Page 79 of An Unfamiliar Duke

The crack of gunfire was unmistakable. Fear tightened Sebastian’s throat. That had not been Dawson’s warning shot. It had come from the road ahead of him. As had David’s whistle. Sebastian would know the shepherd’s sheepdog signals anywhere. And that one had chilled him. It meant that Mott had been sent in to guard and defend.

A second gunshot rang out and then a shout. Sebastian’s heart plummeted. Lowering himself in the saddle, he urged his mount up the muddy slope. The Becketts’ cottage was on the other side of the rise. He could not be this close only to be too late.

Tempest’s hooves slipped, but the horse righted himself and powered on. He crested the hill and started down the other side. Candlelight, faint but sure, flickered in one of the cottage’s upstairs windows, and moonlight outlined the edges of the building. Darkness shrouded the scene below. Where was Sellers? And more importantly, where was Rosalind?

“Call off the dog, or I shoot the duchess.”

Sellers’s chilling demand should have sent ice coursing through Sebastian’s veins, but instead, it brought hope. David was out there somewhere, and so was his well-trained dog. And even more relieving, Rosalind was still alive.

Two short whistles sounded from the direction of the house. It was Mott’s signal to retreat. Sebastian slowed his horse’s approach. Mud muffled the sound of Tempest’s hooves, and Sellers’s attention was surely on what was happening in the cottage garden. The longer Sebastian’s presence remained undetected, the better.

“Bring me the satchel,” Sellers barked.

Sebastian kept his eyes on the cottage, searching for any sign of movement. And then, like a wraith, a figure in white flitted into view from behind a tree. Rosalind. Sebastian’s heart pounded. Her white dressing gown had enabled him to spot her, but it also made her a perfect target. She moved across the lawn, and Sebastian reined Tempest to a halt. He had almost reached the low stone wall that surrounded the cottage garden. It was time to go in on foot.

With Dawson’s pistol in hand, he dismounted. Keeping his head low, he ran along the edge of the wall. A horse nickered nearby, and Sebastian started. Sellers had obviously chosen a mount as dark as his clothing. Both the horse and the gentleman were all but invisible. On the other side of the wall, however, Rosalind’s ghostlike form was clearly discernible, moving back and forth across the grass.

“Your time is running out, Your Grace,” Sellers warned.

“If you shoot me now, you will be forced to search for the satchel yourself,” Rosalind responded. “Although, I daresay Mr. Beckett’s dog would be happy to help.”

Sebastian’s heart swelled at her bravery. Sellers cursed, his foul mouth finally giving away his exact location. The man was standing beside the garden gate, not more than twenty feet away, his arm extended. His pistol followed Rosalind as she moved. Veering left, Sebastian came up behind Sellers and raised his gun.

“Get down, Rosalind!” Sebastian yelled.

Sellers fired. Rosalind dropped to the ground, and Sellers swiveled around to face Sebastian. David whistled two warbling notes, and with a rumbling growl, Mott leaped at Sellers. The dog’s jaw clamped down on Sellers’s arm. He shrieked in agony and dropped his gun. David came running from the shadows.

Sebastian circled Mott and kicked the weapon toward David. “Take the gun.”

David reached for it and trained it on the writhing man.

“Call off the dog!” Sellers screamed.

David whistled, and Mott released his hold. The dog backed up a few paces, his eyes still on his prey. Sellers staggered sideways and put his uninjured hand into his pocket.

Sebastian knew exactly what was there. “Bring it out slowly and throw it to the ground,” he warned.

The moon shone down on them, reflecting off the pistols and illuminating Sellers’s vitriol-filled eyes. Mott growled and inched closer.

“Steady, Mott,” David said.

The dog stopped, poised to pounce.

“Do it now, Sellers.” Sebastian was losing patience. He’d heard nothing from the garden and could only pray that Rosalind was unharmed.

Sellers dropped the gun he’d taken from Sebastian in the workshop. It landed at his feet with a thud.

“Up against the gate post,” Sebastian ordered.

Cradling his injured arm in his other hand, Sellers took three steps back. The gate clanged as he hit it. Sebastian reached for his stolen pistol, reclaiming it without dropping his gaze from Sellers’s face.

“Someone’s coming, Your Grace,” David said.

The steady beat of hooves penetrated Sebastian’s focus. Dawson. The groom would have heard the gunshots.

“Dawson!” Sebastian shouted. “The garden gate.”

The pounding of hooves slowed to a stop, and moments later, Dawson appeared behind David. His gun was ready. “Is this the blighter?”