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A cold wave washed over Jude. And he felt his legs start to tremble as he envisioned a bullet leaving his gun and his long-dead wife, his first love, stumbling forward and then falling to the ground in a pool of blood.

“I’ve always wanted a rematch,” Tidworth said. “Let’s do it in the privacy of my uncle’s garden tomorrow morning. Shoot to kill. No seconds. No doctors. No witnesses.”

Jude blinked. The world had become hazy. He felt sweat gather on his forehead as the image of his dying wife plagued his mind.

“Well, Cadwell? Are you a gentleman or not?” Tidworth barked.

Jude’s throat felt dry. “No seconds?” That was all he could think to say.

“Yes, what for? We’ve already arranged the terms. This will be between you and me. There’s no need for anyone else, not even a doctor. We shoot to kill. Unless you refuse? But you won’t do that, will you? Because you are a gentleman who must defend his wife’s honor.”

“I…” Jude’s own screams filled his mind.

“Come on, Cadwell. It’s only right that you should give me the chance to avenge my sister, whom you murdered.”

Chapter Fourteen

Early the next morning, Jude sat in his carriage and held the silver box on his lap, steeling himself to open it. Just the thought made him shudder as if a snake was coiled inside. He gritted his teeth and lifted the lid. Nausea rose in his chest and sweat beaded his forehead as he forced himself to look at the silver pistol encased in its red velvet chamber. His throat felt dry as he reached for the hated weapon. As soon as he touched its cold metal body, his body jolted, just as it had done the day he’d fired the fatal shot that had killed Theodora. He heard her scream, saw her stumble to the ground…Jude retracted his hand and banged the lid shut.

He could not do this. He could not save Maggie.

Tidworth had been a bastard for as long as Jude had known him. When they’d attended Eton together, Jude had made a point of avoiding Tidworth whenever possible, but he often ran afoul of him when he was forced to intervene on behalf of a younger boy. Tidworth was a notorious bully. After Eton, Jude had hoped never to lay eyes on his nemesis again.

The last thing he expected was to fall in love with Tidworth’s sister.

He’d met Theodora Tidworth thirteen years ago at a ball. It had been love at first sight, and by the time he’d learned her name, it was too late. They’d both been so young, she nineteen and he twenty. She’d enchanted him—dazzled him—and he’d rationalized that Tidworth would have matured and changed since their days as schoolboys. He could not possibly object to his sister marrying an earl. But he had not changed, and though Theodora’s sickly father, the earl, gave his blessing, her brother, the viscount and heir, was vehemently opposed to the match. The situation upset Theodora so much that she decided to forgo a wedding, and she and Jude had eloped. Tidworth had been enraged, and Theodora becoming a countess did not stop him from berating his sister upon her return to London, calling her all manner of foul names.

Jude had had no option but to defend his wife’s honor. He’d challenged Tidworth to a duel. Theodora was distraught. She begged Jude not to go through with it, but there was no calling a duel off once a challenge had been given. He could not go through with hurting Theodora’s brother though, so when the time came for them to fire at each other, Jude turned his pistol to the side and fired into the woods. He did not see Theodora there—not until it was too late. His bullet had struck and killed her. Lady Tabitha, her sister, came up several feet behind her. When she saw her sister hit, she fell to her knees, screaming. Jude would never forget the sight of Tabitha, covered in blood while cradling her sister. Her screams still haunted him. She, like he, had never recovered. Though his peers ruled Theodora’s death an accident, he’d forever regard himself as a murderer.

“My lord,” Joseph opened the carriage door, jolting Jude back to the present. “It’s time.”

Jude nodded and passed his valet the silver container that held his pistol. He would hold it when the time came, but he would not shoot.

Maggie pushed against the bars of her window, desperate to free herself. She shouted Jude’s name, but he was too far away and could not hear her.

“No,” she cried, rattling the bars. “Please, Lord, don’t let him die.” She watched in horror as Jude and Tobias stood fifteen paces apart, facing each other, ready to draw their pistols, oblivious to the madwoman running toward them with her own pistol drawn.

It was Lady Tabitha. What was she doing in Dorset? How had she escaped her caretaker, Mrs. Norris? Where did she get a pistol? And more importantly, who did she intend to shoot? Maggie feared it would be every person standing in her path.

She rattled the bars again, yelled, and waved her arms, hoping that at the very least Tobias’s mad uncle would notice her. He sat in his wheelchair between the two men, looking straight ahead as if in a world of his own. Was he deaf? Could he not hear her? She screamed and banged again, but it was to no avail. The men were locked in their own tense game and remained oblivious to her and to Lady Tabitha barreling toward them.

Suddenly, Tobias drew his gun. Maggie saw plumes of smoke and heard three or four deafening shots. It all happened within seconds. Both Jude and Tobias went down. But Maggie’s focus remained on Jude, who lay in a pool of blood. She could see nothing else; hear nothing but her own screams.

“No! Jude! No!”

Maggie swayed on her feet, and her chest felt heavy. Her vision blurred. Then everything went black.

“Get up!” Someone was shaking her. “The doors are unlocked. Run!”

Maggie’s eyes fluttered open. The face before her was a blur. She blinked, and a young woman came into focus.

“Stand up! Run! The guards are dead, and the gates are unlocked.” The young woman dragged Maggie across the room. Shrieks and a stampede of footsteps sounded in her ears.

“Stop!” Maggie said. “What’s happening?”

“Lady Tabitha has killed them all! The gates are open. We are free.” The young woman dropped Maggie’s arm and sprinted out of the room.

“All dead!” Maggie jerked upright and then shot to her feet. “Jude!” She raced out the door. The hallways and stairs were chaotic, filled with emaciated young women yelling and running for their lives. They were grabbing their freedom, but Maggie’s sole focus remained on Jude. She had to get to the back garden where he lay in a pool of his own blood. All dead! The words rang in her ears as she fought her way through the mob of young women, down the stairs and into the back garden.