Page 128 of The Lord Meets His Lady

But how? They had three days. What more could he do to save her?

He fetched Khan and tied him to a center post. The proud gray snickered at the sight of the brush. Khan sniffed at his coat pocket.

“No apples today, my friend.”

Genevieve approached with bandages. “Why don’t I brush Khan and you wrap these?”

Her hand joined Marcus’s, taking over the task. He dropped a light kiss on her forehead, the act as natural as breathing. His mouth was on her skin when hoovesclip-cloppedoutside the barn. Horse and rider trotted casually into the drive. Marcus pushed in front of Genevieve and reached for the pistol in his hip boot.

It wasn’t there.

He dropped the bandages and grabbed the pitchfork leaning against the stall. “If it’s the Prussian, run to the woods and get to the Beckworth cottage.”

“But—”

“Don’t argue.” Marcus hefted the tool, forked ends out.

Horse and rider came closer, their shadow stretching long. A man in a black tricorne and frock coat stepped past the barn doorway, leading a horse.

“Planning to spear me?” an amused voice called out.

“Samuel.” Marcus relaxed the pitchfork, his friend’s name gusting from his mouth. “You could’ve announced yourself.”

Eyeing the pitchfork, Samuel tethered his horse. “Didn’t think it was that bad between us.”

“The stallion.” With Lord Barnard’s visit, loss of the stud slipped his mind.

Samuel sauntered over, unbuttoning the top of his coat. “I’mthe one who asked you to gamble despite your misgivings. It was my own fault.”

Genevieve touched his sleeve. “I should let you two talk alone.”

“No. It’s too dangerous. Stay here.”

“What’s too dangerous?” Samuel asked.

“We had a visitor. Lord Barnard. He threatened Genevieve.”

“What’s the old man got to do with her?”

“Barnard’s claims are purely political.” Marcus drove the pitchfork into soft soil and gave a cursory explanation of Lord Barnard’s visit.

“He wants to trade Miss Turner for copper rights?”

“Lady Bowles,” Marcus corrected. “And she’s not being traded for anything.”

Samuel’s eyes flared at the correction.

“Whatever name Mr. Beckworth uses doesn’t matter,” Genevieve said beside him.

Samuel undid another button. “She’s safe for now—”

“For as long as she bears my name.”

Samuel’s eyes narrowed on Marcus. “—because the baron took his guests grouse hunting. Today and tomorrow. I passed them on their journey to his hunting lodge.”

“Allof his guests?”

“If you’re wondering about the Prussian, yes, he was among them, riding our stallion,” Samuel said bitterly. “What do you want to do?”