Pickpocket Countess by Bronwyn Scott

Author:Bronwyn Scott
Language: ron
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

With nimble steps, Nora stepped towards St John and presented him with a black bag. ‘Pass the bag about the table and deposit your jewellery and effects into it,’ she snapped, giving one of the guns an ominous wave.

St John was too flustered to do anything but comply. He fumbled with the ruby cravat pin he wore and put it in the bag. Mister Flack on his left had no such compunction.

‘Now see here, you insolent bastard, you cannot commandeer us in such a fashion!’

She cocked the pistol, an unmistakeable sound. ‘Can I not?’

‘Damn it all, man,’ Flack beseeched the host. ‘Call for your servants.’

Eyes blazing at the man’s insistent mutiny, Nora kicked over his crystal goblet of red wine and let the burgundy stain seep into the pristine cloth. ‘Better wine than blood, wouldn’t you agree, Mr Flack? At the next interruption, I shoot. Don’t take any notions about servants coming to your rescue. They have been effectively subdued thanks to a wee potion in their afternoon tea.’ She hoped that sufficiently cowed Mr Flack. She would rather not shoot anyone although, if it came to it, a flesh wound to the shoulder might do some of them good.

The women put up no resistance as she trained the pistols on each guest in turn, causing them to make their donations quickly so that the pistols might be turned on their neighbour instead. The bag came to Brandon last. Her eyes locked on his, compelling him to keep her secret. Don’t make me have to try to shoot you.

His gaze was riveting and demanded her attention, which almost cost her. In order to keep the bag and Brandon in sight, she turned her attention slightly away from the other half of the table. Brandon’s face saved her at the last moment. His sharp eyes slid to the left and she whirled with his gaze, hearing the noise as she did so.

Stinging from the loss of his diamond cravat pin, Mr Witherspoon tried to play the hero. A gentleman’s derringer flashed in his hand. Only his penchant for the dramatic bought her the needed extra seconds. If he had shot first and talked later, the outcome might have been vastly different.

‘Drop your weapons!’ Witherspoon bellowed.

Nora laughed fearlessly. ‘Drop your weapons, sir!’

‘I am not afraid. I don’t think you’ll shoot,’ Witherspoon retorted.

‘How willing are you to risk your companions on that bet? For instance, would you be willing to risk the Earl?’ She turned one of her pistols on Brandon. Damn the seating arrangement. She had no choice. The shattered door lay to his right—her escape and he was in the way. She wished it was anyone but him. This was the very scenario she wanted to avoid. If she couldn’t shoot him, she would have to take him with her.

She started barking instructions while the table erupted into muffled shrieks of horror at the possibility of a murdered Earl. ‘My lord, take the bag and start backing towards the door. Do not try to run.

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