“I’m glad,” he croaked. “But I wanted to do it myself.”
She gave a short laugh. “You can do it next time.”
Ethan levered himself onto his elbows, his head finally clearing. “Next time? I don’t think my heart can survive a next time.” He pulled her into his arms, crushing her to him. Burying his face in her hair, he savored the smell of cinnamon and chocolate enveloping him. He pulled back, cradling her face in his hands. “Did he hurt you?”
Tears wet her cheeks. “I’m fine. Now.” She squeezed him, then her gaze slid sideways. “You don’t think I killed him, do you?”
“I hope to God you did.” He tightened his arms around her once more to assure himself that she was really there, really safe, then released her and knelt over Roxbury.
The earl was lying on his side, eyes open and watching them. “A touching scene, Winterbourne,” he rasped.
“I see you’re still breathing,” Ethan drawled. He helped Francesca rise and pushed her behind him. “Where did my wife wound you?”
The earl raised an eyebrow and glanced down. Ethan saw the circle of blood growing on the man’s left thigh, just below the buttock.
“Good. You’ll live. I’ll have the pleasure of watching you drawn and quartered after all.” He turned to Francesca. “Take one of the horses and ride to the house. We’ll need the doctor and help to bring the footman and this traitor—” He glanced back at Roxbury. “To the house.”
Francesca nodded and started for the yard and the horses.
“Traitor?” Roxbury goaded Ethan. Ethan saw Francesca pause in the keep’s opening. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You might be able to try me for attempted rape,” he snorted, “but who can say that the lady didn’t welcome my advances? After all, we wereintimateonce.”
Ethan clenched his jaw at the earl’s insinuation.
“It will be her word against mine. She’ll never live down the scandal, nor will you. The Marquess of Winterbourne cuckolded again.” Roxbury laughed, a hard, bitter sound. “Wasn’t George Leigh also wounded in his left leg?” Roxbury laughed again and raised himself onto his elbow.
“I don’t intend to bring you to trial for attempted rape, Roxbury.” Ethan glanced at Francesca. She was still standing in the crumbling opening, but it was too dark to read her eyes. “I intend to charge you with treason.”
“Treason?” Roxbury sounded amused. “And pray tell, how precisely have I betrayed my country?”
“You’ve been in charge of an operation smuggling arms to France for the last year and a half.”
“And how will you prove that? I think you’ll find witnesses difficult to come by.”
“You mean you killed them,” Francesca said from across the ruins.
“Once again, your powers of deduction amaze me, madam.” Roxbury’s lips curled, the gesture matching his snide tone.
“I have a contact in Paris—” Ethan began.
“Gagnon? The Frenchman?” Roxbury snickered. “Oh, this I would like to see. A French peasant, a state enemy, testifying in the House of Lords against a peer of the realm.”
In the growing darkness, Ethan could barely make out the earl’s face, but he could hear the smirk in his voice. And the devil take him if Roxbury wasn’t correct. As Alex had pointed out in Paris, Ethan had no hard proof.
Ethan glanced at Francesca. Roxbury was right about the scandal as well. Ethan’s behavior during the episode with Victoria and Francesca’s former relationship with Roxbury meant few would believe the earl had attempted to rape her. If word of the incident today got out, the scandal would taint the Winterbourne name for good.
He’d figure it all out later, Ethan decided. Right now he needed to fetch help for the wounded footman and, he supposed, Roxbury as well.
“Francesca,” he began, his voice weary.
She cut him off, stepping away from the opening and back into the keep.
“Do you need proof, Ethan? Is that the problem?”
“Quick-witted as usual,” Roxbury sneered. She kept her gaze locked on Ethan.
“We’ll discuss it later,” Ethan said.
“Is that why you were in France?” She ignored his dictate. “To find proof?”
