“You’ll get your blasted money tomorrow—”

A voice spoke from the doorway. “No he won’t. Nor will you, Wymark.”

Richard leaped up so fast he nearly jumped out of his skin. His cards went flying, and his chair crashed to the floor. He stared in sick disbelief at the Duke of Clayton, who stood eyeing him with a menacing scowl.

He held a pistol that was pointed straight at Richard’s heart.

His knees actually knocked together. Unlike that six-year-old demon, Clayton had a reputation as a crack shot. “D-don’t shoot!”

“Then don’t tempt me, either of you two felons. If, that is, you wish to live long enough to stand before the magistrate.”

The magistrate. It struck Richard that he was ruined. Not even his mother could fix this mess, and without her help, he’d never be able to count on his father. Clayton would see to it that Richard was punished for his crime. And if he somehow managed to escape being tossed in a dank prison cell, he’d be shunned from society, barred from all the clubs, abandoned by his friends. Worse, he couldn’t repay the moneylender now. Which meant that if he remained in London, he’d be beaten to within an inch of his life.

All bright eyes and smiles, Leo shouted, “Mr. Duke! I knew you’d come!”

“You’ve been very brave, brat,” Clayton said, his face softening briefly. “Now, give the gun to Miss Fanshawe.”

Richard had been so focused on the duke that he hadn’t even noticed the American. She walked forward, cool as a queen, affording Richard a look of utter contempt. All of his dread and fear and despair coalesced into an intense resentment. How dare she act superior to him. She, the daughter of a bastard! None of this would have happened if she hadn’t brought Audrey’s whelp here to England.

To add insult to injury, Clayton had hosted a ball tonight to honor Miss Fanshawe, courting her instead of Richard’s own sister, thereby cheating him out of having a wealthy brother-in-law who might have bailed him out of debt.

Bert lumbered to his feet. “’Twas milord’s plan, Yer Grace. I took fine care o’ the lad. We just been playin’ cards.”

When the duke’s stern gaze flicked to the traitorous groom, Richard saw his chance. He lunged at Miss Fanshawe just as she approached the boy. He seized the pistol with one hand and her with the other, spinning her around so that her back slammed into his chest.

She uttered a choked gasp and squirmed against his hold. But Richard had a death grip around her middle. Panting, he pressed the barrel of the gun to her throat. “Be still!”

Luckily, she obeyed, only her bosom heaving. His heart was thudding so fast he felt faint. Desperation threatened to cloud his thinking. He reminded himself he had no other choice, and only this one chance to escape.

The duke took a step toward him and stopped. Horror widened his eyes before those gray orbs turned to granite. When he spoke, his voice had a hard, mocking edge. “Using a woman as a shield, Wymark? How brave of you.”