Page 75 of A Stormy Season

Either way, his only hope was that the henchman cared too much for his own life to shoot him.

~ ~ ~

Jane silently berated herself for not bringing her own pistol. Her brother had given her a smaller one in case she wished to carry it in her purse, but she had not brought it with her. In her state of heightened awareness of danger, she was certain she could aim it at Lenoir and at least incapacitate him. But even if she did, all four of them could end up dead, as close as they were to each other.

“Give me the list and I will let you both live,” Lenoir said. “But if you don’t, I will shoot you both.”

“Very well. I will give it to you.”

“Where is it?” Lenoir asked.

“It’s in my coat pocket, right side.”

Lenoir took a step toward him. The hateful man kept coming, even while Luke and the henchman kept their guns trained on each other. Finally, letting his gun drop to his side, Lenoir reached into Luke’s pocket and drew out the paper.

With one hand he flipped it open, glanced at the names, then folded it and stuck it in his own pocket. “Thank you very much,” Lenoir said, backing away.

A loud shot—so loud it was more like two shots at once—rang out. Jane screamed and stared hard at Luke.

Somehow Luke was still holding his gun, looking one way, then the other.

Lenoir was crying out and staring at his hand, the one that had just been holding a gun but was now empty and spurting blood. Meanwhile, his henchman was lying on the ground, not moving.

Then Jane saw Henry and half a dozen men approaching cautiously from the direction of the house, all with guns raised.

Luke turned and saw them too, finally lowering his pistol and wrapping his arms around Jane.

She embraced him back, her heart beating so hard it hurt her chest.

“You’re alive. Thank God. Thank God,” she said, almost choking on the words.

She noticed her legs were trembling from bracing against the side of the carriage, which was resting at an angle on its broken axle.

“Are you injured?” Luke said, pulling away to look at her. His hands held onto her shoulders, and his hungry eyes took her in from her waist to the top of her head.

“No, I am well. And you?” She searched his face and upper body, making sure there was no dark red stain blooming anywhere.

“Yes, I think so.”

Henry was beside the carriage, reaching up to help her down. But she pretended not to see him, instead clinging to Luke’s arms.

Nothing seemed to matter at all anymore except that Luke was not hurt.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Jane held on to Luke’s arm as they walked the rest of the way to her home.

Luke stayed and had tea with them after Henry left to tend to his two injured prisoners, Lenoir and his henchman. They discussed with Penelope what had happened, as well as the implications of the list of people—British citizens of good reputation—involved with Lenoir and his nefarious plans to infiltrate and eventually overthrow the government.

All Jane could think about was how close Luke had come to being killed. Her hand shook as she lifted her teacup and brought it to her lips, shook when she took a bite of a tart, shook when she touched her napkin to her lips.

And her eyes kept going to Luke, to where he sat in the chair between her and her sister-in-law, talking about Lenoir and the list.

She noticed his gaze moved to her almost as often as she looked at him.

Penelope was more talkative than usual, expressing her relief, shock, and fear by turns as she talked of what had happened. She seemed to understand that Jane was not herself, that she was still shocked. Indeed, Jane found it difficult to speak without tears coming into her eyes, so hearing Penelope’s voice was rather soothing.

Thank you, Penelope. You are such a good friend.She couldn’t say the words out loud or she would start to cry, and she wanted them to think she was brave.