The Second Shot (The Dueling Pistols) (3 page)

"Yes."

"—have flash burns?"

"Yes." One of his officers had taken his own life during one of the protracted campaigns.

Randy wiggled his head up and down and glanced at the exit wound on the back of Lungren's neck. A cold chill went through Tony.

"I don’t see how he could have achieved this angle even with the gun against his head," said Randy.

There was absolutely no doubt that supposed path of the bullet was all wrong, but also, the pistol had not been pressed against the captain's skin, which made the presumed method of death impossible. "Lungren didn't kill himself."

Chapter Two

A dark haired man approached Felicity, the third man in the last five minutes. None of them were Tony with her glass of lemonade. These men kept interrupting her efforts to get reacquainted with the important women in society.

Lord Algany was approaching, too. Not that she expected him to actually talk to her. He was a rather notorious rake who had found her beneath his notice her first short season.

"I'm sorry, I am not dancing," she said rather shortly.

The man drew to a halt in front of her and smiled, revealing a tiny chip in an otherwise perfect set of strong white teeth. "Perhaps you don't remember me. Keene Davies. I was on the town during your first season. I believe we were introduced."

Algany drew up short and glared at Mr. Davies. There was just a slight flicker of Mr. Davies eyes that let her know he was aware he'd thwarted Lord Algany's purpose.

She didn't remember Mr. Davies making it out of the card room much during her first season. He'd clearly not been looking for a wife back then. Felicity pressed a gloved hand to her forehead. She didn't think she'd grown into a raving beauty to warrant all this attention. She either had a horrid reputation and all these men wanted to learn about her wickedness first hand, or they were after Layton's money. She wasn't quite sure where Mr. Davies fell. It could be either way, although he was an heir to a barony.

Mr. Davies leaned close and whispered. "Never fear, I am neither a fortune hunter nor looking for a dalliance. My wife is around here somewhere."

His gaze went directly to a young blond woman, and just a hint of a smile crossed his lips and transformed his face, before he returned his attention to Felicity. "I believe I saw you speaking with Anthony Sheridan. I am a school chum of his. I wondered if you knew where he had gotten off to?"

Her spine knotted. "No, I do not."

"No matter. I hadn't seen him in years. Hoped to have a word with him, but then I thought I could introduce you to my wife and her friends." He held out his arm. "Lady Wedmont is about, too."

Being introduced to young matrons who might include her and her niece in their social activities was exactly what Felicity wanted so she put her fingers on his sleeve. "I should very much like to meet these ladies."

"It will hold the fortune hunters at bay for a few minutes." Mr. Davies eyes flicked to another gentlemen. "Or I can enlist Wedmont to take turns standing guard for you."

"I am certain I do not need to be guarded."

His forehead puckered as if he disagreed, but he was nice enough not to say so. But his gaze did go toward Lord Algany.

Really she expected no trouble from that quarter. Besides she was capable of a firm set down when needed. She had plans to do exactly that in the morning when she visited Layton's banker, who kept ignoring her requests for a meeting. And going to meet new potential friends was a far better prospect than continuously scanning the thinning company for a tall man in military dress as she'd been doing.

* * *

"Should we alert Lord Carlton?" asked Randy.

"No," answered Tony.

Randy lifted his reddish-brown eyebrows. He wouldn't go so far as to question his superior officer out loud. Then again, there were times when it was far better for Tony to explain to his subordinates why he choose a particular course of action.

Tony lowered his voice. "Whoever did this thinks he got away with it."

"You don't believe Lord Carlton would put much effort into finding the culprit."

There was that, too. Tony wouldn't have said it, but he nodded.

"Probably wouldn't put much stock in our experience with bullet wounds." Both of them had seen more men shot, stabbed, blown apart, and killed, in every conceivable method of warfare, than anyone should ever see. Randy calmly finished cleaning Lungren's too-still face. "What do you think? Someone he fleeced?"

Tony rubbed his aching temple, trying to understand why someone would kill Lungren. "Possibly."

"A jilted lover?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "Pistols aren't the usual method employed by women. Poison is. So a jilted lover is doubtful."

"Servant?"

"All in the hall at supper. Where is the library?"

"First door on the left."

Tony turned on his heel and moved to the doorway of the drawing room. The eldest sister stood there—what was her name? Rosalyn? Or was this one Jocelyn? The youngest he remembered as Carolyn. "Miss Lungren, will you show me to the library?"

Her glassy-eyed look sharpened for a moment. "Oh, you wish to see where..." Miss Lungren stood rooted to the spot.

"If you would just point, I'm sure I can manage to find the room on my own."

"Why?"

How much had she heard? Randleton moved behind Tony. "There might be a note."

Anger flashed across the woman's face. "No. There wasn't a note."

"Have you looked thoroughly?" asked Tony. He knew there wasn't a note. Murder victims didn't leave notes, but it gave him and Randy an excuse to search the room. "Do you know of any reason your brother might have...?"

Her head moved side to side in a more distraught manner than an ordinary "no" would have taken. She stepped back and bumped against the doorframe. Her voice shaking as she spoke, she said, "Perhaps you should look. Perhaps I did not look well enough. Perhaps...perhaps I was distracted."

Worried she was on the edge of collapse, Tony reached out and grabbed her elbow. She jerked back. It reminded him of the way Felicity had yanked away from him earlier in the evening. "Miss Lungren, you should sit down."

"No, I'm fine." She stepped forward as if she regretted recoiling. "I don't want to sit down."

"Please, you are very distressed." He should comfort her, but the thought that Felicity was waiting for him to return with a glass of lemonade kept his arms by his side.

Rosalyn spun on her heels and marched down the passageway, as if she had barely gotten up the nerve to return to the place of her brother's death and was afraid to go slowly lest the courage desert her. Tony was hard-pressed keeping up with her given his limp.

She threw back the door and then hovered near the doorway. Tony had to shoulder by her to get into the library. Across the room, two low-slung wing chairs flanked the fireplace. One had a large, dark stain flowing down from just below where a head would rest. A maid was on her hands and knees behind the chair, scrubbing the wooden floor with a flat brush, a reddish-brown stain covering a towel near her knees.

"Molly, you may stop."

The maid flattened her mouth.

"No, let her continue." Tony's eyes flashed along the pristine row of bookshelves not four feet behind the chair, and then back to the grim-faced maid. He wanted to question her after Rosalyn left the room. "She won't disturb us."

"The estate papers are kept in that desk." Rosalyn pointed. Then, as if she had marked the escritoire as a buoy to swim to and cling to for safety, she darted across the room to it.

Her face was so pale, Tony wondered what strength she drew on to offer assistance to them. She had to be near collapse.

She pulled out a drawer.

Randy caught his eye. The concern and the question
Should we tell her?
was as plain as the freckles on his face.

Tony shook his head. She didn't need any more shocks tonight, and they needed proof before making accusations.

"They're gone!" Rosalyn shrieked.

Suddenly there was a flurry of paper in the air as she tossed aside the contents of the drawer and leaned over to yank open another.

Tony headed toward her, but Randleton beat him there. The lieutenant wrapped his arms around her flailing arms. It was amazing she had taken this long to turn hysterical.

"Get her out of here," hissed Tony in a low command.

"No! The papers. The deed to the estate. I have to find them!"

She tried to wrench away from Randy's restraining arms, but with Tony in front of her adding his sure grip to her shoulders, she broke into sobs.

"What has he done?" She covered her face with her hands.

"Most likely moved the important papers to another place. They'll turn up."

"No, oh, no." Rosalyn resumed her swaying, dragging Randy back and forth. "He said...he said...Oh, God, I'll kill that man."

Randy recoiled from the distraught woman.

Tony continued to grip her shoulders, although he, too, had been shocked by the vehement declaration right after learning Captain Lungren had been murdered. But she couldn't be referring to her brother. He was already dead. "Who said what?"

"He said he had to repay a gambling debt. That's why he had that man come here. Oh, what has he done?"

"What has
who
done? Who had to repay a gambling debt?"

Rosalyn snapped at him. "My brother had to repay Bedford. Dear God, how I hate that man." She jerked away from Tony's grasp but was trapped by Randy, behind her. Randy belatedly stepped back. She hastily sidestepped, then paced back and forth in the small amount of open floor space in the library.

"He has been nothing but an evil influence. Gambling all the time, all hours. The drinking, the whor—" Rosalyn clapped a hand over her mouth.

Randy needed to work on how telling his face was. Yes, they both knew that Lungren had not needed any influence to commit those debaucheries, but obviously his eldest sister hadn't known.

"Bedford was here? Tonight?"

"Yes!" Rosalyn stamped her foot.

Tony and Randy exchanged looks. What did this Bedford fellow have to do with Lungren's death?

* * *

His purpose clear, Major Anthony Sheridan lurched across the dark, smoky room. Armed with knowledge of the man's clothing description provided by the maid Molly, and a physical description from Randleton of wavy blond hair, turquoise eyes, and a slight build, Tony scanned the room with precision born of command. He spied his target and drew to a halt beside the man's chair. "Are you Bedford?"

The man looked up from the baize-covered table heaped with markers and vowels, leaned back in his chair, and held his none-too-clean cards against his chest. "Who wan's ta know?"

Tony had no time for games or repartee. Already he had crashed through the protected portals of the exclusive Watier's gentleman's club when Randy's negotiations hadn't progressed far enough to gain them civilized entry. He raised his voice several decibels. "Are you Bedford?"

Tony glared at the man. Bedford stared back at him. The unfocused but brilliant blue-green eyes gave him away. Other gamblers, those sober enough to notice the confrontation, turned in their direction.

"It's him," whispered Randy, pulling up at Tony's elbow.

"Did Captain Lungren give you the deed to his estate?"

"I won it, sir."

How could he have won it? Lungren was too good at cards, too shrewd about what to risk. How many times had he warned them never to wager what they couldn't afford to lose? Though of course, Lungren almost always won.

"I should like to speak to you."

Bedford stared at him. He shut his eyes and opened them as if that would make Tony go away.

Tony wasn't going anywhere until he got some answers. He put command in his voice. "Now!"

It was as he leaned close that he saw the red markings of a court card in Bedford's lap.

Was the man even now cheating? Did he know the pattern of stains on each card? The flickering light of too few candles would make it far too easy for sleight of hand. Rage sliced through Tony. Had Bedford cheated Lungren out of his estate? Or was Lungren able to outsmart the swindler and preserve his holdings only to have Bedford shoot him?

"You, sir, are a cheat."

Bedford dropped his cards to the table. He slowly stood. His face contorted with an affronted anger that made Tony's blood boil. "Sirrah!"

Bedford had to be the man who killed Lungren. Tony could take care of him right now, administer swift military-style justice. "You cheated him out of his house and then killed him."

"What? I merely won his house at cards." Bedford turned to look at the other gamblers at the table, as if to sway them into thinking Tony was not in his right mind.

Tony slowly unbuttoned his glove and drew it off.

Bedford's unsteady gaze returned to Tony, and with too much cunning he said, "I did not force his hand—"

That was enough for Tony. He slapped the smirk right off William Bedford's face.

The despicable man knew he had staged the scene to look like a suicide.

Dread snaking through him, William Bedford leaned heavily against the table and said the only words that were acceptable: "I demand satisfaction."

"My pleasure, sir," the tall major said with a bow.

The pleasant alcohol glow that had surrounded William just a few minutes ago was changing into a confusing black haze. Had he just challenged a military man, no doubt proficient with lethal weapons, to a duel? But he'd been accused of cheating. He'd had no choice but to defend his honor.

The naming of time and place and seconds was going on around him, and William stared at the floor, where the knave of hearts stared back at him. Where in blazes had that card come from? William vaguely remembered holding that card a couple of hands earlier, but where had it come from now?

The major pivoted and left the room, ignoring the porter who had come to escort him out. His red-haired companion and second trailed behind him and looked back at William as if he were insane. Likely, he was.