Page 55 of How to Fall for a Scoundrel

“Harry! God, don’t die!” she croaked.

He was clutching at his chest, and she pushed his hands aside and slid her palms over the front of his waistcoat, desperately searching for a wound, fully expecting to encounter the sticky wetness of blood. His dark-colored waistcoat made it almost impossible to see.

He was trying to say something, his chest heaving in great labored gusts.

“Oh, God,” she panted. “Lie still. I can’t find where you’ve been hit.”

Her heart was beating impossibly fast. God, this had all been her idea. Why hadn’t they just returned the book to Bullock and collected the payment? Her stupid need to uncover the whole story had led to this disaster. Harry was dying! And she hadn’t even told him how much she cared for him.

“Harry, I—”

“Shh.” His hand closed over hers, stilling its frantic movement and shutting off her impetuous declaration. “Ellie,” he rasped. “Stop. It’s all right.” He reached up and caught the back of her neck with his other hand, forcing her to look into his eyes instead of down at his chest.

“I’m all right,” he said calmly. “I’ve not been hit. I’m just winded, I swear.”

His steady gaze held hers, but her head refused to believe it. Maybe he’d lost so much blood he couldn’t even feel the injury anymore? Oh, God.

“She shot you! I saw you fall.” Her voice was a high, reedy squeak.

He pushed himself up a little straighter, and the rational part of her brain finally began to notice that his breathing was easier. The color had returned to his face. “I’m fine, truly.”

He slid his hand into the front of his jacket and pulled out the tiny Book of Hours. Ellie sank back on her heels with a gasp. The central gold panel was cratered in, the ball from the pistol lodged in the thick leather binding that lay beneath the golden cover.

Harry’s incredulous gaze met her own, and his face broke into a smile. “I don’t believe it! Look at that.”

Relief flooded through her like a tidal wave, and she put her hand to her throat. Now that the immediate danger was over, she felt sick and horribly shaky.

“You must be the luckiest man in London!” she wheezed.

“Or this is the luckiest book,” he countered with a grin. “Bloody Hell, that was a close call.”

His eyes flicked to her lips, and suddenly Ellie didn’t care that they had witnesses. She leaned in and pressed a brief, hard kiss to his mouth. He started to respond, but a noise behind them made her reluctantly pull back and look round.

Hugo had clearly managed to disarm a furious Sofia. She lay face down in the grass, her hands held behind her back as Hugo straddled her. Her two thugs were being held at pistol point by Tess and Daisy.

Harry groaned as he slowly got to his feet. “My chest feels like an elephant’s used me as a chair.”

“You’re probably going to have a terrible bruise,” Ellie murmured. “Are you sure you haven’t broken any ribs?”

“I’m sure. But I might as well use my cane.”

She retrieved it from the grass, and he leaned on it for support as they hobbled over to Sofia.

Hugo tugged her to her feet, but kept hold of her wrists with one hand while he patted her down with the other.

Sofia spat an incomprehensible stream of Italian at him, which was almost certainly uncomplimentary, as he thrust a hand into her cloak and pulled out an envelope bulging with paper bills.

“The money you were supposed to give to Willingham?” Hugo panted. “I think we’ll have that.”

Sofia turned furious eyes on Harry.

“I didn’t mean to shoot you,” she growled, tossing her head toward Hugo. “This fool distracted me.”

Ellie curled her lip. “You could have killed him.”

“It was an accident!” Sofia protested. “Andyoushotme!”

Ellie blinked. Everything had happened in such a blur, she could barely remember firing her weapon. “I thought I missed.”