Affair of Pretense

Thirty-two

There could be no doubt of the murderous light in Lord Denver's cold eyes upon seeing Georgie at the mercy of his hated nemesis. He made no move from where he stood, but the barrel of his pistol, gleaming menacingly in the dim light, was aimed resolutely at Branden. "Killed the fellow, didn't you?" asked that gentleman, his tone suggesting a levity that was ill-suited for the occasion.

"I could have, but the creature is unworthy of my bullet," Denver returned flatly. "However, I am compelled to remind you, Branden, that I am by no means interested in any conversation under the circumstances. As I said, I merely need my girl back. You may go to the devil afterwards."

Branden began to laugh but a sudden blast broke through his mirth; a bullet came wheezing past his shoulder and ended up buried on the wall behind him. He stiffened for a while, but his lips twisted in derision. "Wasting bullets, my lord?"

"A warning shot if you'll allow! Oblige me, my good man, to refrain from dallying. Next time I fire, it will be on your forehead, I assure you."

"No!" Georgie, sitting erect on the bed, let out sharply. "No, you will not do that! My lord, Mr Branden is your brother!"

Not a flicker of an eyelid met these shocking tidings. "Indeed? I have not been apprised, my dear," said the Marquis drily. "And if there is any mite of truth in your words, I could hardly say that the knowledge casts me into raptures."

In a swift motion, Branden pulled her arm and got her off the bed. Georgie let out a yelp of pain. In a trice his fingers were around her neck again, throttling her in agonizing slowness. "What marvels me, Denver," he said, tightening his grasp, "is that you have taken such a wild fancy to this impostor! Does she excite you in bed? I was in a fair way to giving this tasty morsel a try and see for myself when you have rudely intruded!"

Denver fired another shot, this time grazing his elbow. He jerked back, stunned, and momentarily lost his grasp upon his captive. Seizing this chance, Georgie ran to Denver with unexpected agility her legs had allowed her, and his lordship caught her in one arm. "Denver!" she sobbed, burying her face on the cape of his greatcoat. "Denver! I—I n-never would have thought y-you'd save m-me! I thought I was quite undone!"

"Then your memory must be lamentably short, my dear," Denver returned in a surprisingly gentle voice. "Recollect! I told you I would do anything in my power to come after you, did I not? Even your half-baked flight from Braxton in the dead of the night could not have persuaded me otherwise." He tipped her chin up and wiped a tear off. "He hurt you, didn't he?" his voice hinted an edge all of a sudden.

Georgie summoned a tremulous smile through her tears. "N-Not quite! I'm sure I'm going to be fine. But my lord, pray, do not kill him! He really is your brother! He's a Dresdenham!"

"I am not inclined to put much faith on that person's mad claims upon his parentage. Besides, I should warn you that I am past the point of listening to reason—or madness, for that matter," he returned, looking menacingly at Branden who was clutching his wounded arm. "This night will not end unless I shoot you dead. You know that, don't you?"

"Savage as always!" Mr Branden drawled, his face bereft of any sign of discomfiture. "But you lost another bullet to no purpose. Are you sure you have enough to last you through the night?"

The Marquis had by this time unravelled the ties on her wrists and beckoned her to get behind him. "What makes you think I came here unprepared? I did not doubt that all this time, you have been meaning to throw a rub or two in my way; in fact, I had envisaged a confrontation with you any time soon and I was not mistaken! Although," again, there was that gleam in his eyes, "my dear Mr Branden, you have sunk lower than my expectations."