The second pistol shot echoed in his ears. Simon ducked and threw himself at Bruxton’s advancing figure. They crashed together like a pair of dancing bears. Simon stumbled over a wheelbarrow he had not noticed in the semi-darkness.

“Why don’t you oblige me and die quickly like your sister?” Bruxton muttered.

A mare in the back of the stable kicked against her door. Voices shouted in the outer yard. One of the chickens in the loft fluttered its wings, sending feathers and hay into a downward spiral.

Simon regained his footing. What the devil had happened to Kieran? To Griff? Bruxton pulled out a third pistol from inside his riding coat. No time to think. Simon torqued his upper body and pulled free.

“You murdered Susannah and think I would not avenge her?” he said through his teeth. “You threaten my family and think I’d allow you to live?”

Bruxton grunted and slammed the barrel of his pistol down on Simon’s unmarked cheek. “You have no proof of anything. Your sister was a slut who betrayed her vows. Between the both of you my life is ruined. I would have done good for the country.”

A rivulet of blood slipped down Simon’s face. “Save your story for the court.”

“I’ll never go to court.”

Simon crooked his elbow and rammed it into Bruxton’s throat. Bruxton coughed and came back at Simon like a wrestler, using his weight to force Simon toward the wheelbarrow. Simon reached down for one of the barrow’s handles and propelled the manure-laden vehicle into Bruxton’s knees.

The earl flailed for balance. Simon lunged for the gun and missed. Bruxton had recovered at the last moment.

“Your grace! Stand out of the way!”

Kieran’s voice. Simon scanned the stable and saw the groom rise from behind a bin of oats. Kieran’s eyes blazed. “Stand back, your grace,” he said again and leveled a flintlock pistol at the earl.

“For God’s sake,” Simon said under his breath. “Aim more accurately then you did at the party! Or -- ” He broke off as the muzzle of Bruxton’s pistol burrowed into his back.

Bruxton cocked the trigger. “What are you going to do now?”

Confronted with the possibility of a bullet in his spine, Simon judged it was time to move.

He wheeled, dove headfirst into a bale of straw, and shot at Bruxton over his shoulder. Bruxton fired. So did Kieran.

One bullet pinged against the wheelbarrow. Simon’s ball struck Bruxton above the elbow, wringing a growl of pain from the earl. Kieran fired the lethal shot.

Bruxton pressed his hand to his heart and dropped to the straw. Simon scrubbed his face with the back of his hand, dimly noticing blood on his knuckles.

The silence of death lasted only an instant.

The stable doors splintered open under a barrage of heavily wielded axes. In the glare of sunlight Simon made out Griff, Timpkins, and a swarm of male servants. Kieran rushed over to attend the injured messenger, who had revived sufficiently to swear a blue streak at Bruxton’s fallen body.

“You are hurt?” Griff asked Simon anxiously, transferring his ax to his other hand. “The secret door to the stable stuck on me. I had to return to the house and rally the staff. Ravenna is frantic but fine.”

Simon nodded and swayed to his feet without help. He wanted his wife, a wash, a brandy and his bed, in that order. “Where did Kieran go? He was with the messenger a moment ago.”

“Worry about him later.”

He nodded again and walked swiftly outside into the brightness of the yard. Clarity. A normal morning at Caverley. Life as it should be. Where was his wife? Kieran was calming a distraught horse at the mounting block. Simon would not have chased the groom even if he’d run off.

He looked to his right. Rhys stood at the kitchen door. Ravenna, his pretty mirror, paced in front of him.

Her gaze lifted to Simon. She smiled and flew over the flagstone path into Simon’s outstretched arms.

“You’re bleeding,” she said. “Look at you.”

“It really is nothing,” he said. “Thank you for doing what I asked. It was one less worry on my mind.”

“Did you kill him?” she asked in hesitation, dabbing her sleeve across his cheek.

“Not for lack of trying.” He glanced back at the stable yard. “He’s dead, though. Kieran took care of the particulars.” There was no need to give a gruesome description. She had lived under Bruxton’s shadow long enough.

“Kiss me,” she said, turning his head back to hers. “If it doesn’t hurt too much. Oh, Simon, now both sides of your face are marked.”

“Am I gruesome?”

“My very own beast,” she said with a tremulous smile.

She tasted his blood on her lips, a trace of salt from her tears. He crushed her to him until she couldn’t breathe. But he needed her now more than ever. He had found his revenge. It was time for him to grieve what he had lost and be grateful for all he’d gained. They could concentrate completely on being husband and wife. She would not have to worry about flying bullets or strangers at soirées. He could properly mourn before they had a new family to fret over.