Hunter Of My Heart

“Soyez tranquille. I did not live through Napoleon’s war to die now. We will get home safely.”

Marga’s brave words calmed Sabrina’s thumping heart. “I’ll try not to worry. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Mon Dieu! We are family! We take care of our own. After Philippe died, marriage no longer bound me to your parents. Where would I be without your father’s support? I would have starved during the war. Derek’s generosity is something I will never forget.” Standing, Marga grabbed her umbrella and valise.

They returned to the road and continued to walk. Sabrina rotated her shoulders to ease the ache in her arms, but the thorn impaled in her left hand continued to throb. Every discomfort reminded her of Kenilworth. If he had paid her immediately, the duke might not have found her so quickly or put the twins in a vulnerable state. At least she wanted to think that were so.

Although she feared Kenilworth or her grandfather would search and eventually find her, she wanted to prolong, even prevent that fate. Her own welfare and the twins’ aside, she worried about her aunt. Would he harm Marga? When Sabrina envisioned the duke supplying twisted evidence for an imaginary crime, she lengthened her stride. Her spinning emotions urged her toward the twins.

As they approached a bend in the road, plodding hooves broke the silent night and banners of mist veiled the rider’s identity. Her heart jumped. Quickly Sabrina looked for a place to hide, but the flat land dotted with birch trees dimmed her hopes. Her pulse raced. After retrieving her double-barreled pistol, she placed her thumb on the hammer but hid the weapon in her cloak’s folds.

A heartbeat later, she sucked in her breath as Kenilworth and a coach emerged from the mist. Panic, followed by anger, shot through her veins. He stopped his horse in front of them, and the coach, adorned with glowing lanterns, pulled up next to him.

Kenilworth straightened. “Well, Miss Barrington, going for a stroll? Or did you forget the agreement we made?” His tone was very dry.

“I changed my mind. I refuse to marry you.” She moved her hand to her side.

“Miss Barrington...” He gazed at the pistol in her hand. “Put that bloody thing away before you hurt someone! The last thing I need is for you to blow a hole in your foot.”

Tumbling emotions turned her blood hot. Yes, she even wanted to experience a touch of revenge because he had insulted her integrity and, in part, ruined her life. His actions threatened those she loved. Irrational thought overcame sensibility.

She wanted him to experience the loss of control and helplessness she felt. With a tight grip on the pistol, she summoned her darkest look. “We’ve left your property. You can’t tell me what to do.”

“You’re still on my property. Now put that gun away and get in the coach. We have a deal.” He started to dismount.

“Mon Dieu! Are you deaf? She does not want to marry you!” Using her umbrella, Marga speared his swinging leg.

Kenilworth glared at her aunt and then tied the horse’s reins to a birch tree. When he turned, he stared at the pistol she aimed at his stomach.

“I’d at least wait until after our marriage. You’d be a wealthy widow.”

She motioned with the weapon. “I’ve no intention of even being your bride. Now, move and let us leave.”

“If you point a gun, you’d better be prepared to use it.” With unblinking eyes, he stood erect. Hands on his hips. Legs apart.

Sabrina held his gaze and knew his rigid stance was a dare. She couldn’t shoot him. Deep in her heart, she knew she would eventually have no choice except to marry him. Until then, she refused to relent.

Aiming the pistol to Kenilworth’s right, she pointed at a lone birch. “Don’t move, milord.” As she lowered the hammer, his body stiffened. “Now, look to your left. Should I try for the left or right branch?”

“To your right. It’s farthest from me.”

Gritting her teeth, she focused and fired. Wood crackled and snapped. Birds squawked. She smiled, feeling an odd satisfaction. Somehow, the act replaced the dignity Kenilworth had stolen.

“Luck,” Kenilworth murmured, eyeing the severed branch.

Feeling the challenge in his single word, her blood started to hum. With her arm raised, she sighted the other branch, but the fluttering of his greatcoat cape caught her eye. She shifted her gaze to just below his waist and adjusted her aim.

“If that’s where you want to shoot me, go ahead.” He didn’t budge.

“Ma chérie! You proved your point!”

Sabrina ignored her aunt, cocked, shifted her arm and fired. Marga shrieked and the horses neighed. The air smelled of singed wool. The reality of her act reached her conscience. What if he had moved? What if she had shot him there? Blood rushed to her head and her hand shook. Despite this, she couldn’t let Kenilworth see her despair or guilt and reached for words of bravado.

“I wanted to clip your wings two minutes after I met you.”

Without examining the shredded tip of his cape, Kenilworth shortened the distance between them. His gaze held hers. A triumphant look made his eyes gleam. “Now, your gun’s empty, and I won’t need to worry about your life.”

The telling sign in his eyes scorched her like lightning. He’d used mockery as a trick not a challenge. Instead of pruning his arrogance, she’d boosted it. The blow grated her pride and added to her careening emotions, but she clung to her bravado. “How do you know I won’t shoot you next time?”

“You had the opportunity and didn’t. Just in case, give me the pistol until you cool your temper.” He held out his hand.

Quickly she hid the weapon behind her back. “You don’t own me or my possessions yet, milord.”

Despite the huge difference in their size and social class, Marga rapped Kenilworth’s arm with her umbrella. “That is ma chérie’s only weapon! Besides me, of course!”

“What are you going to do? Spear me again with your umbrella?” Kenilworth glowered.

A click sounded. “I could do more than that, monseigneur!”

Startled, Sabrina glanced at the winking knife that protruded from the umbrella, and she quickly searched her valise for her bullets. A knot formed in her throat. She knew Kenilworth would force her to go with him. Tears threatened to fall.

“Madame Beaumont, how clever. So, you too carry a weapon. Give it to me.”

“I will not! This was my husband’s umbrella! I have little of his but this.”

After muttering a curse, he thrust his hand in the air. “Keep the blasted thing!”

Sabrina glanced at Kenilworth, who turned and marched in her direction. A tear rolled down her cheek. As she pawed deeper into her valise, her fingers finally found the bullet pouch. Too soon, he stood beside her.

“What? Tears?”

Slowly Sabrina lifted her gaze. Was that concern or mockery in his eyes? The angle of his head shadowed his face so she couldn’t tell, but displaying weakness was unwise in this arrogant man’s presence. Still she needed a reason for her damp eyes. “I have a thorn in my hand.”

“Annoying varmints, aren’t they? I’ve just experienced a few myself. They’ve a knack of working themselves deeper.”

A second passed before she realized he’d called her a thorn. Perhaps he considered himself one, too. “We should both heed what we touch then, shouldn’t we?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Now that you’ve spent your anger, are you ready to return to the castle?”

His faint conciliatory tone didn’t soften her stance and if she agreed to return with him, she would admit defeat. “No.”

Kenilworth’s black brows snapped together. “I don’t like this situation any more than you.”

“I doubt that.”

“Are you going into the coach willingly, or do I throw you inside?”

She took a step backward. “Don’t touch me.”