Sin With A Scoundrel (The Husband Hunters Club)

Chapter 23

Chapter

Twenty-Three

T he two men met in the gloomy woods behind the hall. They would be unlucky if anyone noticed they were missing. Everyone else was otherwise engaged, either resting before dinner or taking afternoon tea in the salon.

“You idiot! What on earth possessed you to take a shot at Sir Henry in front of everyone?”

Branson, with a sullen curl to his lip and a rebellious glint to his eyes, looked as if he might say something rash, but common sense prevailed, and at the last moment he bit it back.

“Well? Answer me, damn you, Branson!”

“It was just to give him a scare,” he muttered, chastened. “I had no intention of killing him, or he’d be dead. I’m a good shot, you know.”

“Why on earth would you want to give him a scare? Are you sure you weren’t having your own little revenge on the man? Everyone knows you’re sick with jealousy because he owns Arlington Hall.”

Branson couldn’t think of anything to say.

“And you do realize that because of you Sir Henry knows that we are among his little group—that someone here is most likely the very man he’s been looking for?” He threw up his hands in an excess of frustrated emotion. “I can’t believe you could be so stupid.”

“He’ll never think it was me!”

His companion stared at him in amazed disgust. “No, probably not, but he has no reason to trust me, has he?”

Branson scrambled to dig himself out of his own mess. “Someone must have noticed you in the shooting party among the others. They’ll say you were there in plain sight when Sir Henry was shot. You’re safe. There’s no harm done.”

The other man sighed and shook his head, beginning to calm down, beginning to think. One of the Captain’s main strengths was a cool head. “You are a fool. But I suppose now we’ll find out who else here is in Sir Henry’s little team. No doubt someone will be questioning us all in the morning.”

“Eversham,” was Branson’s prompt reply. “He and Sir Henry are thick as thieves.”

“Well, we shall know soon enough. Now I’d better get back to the house in case they’re watching me. And don’t do anything else without consulting me first.”

He didn’t wait for Branson’s reply but strode off. As he neared the stables at the back of the hall, he began whistling nonchalantly, hands in his pockets, as if he’d been out for a pleasant afternoon stroll.

Branson was a complete fool, and he would no longer trust him. In fact he would never have taken him on, but at the time the man’s disaffection with Sir Henry had made it expedient. And now what if Sir Henry died? There’d be hell to pay, but he’d make certain Branson was the one who hanged. It shouldn’t be too hard to point the finger in his direction.

For a moment he let his thoughts wander back, to Anthony Eversham’s face as he put the bullet into him. He gave a satisfied smile. Anthony had found out about him, but luckily he’d decided to keep his information to himself, play the lone hero. He’d nearly caught the Captain, but his luck had held.

It would hold this time. He wouldn’t believe otherwise. And if Anthony’s brother got too close; well, he’d go the same way.