After the Abduction Read Free

remember that as well.” Juliet brightened. “Might he have been in town to help his wayward ward? That was right after Morgan fled from Sussex.”
    “We’ll know soon enough,” Griff remarked as they drew up in front of an imposing stone entrance. Their coachman climbed down and scurried to open the carriage door and lower the steps.
    A footman ran out to attend them, his face marked by surprise. Charnwood Hall clearly had few visitors. If the sudden brutal blast of cold air from the opening carriage door was any indication of Shropshire weather at this time of year, she could understand why nobody visited here in winter.
    As they descended, they heard shots being fired behind the house, and Juliet wondered if that might explain the lack of visitors as well.
    “Is that your master shooting?” Griff asked the footman.
    “Yes, sir,” the young man answered. “He always tests his pistol designs on the west lawn this time of day.”
    “Come on then,” Griff told Juliet and Rosalind as he started off along a gravel path that skirted the house.

    “But sir,” the footman called out, scurrying after them, “Mr. Simpkins should announce you!”
    “No need!” Griff retorted as he continued on.
    The footman hesitated, then ran back to the house, no doubt to fetch the butler.
    Juliet hurried to keep up with her long-legged brother-in-law and sister. “Griff, are you sure this is a good idea—popping up on him like this?” Another alarming gunshot split the air.
    “I want the element of surprise,” he answered.
    “You want to get your head shot off,” Rosalind muttered at his side, though she didn’t attempt to stop him.
    “He won’t shoot me in broad daylight before witnesses. That wouldn’t be gentlemanly.”
    His acid tone gave Juliet pause. She wished Griff wouldn’t take so much upon himself. She’d never forgive herself if he were hurt. But once Griff set his course, he didn’t waver.
    As they rounded the corner of the massive building, they spotted two men standing in the middle of the lawn, facing away from them. A servant in rich livery waited nearby with a large silver tray. Both men held pistols, but at the moment only one was shooting at the painted wood target set up some yards away.
    The blond one who wasn’t shooting was clearly the baron himself. No one but a gentleman of rank would wear such foppish attire: highly polished top boots and spurs, puce cossack trousers, a tight-fitting jonquil tailcoat pinched at the waist, and a costly top hat.
    But it was the other man—a younger, dark-haired fellow wearing a plain black greatcoat and no hat—who made Juliet’s heart stammer, then pound. He loaded his pistol, aimed, and then shot at the target.
    “Good show!” the older man called out. “That was nearly a bull’s eye this time.”

    “’Nearly’ isn’t good enough,” the shooter replied. “This lock needs adjustment.”
    The voice was painfully familiar, humming through her memory, urging her to quicken her steps.
    As a wisp of smoke faded into the chill air, the shooter examined the pistol, then set it on a small table holding ammunition. As he moved toward the tray, apparently to obtain another pistol, the servant spotted them and called out, “Your lordship, someone’s approaching.”
    Both men turned at once. When Juliet saw the shooter’s face, her heart stopped. There before her was her nemesis. She’d never mistake that iron-black hair, those devilish lips, that bold, square jaw. “Morgan,” she whispered.
    His gaze widened in surprise and then swept her face. She could have sworn that recognition shone in the eyes that had always been impenetrably black.
    Unfortunately, Griff heard her exclamation. Striding ahead of her, he growled, “That’s him, the younger one?”
    “Yes,” she replied without thinking.
    Griff didn’t even break step. Walking up to the man, he raised his fist and punched him in the face. As Rosalind cursed and Juliet groaned, Morgan