How could she? “Better I take the blame than you.”
“Neville,” her gaze softened. “My flintlock isn’t primed.” She dangled the firearm. “See? Besides, for the shot to break the window and scatter glass inside the barn, the ball had to come from outside.”
Even through the chaotic beating of his heart, her words rang true. Neville took in what he could see of his surrounds.
Shewasright—the glass had shattered inward. There were pieces of glass clinging to her greatcoat and scattered over his trousers. And Willard had fallen toward him, not away.
“Then who?” he demanded. “How?”
“I don’t know.” She squinted out the window. “I can’t see well enough—but there are more men out there than Dixon and Asquith.”
“Could have been Dixon.”
Millie shook her head. “I don’t think Dixon would have been so hasty.”
Hasty? He’d thought the timing spot on.
“There is a carriage between here and the house. One that wasn’t there when I came in.”
“Beloved,” Neville spoke gently. “Do you think you could assist with my binds?”
“Oh!” She swiveled. “Oh, heavens. I’m so sorry.” One by one, she pulled off her gloves—herman’sgloves. “Yes!” She hastened to his side. “Yes, of course.”
As she crouched by his side, he realized she was not wearing a dress beneath her greatcoat. Scandalous. His eyes stung.Scandalous and dear.
Her disguise was good. She even held herself like a man. But she hadn’t taken the time to completely purge her feminine scent, and, even in this putrid place, he caught a whiff that was pure Millie. For a blissful, calming moment, he took in the aroma, profoundly glad to be alive.
The second she freed his hands, he had her in his arms. He pulled her off her feet, and she landed with anoofin his lap. He couldn’t even feel his fingers yet, so he was hardly aware of the pain. All he knew was he held his wife close. His wife, who was now safe, not to mention alive.
He didn’t give a damn about anything else.
A throat-clearing sound from the doorway brought him back to his senses. Millie drew back and glanced over her shoulder.
“My lord,” Millie gasped.
Lord Eltenham entered the chamber, his gaze fixed, not on the reuniting couple, but on the body of his son. Neville couldn’t quite read his expression, but one thing was clear—Eltenham wasn’t surprised.
After giving Millie one last squeeze, he released her. She braced herself against the wall and stood. Then, she turned and helped him to his feet as well. He brushed off his trousers and straightened his muddied coat.
Eltenham continued to stare down at his son with a face so blank and eyes so bland, Neville’s chill deepened.
“Eltenham,” Neville greeted.
“Neville.” Eltenham gave Neville a formal nod, as if they were greeting one another across a London parlor. “And Mr—” He stopped. Again, he cleared his throat. “That is, Miss—”
“Lady,” Neville clarified. “Last night, Lady Neville and I were married at Harbury House.”
“Special license.” Eltenham’s eyes moved over Millie, lingering on the Harbury crest stitched into the livery. “I see.”
Neville’s mention of the duke had been deliberate.
Eltenham had just killed his son. Although the rifle Eltenham held in his hands had been spent, Neville didn’t know if the earl had brought a second firearm. Neville imagined Eltenham wouldn’t want to leave witnesses. But neither Neville nor Millie were people even Eltenham could make disappear without inviting inquiry.
Eltenham met Neville’s gaze. “Had I known about your nuptials, I would have offered your mother congratulations on her visit earlier today.”
“Lord Eltenham…”
As Millie spoke, Neville followed her gaze to the still-smoking rifle in Eltenham’s hand.