaths. His hands spasmed over his stomach, where crimson blood spread in an ever-widening stain against his white shirt. One look at the wound left no doubt it was fatal. Hadmore was clearly in agony, and God knew a knife to the gut was a miserable way to die. Yet it was difficult to dredge up sympathy for the man. Still, Michael removed his jacket, bunched it into a makeshift pillow, then slipped it beneath Hadmore's head.

Hadmore's pain-filled gaze focused on him. "You," he whispered. "You bastard."

Michael raised his brows. "Actually, it appears that you are the bastard, Hadmore." A humorless, disgusted sound pushed between his lips. "These past few years you've been coming to my boxing emporium… who would have guessed we'd have more in common than a love of sport?"

Geoffrey's eyes narrowed to hate-filled slits. "We have nothing in common."

"I would have to agree. The man who fathered both of us was indeed nothing." His gaze flicked down to the protruding knife hilt, then he asked with a sense of detached curiosity "Why? Was this title truly worth your life?"

Geoffrey grimaced. "It was my life," he gasped. "Everything I was… from the day I was born." His eyes cleared briefly and burned with loathing. "You're nothing but trash. You'll never live up to the title. You'll be… laughed out of Society." His eyes slid closed, his breathing growing more labored.

Michael leaned closer to him and whispered, "At least I'll be around to hear the laughter, which is more than you can say."

"I hope… you rot… in hell."

Michael shrugged. "I may-someday. But you'll rot there first."

A trickle of blood oozed from between Geoffrey's lips. A final breath rattled in his lungs, then his head slumped to the side and he was still.