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“I had a little money trouble. Not that a woman like you would know about that.” He eyed the entrance to the building. “Hurry up with those jewels.”
“Did Julian have money?” She loosened the bracelet and held it out.
“Throw it on the ground.”
“I will. When you tell me what happened.”
He rolled his eyes. “You are not in a place to be demanding answers.” Tom tugged his necktie, loosening it until he could free his collar. “But it will not matter soon enough.”
Chastity gulped. She knew for certain now—he intended to kill her.
If she could just distract him or make him talk for long enough that when someone came by, she would make her escape. “It must have been an accident.”
He nodded vigorously. “It was,” he said. “I only meant to frighten him a bit. Make him realize I was serious. But then we ended up in a fight and I had to kill him.” His gaze met hers and the hardness faded, replaced by an almost childlike bearing.
“Why did you fight?”
“He had a rich uncle.” He shrugged. “You must know he was the earl’s nephew if you were investigating him.”
Chastity briefly closed her eyes. Valentine hadn’t been lying, but then had she not known that really?
“He had access to a fortune, but he would not share it. He told me he didn’t have any money.” Tom made a face. “He was a liar, and I warned him I would reveal all if he did not help me.”
“If it was an accident, perhaps we can explain that.”
“I killed the nephew of an earl. Of course I will be hung,” he snapped. His posture stiffened and he took a few steps back to peer out of the building “Now hurry up with those jewels.”
The faintest thud of horses hooves rumbled the ground. She eyed Tom, then the bracelet in her hand. This might be the only chance she got.
“Here, take this.” She flung the jewels toward him and while he fumbled to catch it, she dashed past him, toward the sunny opening of the building.
A bang resounded from behind her. She felt nothing but a push and she toppled forward. When her head met the ground, the briefest flash of pain billowed through her skull. Then everything went blessedly dark.
∞∞∞
Pain speared through Valentine—straight to his gut. He tightened his grip on the reins and pushed his mount to move faster. The sound of the gunshot still echoed around the countryside. Or was it his mind? Either way, it wasn’t good. The moment Mrs. Cooke had informed him Chastity had left with Tom and that Tom had been seen with a pistol, fear gripped him. Tom had been at the ball that night. He couldn’t fathom why he would want to harm Julian, but absconding with Chastity while armed did not bode well.
Now a gun had gone off. The tension in his gut had turned to hot, swirling fire. He gritted his teeth and urged the horse in the direction of the gunshot. He’d been lucky to catch sight of new tracks on the ground or else he would have lost their trail entirely. But Chastity was a clever woman. She couldn’t be hurt. She’d be safe.
If she wasn’t, he didn’t know what he’d do.
Aware of the sickening pound of his heart, he scanned up ahead. His stomach lurched as though someone had driven a fist directly into his gut. Or more likely to his heart. Upon the ground, in a sprawl of expensive fabrics lay Chastity. Tom kneeled over her.
God. She had to be alive. She just had to be.
He dismounted, scarcely bringing his horse to halt. His boots hit the ground so hard his feet stung.
“Tom Lowe,” he bellowed as he sprinted over.
Blood stained the ground near Chastity’s head. Front down, her head angled, her eyes were closed, her skin pale. The world might as well have crumbled beneath him and the desire to drop to his knees and roar and the unfairness of the world ate into him, but when Tom scrabbled to his feet, a gold necklace dangling from one hand, his world narrowed in on the man.
Tom held up his hands. “It was an accident. She fell!”
“You shot her,” he said through clenched teeth as he rounded on the man.
“It was all an acci—”
Valentine put a hand to his neck and slammed him against the brick wall of the farm building. The necklace fell from Tom’s fingers. Tom groaned and kicked and though he wasn’t a weak man, his hits were no worse than a fly nipping at his skin. Valentine felt nothing but pure, burning rage. It surged through him, made his skin hot, his muscles burn. He could take on a thousand Toms right now.
