The fall stunned Brie, knocking the breath from her body, and she missed seeing Jacques raise his own pistol and fire. But the retort of his weapon was still ringing in her ears as she lay there gasping and trying to recover her senses. When she heard a woman's voice exclaiming in horror, Brie thought she must be imagining things, for it sounded very much like Katherine. Then gentle hands grasped her shoulders and she heard Julian's voice, asking her if she were all right.
Bewildered, Brie looked up to find him kneeling beside her, his concerned blue eyes fixed on her face. "No, I'm not hurt," she insisted, struggling to her feet. "Please . . . help me up. What—"
The question froze on her lips as she caught sight of Sir Charles. He sat slumped in his chair, his head lolling to one side, a bright red stain spreading across his chest and contrasting vividly with the ivory color of his waistcoat. A large pearl-handled dueling pistol lay on the desk, making Brie recall the first pistol shot.
Her shocked gaze swung to Dominic. He had shrugged out of his coat, and Brie saw with horror that his right shirt sleeve was rolled up to expose a bloody gash on his upper arm. Jacques was dabbing at the wound with a handkerchief, trying to stem the welling blood, while Dominic, with one hand, was untying his cravat to use as a bandage. When the coachman began deftly wrapping the injured arm with the neckcloth, Dominic looked up and met her gaze, his gray eyes locking with Brie's blue-green ones.
His face was devoid of expression, but Brie felt the impact of his gaze as surely as if he had reached out and touched her. She stood there, unable to look away, not even realizing that she was still clinging to Julian's arm.
It was Julian who broke the spell by speaking. "I had best go in search of some brandy," he said quietly. "And perhaps a strong footman to carry Sir Charles to his room. Brie, can you see to Miss Hewitt?"
The question surprised her. She had been vaguely aware that someone was crying, but hadn't even realized it was Katherine. The elderly woman had collapsed in a chair and was sobbing softly into her hands.
Finally comprehending what Julian had said, Brie glanced once more at her grandfather. There was nothing more anyone could do for him. The realization left her feeling sick and shaken, but she made a determined effort to quell her nausea and nodded in answer to Julian's question.
"Good girl," he said, squeezing her hand. "See if you can find a place for her to lie down. I'll just be a moment."
Obediently, Brie went to the weeping woman and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Come, Katherine," she urged, aware that Dominic was watching her. She desperately wanted to know what he was thinking, but she couldn't find the courage to ask him, or even to look at him, Involuntarily, her gaze returned to Sir Charles, and she shuddered. It could so easily have been Dominic whose life had ended in that one brief moment.
She led Katherine from the room, conscious all the while of Dominic's eyes following her. Upstairs, she found a small parlor where they could wait in relative comfort. After making Katherine lie down on the sofa, Brie settled in the wing chair opposite and tried to keep her thoughts focused on anything but what had just happened in the study.
Julian joined them about ten minutes later, bringing with him a decanter of cognac and three glasses. "This is quality stuff," he said as he poured the brandy, "but I had the devil of a time finding it. The servants are all in an uproar because of the shooting, though I'll wager they are more concerned for their jobs than for Sir Charles. Here, drink this, Miss Hewitt. You'll feel much better." Helping Katherine sit up, he handed her a full glass, then poured one for Brie. "You too, Brie. You look as if you could use something to settle your nerves."
Brie accepted her glass and obediently took a swallow, gasping as it burned a path from her throat to her stomach. "How . . . how is Dominic?" she ventured to ask.
Julian shot her a quizzical glance as he sat in the chair beside her. "Dominic is fine. The ball passed clear through the flesh of his upper arm. I've sent for a doctor, though, and the local authorities."
"But you said he was fine. Why does he need a doctor?"
Seeing her worried look, Julian quickly shook his head. "He doesn't, but a doctor must verify the cause of Sir Charles' death. And it won't hurt to have him take a look at Dominic's arm at the same time."
"Oh," Brie said, biting her lip.
"You realize, don't you, that the authorities will want an explanation?"
"But Dominic has done nothing wrong!"
"No, certainly not," Julian soothed. "Sir Charles fired at Dominic without any warning and Jacques shot back. But there will probably be an inquiry of some kind."
Brie lowered her gaze to her glass and stared at it for a moment. Then she looked up again. "What are you and Katherine doing here? How did you find me?"
Affronted by the question, Julian suddenly shed his fatherly air. "What do you think we're doing here? You disappeared the morning after that fiasco at the ball without leaving a note, without saying a single word to anyone. When Katherine discovered you gone, she came to me. She was frantic with worry, thinking perhaps that Dominic had kidnapped you."
Brie had the grace to flush. "Of course he didn't kidnap me. He never wanted to see me again. I followed him."
Julian frowned for a moment longer, then sighed. "I guessed as much. Either way, we were concerned for you. Whatever possessed you to go off like that?"
"I had to, Julian. I couldn't bear to leave things as they were."
There was another short silence before Julian nodded. "Dom had told me a little about the business with your grandfather, so when you disappeared, Katherine and I put the pieces together. We thought you might be in need of support."
Realizing her companion hadn't said a word during their entire conversation, Brie turned a questioning gaze on Katherine. She was sitting with her head bowed, nervously twisting the ends of her shawl while tears fell silently down her cheeks.
Brie leaned forward in her chair. "Katherine?" she said gently. "Katherine, dearest, you mustn't cry for Sir Charles. He doesn't deserve your sympathy."
Katherine buried her face in her hands. "Ah, child, if you only knew."
"If I knew what? Katherine, why are you crying? Please, won't you tell me what is troubling you?" When she received no response, her patience gave out. "Katherine, surely you don't condone what my grandfather did? My God, he tried to kill Lord Stanton! Not once, but several times. Sir Charles would probably still be alive if he hadn't shot first."