Free Scandalous by Karen Robards Page B

and pointed unwaveringly at his midsection. He stood watching her from perhaps three feet away, his hands, palms out, lifted to shoulder height in front of him, his mouth hard. The front of his greatcoat hung open, revealing his immaculate linen, his black breeches and the muted silver of his waistcoat. His jaw was set; his eyes glinted unpleasantly. In fact, he looked very much like a man bested by a woman, and one, moreover, who greatly disliked the fact. Gabby couldn't help herself: she smiled.
    "Now, what's to be done with a villain such as yourself?" she pondered aloud, thoroughly enjoying the sensation of having turned the tables on him. "Should I shoot you out of hand, or merely hand you over to the authorities as soon as may be?"
    "You must do as you please, of course, but while you consider your options you might also consider this: if you reveal to the world that I am not Wickham, I shall be forced to thrust a spoke in your wheel by confessing that Wickham has, in fact, met his end."
    Gabby's eyes narrowed at this— a more telling threat than he knew— and her voice grew waspish. "You can reveal nothing if you are dead, sirrah."
    "Very true, but I cannot think that you really wish to figure as a murderess. They hang, you know."
    "To shoot a man who has held a gun on and threatened to strangle one certainly cannot be considered murder," she protested indignantly.
    He shrugged. "Do you mind if I lower my arms? My hands are beginning to tingle…." He did so without waiting for her reply, shaking his hands as though to restore circulation to them, then crossed his arms over his chest and regarded her quizzically. "Murder is a question for the courts to decide, of course, but by the time the decision is made, whether or not you are eventually found innocent will scarcely matter: only think of the scandal. I am sure you cannot wish to bring so much notoriety down upon your family."
    Gabby's lips compressed. To admit that he had a point, even to herself, was a struggle. But what he said was, she feared, horribly, hideously true. If she wished to find a top-of-the-trees husband for Claire, they could afford no hint of scandal.
    She smiled grimly. "Your warning has a great deal of merit, I must admit. If I shoot you, I shall take care to conceal the fact."
    His brows lifted. "Thus placing yourself in the dilemma you earlier pointed out to me: disposing of the— er— bloody corpse. You won't be able to shift me yourself, you know. I outweigh you by, at a rough guess, a good six stone." His gaze flicked beyond her, and his expression brightened. "Excellent timing, Barnet. You must…"
    Whatever else he said was lost as Gabby instinctively cast a glance over her shoulder. Barnet was nowhere in sight; the door to the library remained closed. Even as she registered those facts— it took no more than a split second— and realized that she had been played for a fool, a flurry of sound and movement snapped her attention forward again. It was too late: having leaped toward her in that moment of her inattentiveness, he grabbed her wrist in a brutal grip that hurt, turning the pistol to the side even as he attempted to wrest it from her grasp….
    Whether she truly meant to pull the trigger she was never afterward sure. In any case, the pistol went off with a kick like a mule's and a terrible explosion of sound.
    He gave a sharp cry and staggered back, a hand clapped to his side. Their gazes, hers horrified, his shocked, met and held for an instant in which time seemed to stop.
    "By God, you've shot me," he said.

 
    7
    She was staring at him as if she expected him to keel over dead at any moment. Her horrified expression brought a wry smile to his lips even as he clapped his hand hard over the place where the bullet had gone in. However much she might wish it, he knew from the location of the wound that he would not die. There were no vital organs that he was aware of located just above the hipbone.
    He was, however, bleeding.