The Deadliest Sin. Caroline Richards

emphasis, Strathmore added, “I find myself quite unaccountably irritable. Any untoward movements will put you at risk of seeing one of your body parts summarily removed.” There was a collective inhalation of breath. The threat was casually delivered but hit its mark.

      Felicity gave a high, tinkling laugh, totally at odds with the tension in the room. “All’s well that ends well. Miss Woolcott was not to my liking in the first place.”

      “The feeling was entirely mutual,” Strathmore said. “And in part responsible for Miss Woolcott’s uncontrollable outburst of jealousy.”

      Julia clenched her teeth.

      “I do have that effect on men, I’m told,” Felicity purred, choosing to interpret the words as a compliment, not in the least concerned or discomfited by the drama unfolding before her eyes. “Whenever you find yourself at loose ends, Strathmore—”

      “She shot herself accidentally?” Beaumarchais interrupted, impatience tightening his tone.

      “There was a struggle—I tried to take the pistol from her,” Strathmore said just as curtly. “I presume my carriage has been brought around.”

      The discussion came to an abrupt end. Cool night air rushed into the music room as the French doors opened. Strathmore scooped Julia from the floor, holding her fast, his arm snug beneath her knees and her shoulders. She kept her breathing shallow and low, trying to ignore the half-cocked pistol riding hard against Strathmore’s thigh or the rise and fall, rise and fall of his chest against her back.

      Surrendering was all she could do.