Free Virginia Henley by Ravished

his head to pick up the sound of the horns or the baying of the staghounds. Suddenly, he heard a shot that sounded quite close and urged his horse in that direction. He drew one of his hunting pistols from the saddle holster just in case a stag bolted through the trees from the direction of the shot. He came to a clearing and recognized his brother. It took him only a moment to spot another red-jacketed figure crumpled on the ground.
    Kit’s head jerked up with alarm as his brother approached. “There’s been an accident!” he cried.
    Nick holstered his gun and was out of the saddle in a split second, running to the man lying on the ground. “Good God, it’s Father!” Nick saw the ugly chest wound, smelled the metallic scent of blood, and heard his own heartbeat hammering in his ears. He felt for a pulse in vain. He looked up at Kit, who was still clutching his pistol. “He’s dead!” Nicholas said with disbelief.
    “It was an accident, I swear! Oh Christ, what am I to do?” Kit dismounted, took one step closer, threw down the pistol and clutched his head with his hands. “It was an accident!”
    “Of course it was an accident,” Nick assured him.
    “But they’ll never believe me . . . they’ll say I murdered him. . . . Everyone heard the terrible row we had this morning. . . . Dear God, Nick, help me!”
    Nicholas looked down hopelessly at the body he held; his father was already going cold. “Of course I’ll help you. We’ll explain it was an accident.”
    “No one will believe me! I killed him, and I had a motive. . . . They’ll arrest me!”
    “They won’t arrest you if it was an accident, Kit. Try to get hold of yourself and tell me what happened.”
    “A stag . . . we both saw it . . . I had a clear view. . . . He rode directly into my path as I fired.”
    Nicholas eased his father’s body back down to the ground, then got up from his knees and bent to retrieve the silver-mounted Heylin pistol from the grass where Kit had thrown it.
    “It’s your gun, Nick. Say you did it . . . please help me!”
    Nicholas stared at his twin’s chalky pallor and saw he was trembling like an aspen leaf. He felt his brother’s plight as sharply as if it were his own. Nick wished he had been to blame; how in the name of God would Kit carry the burden of guilt? He walked over to his brother. “Pull yourself together, Christopher.” Nick didn’t put his arms about him, because one hand held the gun and the other was covered with his father’s blood.
    A look of crazed panic came into Kit’s eyes as they heard the hounds approaching. “I’ll shoot myself! It’s the only way out.”
    Nicholas prevented him from snatching the gun, even though it was no longer loaded.
    Three hunters rode into the clearing. “What the devil has happened?”
    “Keep the dogs off!” Nicholas ordered. “I accidentally shot my father.”

Chapter 5
    The three mounted men stared in disbelief at the horrific scene before them. As more members of the hunting party rode into the clearing, Nicholas realized with a sinking heart that some of them had been spectators that night at the Hardings’ summerhouse when their father had lain stretched out upon the grass. He experienced an eerie feeling of déjà vu when someone asked, “Is he dead?”
    As it happened, the two legal authorities required to attend an accidental death were among the weekend guests. Colonel Stevenson was a Justice of the Peace; Lord Staines was the County Coroner.
    Lord Harding was the first out of the saddle. He glanced at Christopher and said with his usual air of authority, “Help me get your father up to the house.”
    Kit stepped back in horror, but at that moment Colonel Stevenson quickly intervened. “No, no, Harding. The scene must not be disturbed until we establish exactly what happened here. The body must not be touched until the Coroner has pronounced him dead.”
    Nicholas saw his twin’s deathly pallor and the terrified look in his eyes. He