His friend Michael burst through the remains of the shattered window, holding his own gun. He was followed by two of Stephen’s men. The three kept their weapons trained upon Nigel.

“Release her, Nigel,” Stephen said.

“I believe I shall kill her first,” Nigel said. “My apologies, Emily.”

And he pulled the trigger.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Miraculously, his wife remained standing. The empty click of the revolver stunned all of them. No more bullets remained in the chamber.

Nigel’s eyes rolled backwards, and he collapsed to the floor. Emily’s hands shook, her arms holding her waist as if to keep from screaming.

Stephen pulled her away from Nigel’s body, holding her tightly against him. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, and he pressed a kiss against her temple. Nigel lay on the floor, unmoving. Yet there was no stain, no mark upon him.

The three men stared down at the fallen body, unable to understand what had happened. Nigel had ceased to breathe.

“Perhaps his heart stopped beating,” the marquess offered.

“Or perhaps he drank too much laudanum,” Emily returned.

Stephen eyed the teacup upon Nigel’s desk. “You didn’t—”

Her mouth creased in an awkward expression. “I suppose I shouldn’t have. I didn’t know how much to add. I was hoping to drug him.”

“How much did you put in?” the marquess asked.

“Two bottles. With a great deal of sugar to mask the flavor. He always did take too much sugar with his tea.”

His father coughed, but Stephen noted the look of admiration. The gruff demeanor appeared to have softened somewhat. “Not a bad idea, I must say.” From Alfred Chesterfield, the words were no less than a high compliment.

“Where is Quentin?” Stephen asked.

“He stayed to protect the children,” Michael interjected.

“How badly was he hurt?”

“One of our other men was shot, not Quentin,” his friend corrected. “And he’ll live, I should think.”

Stephen’s hand caressed Emily’s nape. In her ear, he whispered, “I should have you horsewhipped for interfering. You could have been killed.”

“I’m not very good at obeying orders.” But even with the words, she buried her face in his chest.

He tasted the salt of her tears when he kissed her. Nothing felt better than to hold her in his arms again.

“I love you,” he whispered. “And I’m going to make you a solemn promise.”

“You’ll never leave me?”

Stephen shook his head. “I swear I shall never drink a cup of tea prepared by your hand, unless you have drunk from it first.”

A startled laugh escaped her, but she nodded. Stephen turned to the marquess. “There is another matter. You have not treated my wife with the respect she is due.”

The marquess looked pained at the observation.

“You will treat her as you would my sister Hannah, and Mother is to give Emily her full support. Is that clear?”