She arched a dark eyebrow. "On occasion, but if you're looking for his killer, you have him already." Lifting a finger, she pointed at Dumont. "How did Everett look again, Rene, when you stuck the knife through his heart? Stunned was the way you described him, if I remember correctly. Everett always did have a rather overinflated opinion of his own worth. He never imagined he might one day become expendable."

Dumont's lips rolled up over his teeth. "As do you, madame. You would do well to watch your back from now on." Realizing he was well and truly caught, he struggled inside Aggies's hold. But his efforts were useless, especially when two more of Edward's men arrived to assist.

"Take him away," Edward ordered. "Make sure he's well guarded until we get him in a cell."

"What about that one?" Aggies asked, nodding toward Philipa.

Edward turned a look her way. "Oh, I believe I can handle Lady Stockton. You're not going to be a problem, are you?"

She gave a faint smile and shrugged. "What would be the use?"

The matter settled, Aggies and one of the men led Dumont away, French curses rolling volubly from the emigre's tongue.

"Is there anything you would like to take with you?" Edward asked Philipa.

"A few clothes, some books, a toothbrush perhaps. What else does one require in prison?" she questioned with a self-deprecating smile.

Edward told the remaining man to go upstairs and gather Philipa's belongings. Once he'd departed, they stood for a couple of minutes in silence.

"Would you care for a seat?" Edward asked, indicating a nearby chair.

She shook her head, her hands folded at her waist. "No. Although I ought to thank you for not rushing me off straightaway. It's most kind of you to allow me to take a few belongings."

"I can't see the harm. You are a woman, after all, even if you're-"

"So this is your dull business meeting, is it?" declared a lilting voice from just inside the doorway.

Edward's heart leapt, his gaze flying forward as shock shot all the way to his toes. "Claire!"

"Seems a rather small gathering with just the two of you. But then I'm sure you planned it that way. So, are you on your way upstairs or have you only just come back down?"

Lines dug gouges on his brow, his gut tightening with a slick twist. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in London!"

Her mouth firmed into an angry slash, blue eyes flashing like lightning, as she strode farther into the room. "So are you, Your Grace."

A new thought occurred to him. "How in Hades did you even know where to find me?"

"I broke into your desk. It proved most illuminating."

Lady Stockton gave a delicate snort of amusement.

Edward's jaw went slack. "You did what!"

"It seemed only appropriate considering your lies," Claire retorted. "How dare you! And to think I believed you when you assured me she wasn't your mistress."

"Oh dear," Lady Stockton remarked, finally entering the conversation. "So she thinks we're having a tryst?" Eyes dancing, she began to laugh. "Dear girl, you are badly misled. Actually he's here to-"

"Be quiet!" Claire told her before rounding again on Edward. "And you, I don't ever want to speak to you again. When you return to London, I'll be gone. You may forward the divorce papers to me at Marsden Manor, since I'm going home to Mama."

Incredulous anger burned through his veins, a panic unlike any he'd ever known hitting him like a roundhouse punch. In the blink of an eye, his entire life had been turned upside down. "Your only home is with me," he said through clenched teeth. "And you aren't going anywhere."

She set her fists on her hips. "Oh yes, I am."

He was glaring back, a rejoinder on his tongue, when Philipa Stockton suddenly lunged at him. Before he could prevent it, she reached down and snatched the pistol from where he'd secured it at his waist.

Claire let out a squeak. "Oh my God, is that a gun?"

Having forgotten all about Philipa in his argument with Claire, he whirled around to face Lady Stockton. "Put that down. It will do you no good."

"I think it will," Philipa stated, stepping back to aim the loaded weapon directly at his chest. "I think this will do me a world of good. You're not taking me to gaol, Clybourne."

"Gaol?" Claire said in obvious confusion.

"That's right, Duchess. Your husband is here to arrest me for espionage, not to conduct an affair. You should have a better opinion of him, you know, since he's as loyal as a hound. Anyone with eyes can see he's besotted with you."

"I'm also tenacious," Edward said, wondering how he could get the gun out of Philipa's grasp. "You won't get away, you know."

"Oh, but I will. I have a store of hidden cash, enough to find my way to France and then on to who knows where. America, perhaps? I hear people can get lost there quite easily. I understand one can even establish a new life with no questions asked."

"You'll be found," he told her. "Your crimes are such that they'll never stop looking."

"They will if I'm half a world away. Now stand aside, so I can leave."

He shook his head. "No. Now give me the gun. It'll go easier on you if you do."

"Never!"

A creak sounded from above, the man he'd sent to pack Lady Stockton's belongings creeping down the staircase, his own gun drawn.

Philipa turned at the disturbance. As she did, Edward sprang forward and grabbed for the weapon in Philipa's hand. But she fought him off, displaying a surprising amount of strength. They wrestled for long moments, the gun firing out into the room.

With that single bullet expended, the battle was done. Wrenching the smoking weapon from her grasp, he turned her over to the runner, who received her with an iron grip. "Lock her up tight," Edward told him. "And be sure not to listen to a word she says."

"No!" Philipa cried, tears streaming over her cheeks as she was led from the house. "No, please!"

But he was deaf to her pleas. He had other more important matters on his mind. "Claire," he said, turning to find his wife. "Let's go home now. Let's be together where we can talk."

Rather than agreeing, she just stared, her face oddly devoid of color, her lips pale as winter frost. "Edward, I..."

Terror rippled over him, raising gooseflesh on his skin. "What is it? What's wrong?"

She met his gaze, her blue eyes glassy. "I...I think I've been shot."

Rushing forward, he caught her just as she crumpled to the floor, her cloak falling back to reveal the wide red bloodstain spreading wetly over her chest.

Cradling her to him, he gave a hoarse shout.

Chapter 28.

I love you, Claire.

Don't leave me. Don't you dare.

You're going to be all right, do you hear?

I can't live without you. Please, sweetheart, please don't die.

Claire...I love you...love you...love you.

Claire knew she must be dead and on her way to heaven. Either that or she was having a really amazing dream. She'd just heard Edward say he loved her. Smiling, she drifted, savoring the words she'd yearned to hear for such a very long time.

Yes, she thought, I must indeed be dead.

Then the coach hit a rut and she cried out against the agonizing stab of pain that went through her left shoulder, just above her breast. Surely no one could hurt this much in heaven.

Which means I must still be alive. That or I'm in hell?

"You're not in hell," Edward said in a gruff voice. "You just hurt like you are. Hang on and we'll be home soon."

"Home?" she whispered, rousing enough to realize she was lying cradled in Edward's arms.

"Clybourne House. I've sent a man ahead, and the doctor will be waiting to meet us when we arrive. I didn't want to stay in the country and risk putting you in the hands of some inferior quack."

She bit her lower lip against the pain. "I was shot. You and Philipa Stockton were fighting over the gun."

"Yes," he said, his voice heavy with anguish.

"And she's not your mistress."

"No. I told you before, you're the only woman I want." His lips brushed across her forehead, then over her cheek with a gentle touch that was almost reverent. "The only woman I'll ever want."

How lovely, she thought, fighting the dizzying haze of pain. Leaning closer, she pressed her face against his chest, finding his skin warm and bare, his scent deliciously reassuring. "Why aren't you wearing your shirt?"

"You needed it more. I used it as a field dressing to help stanch the bleeding. Hush now and rest. We'll talk later."

Later? Yes, later sounded good.

But first there was something she had to know, something urgent, something vital. "Did you mean it?" she whispered.

"Mean what?" he asked, stroking a caressing hand over her hair, her cheek.

"I heard you say you loved me. Do you? Do you love me, Edward?"

She gazed into his beautiful midnight blue eyes. As she did, the world began to spin, and before she could hear his answer, everything went black.

Claire came slowly awake. The bedroom was swathed in shadows, the curtains drawn against the brilliant summer sun trying to steal in around them.

Long, indistinct hours had passed since the coach ride home, her memories fraught with flashes of unremitting pain, blood and fear. Yet through the ordeal, Edward had been with her, never wavering as he did everything he could to help her fight the agony, to keep her safe as she fought for her life.

She remembered the steady grip of his hand, the comforting salvation of his voice as the doctor pried the bullet from her shoulder, the tender warmth of his kiss on her cool, trembling lips when it was finally over. Edward had wiped the tears from her face with a damp cloth and told her to sleep.

She had, though for how long, she had no idea.

A heavy ache roused her again now. Glancing down, she discovered a thick white bandage wrapped across her shoulder and another tied across her chest to bind her left arm to her side. Not that she had any interest in moving her arm or shoulder, since she knew it would hurt like the very devil.

Sighing, she turned her head on the pillow, and there was Edward. He was seated in a chair beside the bed, sound asleep as he lay slumped over so his head rested near her hip on the mattress. Even in repose, he held her hand, his fingers linked with her own. She squeezed them, tears of gladness moistening her eyes to find him so near.

"Claire?" He sat straight up, blinking against his disorientation.

"It's all right," she said. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"No, no, I'm glad you did," he said, his words a bit slurred as he worked to shake off his exhaustion.

And clearly he was exhausted, his eyes ringed with dark circles, hair disheveled, his cheeks covered in a heavy swath of black bristles that gave him a rather swashbuckling appearance.

"You look terrible," she said.

He smiled and raised her hand to his lips. "But you look better. Your color's back and your lips aren't white anymore. You gave us all quite a scare."

"Have you been here all morning?"

"And all night. An entire day has passed."

"A day?" she repeated, shocked. "And you've been here all that time?"

He gave a solemn nod. "I couldn't leave you. I won't. Not until I know you're safe." Standing, he leaned over and laid his hand across her brow. "The doctor said you might have a slight fever, but you don't seem too warm."

"I'm going to be all right." And she knew that she was. The worst was over, physically at least. "Are you really a spy?"

One brow arched high. "Those of us in the service prefer 'intelligence agent,' but yes, I do an occasional favor for the War Office."

"Given all your recent business meetings, it seems more than occasional. So that's where you've been? Doing work for the government?"

"We've had a leak for the past couple years that I've been tracking down. As of the other night, I've succeeded in eliminating it."

"Lady Stockton."

"Yes, Lady Stockton and another man with whom I don't believe you're acquainted."

Claire lay for a long moment, considering all she now knew and all she still did not. "Why didn't you tell me? How could you let me think the things I did?"

With great care, he lowered himself onto the bed next to her, taking her hand again. "I was sworn to secrecy and wasn't at liberty to reveal my activities, even if it would have been a great deal easier to do so. And how, may I ask, was I to know what you were thinking? By God, Claire, I still can't believe you rifled my desk drawers, found my location and came after me. You could have died."