fox with its tail on fire.
“Come and help me with his jacket,” Jenny instructed, her voice sharp.
“Yes. Yes, of course.” Blinking, Diane moved forward and knelt beside him to yank Haybury’s jacket down his arms.
Oliver cursed blackly, using a selection of profanity so varied that some of it she’d never heard before. “I’ll do it,” he barked, pushing her back with his elbow.
One of the maids arrived with water and cloths, then hurried away again. This wouldn’t be the first test of her household’s discretion, but a shooting would be of far more temptation and interest to everyone than a countess’s monochromatic wardrobe. Better to know now if they could be trusted, she supposed, rather than later.
“It looks to be a deep graze, my lord,” Jenny said, ripping the sleeve of Oliver’s lawn shirt off at the shoulder. “No ball to dig out.”
“And yet I don’t feel so very grateful,” Oliver retorted.
“Be thankful that I can aim, then,” Diane commented, sticking her finger through the hole in his jacket sleeve and attempting to rid her head of the last of its cobwebs. “And that I decided your heart was too shriveled to make a decent target.”
His right hand jabbed out and caught her around the wrist. “We’re even now, Diane,” he breathed, pulling her closer and off balance. “I damaged your pride in Vienna and now you’ve shot me. Attempt something like that again and I won’t be so charitable.”
She kept her arm relaxed, refusing to pull against a grip she couldn’t break without putting both feet against his chest. So he thought he’d done nothing more than damage her pride. God knew he wasn’t a stupid man, though. Had he not even realized how much he’d hurt her? It was so odd to think she might have misread things. And even odder was the way she abruptly seemed willing to look at them—at him—again. After all, she had shot him. Perhaps he’d earned a moment of consideration before she began loathing him again.
“If you attempt to kiss me again without my consent I will aim my pistol much lower,” she returned, because she had no intention of letting him know what she was thinking.
He released her arm, his gaze sharpening. “Not without your consent, then.”
“You both baffle me,” Jenny muttered as she wrapped the deep gash high on Haybury’s well-muscled left arm. “That’s the most civil conversation I’ve heard you have. Now, have a seat back in the sitting room, my lord, and I will fetch you a whiskey while Diane finds you one of Lord Cameron’s old jackets.”
Oliver sent her friend a dubious look. “I am not going to wear a hand-me-down, and certainly not one worn by that fool.”
Diane stood once more. “You have another group of ladies to assess in ten minutes. And keep your opinion of my late husband to yourself.” Whether she agreed with it or not.
To her surprise, Oliver pulled himself to his feet and followed her down the hallway, denying her the moments she needed to think. Of course he was much more to blame than she was, because he’d stepped into the illusion that she had control of the entire situation and he’d stepped into her memories. And he’d found the chink in her armor.
She’d wounded him, but now he knew that physical contact with him rattled her. Diane scowled at the air before her. Damn it all. When she’d realized she needed to include Oliver Warren in her plans she’d known he wouldn’t be happy about it. She knew how he conducted both his business and personal affairs, and she’d thought herself prepared for it. Clearly she’d been wrong. Because whether she wished to deny it or not, she had kissed him back. And for the maddest, briefest of moments, she’d enjoyed doing so.
“I have a question,” Oliver said from just behind her.
She resisted squaring her shoulders. “If the question is about why I shot you, I believe you can figure it out on your own.”
“Yes, I know precisely why you shot me.
“Come and help me with his jacket,” Jenny instructed, her voice sharp.
“Yes. Yes, of course.” Blinking, Diane moved forward and knelt beside him to yank Haybury’s jacket down his arms.
Oliver cursed blackly, using a selection of profanity so varied that some of it she’d never heard before. “I’ll do it,” he barked, pushing her back with his elbow.
One of the maids arrived with water and cloths, then hurried away again. This wouldn’t be the first test of her household’s discretion, but a shooting would be of far more temptation and interest to everyone than a countess’s monochromatic wardrobe. Better to know now if they could be trusted, she supposed, rather than later.
“It looks to be a deep graze, my lord,” Jenny said, ripping the sleeve of Oliver’s lawn shirt off at the shoulder. “No ball to dig out.”
“And yet I don’t feel so very grateful,” Oliver retorted.
“Be thankful that I can aim, then,” Diane commented, sticking her finger through the hole in his jacket sleeve and attempting to rid her head of the last of its cobwebs. “And that I decided your heart was too shriveled to make a decent target.”
His right hand jabbed out and caught her around the wrist. “We’re even now, Diane,” he breathed, pulling her closer and off balance. “I damaged your pride in Vienna and now you’ve shot me. Attempt something like that again and I won’t be so charitable.”
She kept her arm relaxed, refusing to pull against a grip she couldn’t break without putting both feet against his chest. So he thought he’d done nothing more than damage her pride. God knew he wasn’t a stupid man, though. Had he not even realized how much he’d hurt her? It was so odd to think she might have misread things. And even odder was the way she abruptly seemed willing to look at them—at him—again. After all, she had shot him. Perhaps he’d earned a moment of consideration before she began loathing him again.
“If you attempt to kiss me again without my consent I will aim my pistol much lower,” she returned, because she had no intention of letting him know what she was thinking.
He released her arm, his gaze sharpening. “Not without your consent, then.”
“You both baffle me,” Jenny muttered as she wrapped the deep gash high on Haybury’s well-muscled left arm. “That’s the most civil conversation I’ve heard you have. Now, have a seat back in the sitting room, my lord, and I will fetch you a whiskey while Diane finds you one of Lord Cameron’s old jackets.”
Oliver sent her friend a dubious look. “I am not going to wear a hand-me-down, and certainly not one worn by that fool.”
Diane stood once more. “You have another group of ladies to assess in ten minutes. And keep your opinion of my late husband to yourself.” Whether she agreed with it or not.
To her surprise, Oliver pulled himself to his feet and followed her down the hallway, denying her the moments she needed to think. Of course he was much more to blame than she was, because he’d stepped into the illusion that she had control of the entire situation and he’d stepped into her memories. And he’d found the chink in her armor.
She’d wounded him, but now he knew that physical contact with him rattled her. Diane scowled at the air before her. Damn it all. When she’d realized she needed to include Oliver Warren in her plans she’d known he wouldn’t be happy about it. She knew how he conducted both his business and personal affairs, and she’d thought herself prepared for it. Clearly she’d been wrong. Because whether she wished to deny it or not, she had kissed him back. And for the maddest, briefest of moments, she’d enjoyed doing so.
“I have a question,” Oliver said from just behind her.
She resisted squaring her shoulders. “If the question is about why I shot you, I believe you can figure it out on your own.”
“Yes, I know precisely why you shot me.
Similar Books
