Page 4 of Wicked Highland Heroes

“What the bloody hell?” their father roared.

An instant later, the weight lifted. Eve vaguely understood her father had pulled Grace off them, then she suddenly felt light as a feather and realized the earl had shoved off of her. He whirled, swinging a large fist that cracked against her father’s jaw. Eve jumped from the bed and tripped. She hit the floor shoulder first. Pain radiated up her arm. Her father rammed a fist into the earl’s stomach. Lord Rushton stumbled back a step, but jerked straight and sent a hard jab to her father’s ribs.

“Stop!” she shouted, but the earl struck again.

Her father blocked the blow, but the younger man was too fast and pounded a fist into his stomach. Eve spotted the pistol lying on the carpet and grabbed it. She aimed and pulled the trigger.

*****

For an instant, Erroll was sure the roar he’d heard wasn’t a pistol shot, and the pain that seared across his left calf wasn’t a bullet wound. A yank to his boot sent him sprawling onto his backside, with the pistol now inches from his face.

He looked at the woman who knelt beside him, pointing a gun at him for the second time that night, and said, “You used your one shot.”

She blinked in confusion, then dropped her arm and fell onto her rump beside him. “This, sir, is a prime example of why a man does not enter a lady’s bedroom uninvited.”

Erroll scanned the room. The mamma still lay on the floor where she’d fainted. The other lady stood, perfect breasts heaving beneath the white cotton of her nightgown, and green eyes blazing. The older man stood, hand braced against the wardrobe, drawing in deep breaths. And, glory be, the innkeeper and two maids stood in the doorway, mouths agape. His father would hear of this escapade before the doctor finished tending his gunshot wound.

Erroll looked at the lady. “For once, madam, I would have to agree.”

*****

“Have you lost your mind?” Eve asked her sister for the dozenth time after their arrival home in Manchester early that morning.

Grace reclined beside her on the couch in the parlor. Their mother sat in a nearby chair, and the two sipped tea as serenely as if they entertained visitors on a Sunday afternoon. Eve couldn’t help a glance at the closed door. Her father and Lord Rushton had been sequestered in the study for over an hour. What could be taking so long?

Eve cast Grace a thin-lipped look. “How could you possibly think you would get away with such a lie?”

Grace gave a careless shrug. “He is a rake of the first order. The only thing stopping him from being guilty of the crime is opportunity.”

“For heaven’s sake, Grace, he hasn’t married a one of the women who claimed he compromised them. Why would he marry you, the daughter of a baron with no fortune to speak of—and sight unseen, no less?”

Grace’s eyes narrowed on her. “But if he were caught in bed with you he would have no choice but to marry you?”

“Grace,” their mother admonished.

Ire flared through Eve. “He mistook me for you.”

“No one could possibly mistake you for me.”

Before last night Eve would have agreed. Grace’s raven black hair and emerald green eyes alone separated them by miles. “He did,” Eve said. “All because he never laid eyes on you before today. My God, even a rakehell such as Lord Rushton doesn’t deserve to be trapped so deceitfully.”

“He will do well with me,” Grace replied. “I’ll give him an heir, then he will go about his business as any man in his position would.”

Eve eyed her sister critically “The perfect society wife?”

“Of course.”

“And if his father won’t let him marry you?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Grace asked.

“Don’t pretend ignorance,” Eve said. “You know full well we do not run in their circles. A man of his station will not marry a baron’s daughter.”

“That is ridiculous,” their mother said. “Grace is as good as any other girl—better, in fact.”

“That makes no difference, as you know well, Mother,” Eve said.

Grace waved a dismissive hand. “Just because that’s what happened to you, doesn’t mean it will happen to me.”