The prince was properly chastened, probably for the first time in his life. Without another word, he let the housekeeper get about her business.
Which left Diana time to wonder what had happened to her husband.
Arthur Bracken, Viscount Fitzroy and Cian’s father, was a spy and an assassin. A failed assassin, thank the Lord.
And Evan had remembered.
She recalled how he’d once shouted the name Bracken in his sleep, and she hadn’t asked him about it for fear that he knew something about Bracken being Cian’s father. And when she’d had the opportunity to tell him who Cian’s father was, she’d hesitated out of loyalty to her sister and the promise she’d made.
If she had told Evan last night, would he have remembered then? Could all of this have been avoided? She raised her hands to her face, only to realize they were bloodied.
“Louisa, I need to find out what happened to Evan. I’ll return as soon as I can.” She snatched up one of the clean towels, scrubbing her hands as she hurried out of the room. Ducking into her bedroom, she washed at the basin, frowning at the pink water and the evidence left on the finger towels.
Making her way downstairs, she encountered her still-bewildered guests. The house buzzed like a kicked-over hornet’s nest, people gathered in clumps. Several men helped women enter through the glass doors at the rear of the house, but Diana had no time for those who had fainted or pretended to faint. They would be fine, sniffing their vinaigrettes and moaning over the shock of it all, while plotting how to make the most of the golden firsthand gossip they now possessed.
Where was her husband? He’d raced after Fitzroy as if fired from his rifle. She took comfort in the fact that he hadn’t gone alone. Shand and Marcus were with him. When she reached the terrace, she held her hands beside her eyes to help her focus on the long distance down to the lake and the woods beyond.
Were they returning?
Two figures rode toward the house, and behind them a third rider leading a horse with a burden thrown across the saddle. Her heart leapt into her throat. One of them was dead. But who? Had they shot Fitzroy, or had Fitzroy managed to kill one of them before being captured?
Who was that draped over the saddle?
Unable to move, she waited, watching, trying to pray but unable to form any words.
As the riders grew closer, she recognized Evan in front. He rode that immense bay with the white blaze, and his rifle lay across his thighs. She let out her breath, her feet coming unstuck from the pavers.
A proper lady would no doubt have waited on the terrace, but she decided she must not be a proper lady. She picked up her skirts and started down the slope as fast as she could go. Past the chairs and tables where the guests had observed the contest and almost to the place where the targets still stood upright like wooden soldiers.
She came to a stop as Evan pulled his horse to a walk.
Marcus kept on toward the house, while Evan slung his rifle strap over his head and one arm, slipping the rifle onto his back in what must be a well-practiced maneuver. Without his horse breaking stride, Evan leaned over and wrapped one arm around Diana and hoisted her up sidesaddle in front of him. Her legs draped over his thigh, and she flung her arms around him, assessing his health, seeing that he had no cuts or holes. The horse tossed his head, and Evan legged the animal back into a canter. She gloried in her husband’s strength and stability. With his arms firmly around her, she felt safe and secure.
“How is the prince? Is he alive?” Evan asked.
“Yes, but he’s cut quite badly. He’s being brave, though it’s costing him. Louisa is tending him, and by tending, I mean breathing fire.”
She expected him to laugh, but he didn’t.
“What happened to Fitzroy?” she asked.
“I shot him. He’s dead.” His voice was flat, matter of fact. “Where is Percival?”
Raising her head, she frowned. “Why? What’s he done?”
“We need to know how much he knows about this. He was at Salamanca, he is friends with Fitzroy, and he’s suddenly got money when before he had none.”
Her heart went cold. Percival was a bully and a dilettante, but a spy? A potential assassin or conspirator? Surely not.
When they reached the terrace, Marcus was already off his horse and striding into the house. Evan let Diana slip to the ground before dismounting himself. His rifle stuck up at an angle behind his shoulder, but he seemed not to be aware it was there. He followed his friend into the house, and Diana set off in his wake.
How she wished the manor was empty of guests as she threaded her way amongst the people clustered in the front hall. They were looking away from her toward the drawing room door, where Marcus and Evan had gone, and she hurried there, determined to be present when they questioned her half brother.
Marcus and Evan were lifting Percival from a chair, one on each side, when she arrived. “Come with us,” Marcus said.
“I’m not going anywhere with you. Unhand me.” Percival struggled, red blotches appearing on his cheeks as he took the measure of those looking on.
“What is all this?” Diana’s father asked. “Take your hands off my son.”
“Sir …” Evan paused. “Stay out of this. I’ll deal with you later.”
“You can’t speak to me that way.” The duke tottered as he rose to his feet.
“Father, sit down.” Diana spoke to him sharply. “Your turn will come, but for now it’s Percival who has some questions to answer.”
Her father’s mouth fell open, his eyes blinking. She had never dared to stand up to him, to rebuke him publicly. Diana didn’t give him another glance. He had no power over her any longer.
“I say, let me go!” Percival kicked out, and while he missed Marcus’s leg, he managed to hit a table, upsetting a vase and toppling it to the floor with a crash.
“We can do this here in front of everyone, or you can come quietly with us to the library. It is your choice.” Marcus twisted Percival’s arm up behind his back and marched him through the hall toward the rear of the house. Evan hurried after them.
By the time Diana reached the library, Percival had been put into a deep armchair, and Evan was just closing the door. She held her palm against it. Evan looked as if he intended to refuse her entry, then he capitulated with a nod.
When she’d slipped inside, he turned the key in the lock. Diana went to the window seat while Evan stayed by the door, his arms crossed as he leaned against the portal.
“Now is the time, if you want to avoid a noose. Tell me what you know.” Marcus leaned over her brother.
Diana was amazed. The normally genial Marcus seemed a different man, focused, intent, and not a little frightening.
“I don’t know anything,” Percival exclaimed. “What do you mean, accusing me? I had nothing to do with this madness. That’s what it must be, a momentary madness on the part of Fitzroy. Where is he? He can tell you I had nothing to do with any plot to kill the prince.”
“No one is going to believe that. How could you not know? You’ve been thick with Fitzroy for more than a year now. You were in Spain and had ample opportunity to cross paths with a French spy to courier a message to Fitzroy. How did you get on that envoy to Spain in the first place? What were you doing on the battlefield, where you had no business being? What did Fitzroy tell you about who ordered the assassination? Where did your sudden influx of money come from?” The interrogation came so thick and fast Percival had no time to answer.