The study was dimly lit, with only a few candles casting long shadows across the ornate furniture. I stood perfectly still, watching Lord Malachi Ravenscroft squirm in his chair, blood seeping from the wound in his hand. The sickening smell of copper filled the air.
"You shot me!" Malachi's voice cracked as he clutched his bleeding hand to his chest, eyes wide with disbelief. "You actually shot me, you bastard!"
I remained unmoved by his theatrics. "Consider it a warning shot."
Reed stood behind me, silent and ready. His earlier display of temper—throwing the dagger when Malachi first started speaking about Isabella—had surprised me. Reed was typically the most controlled of my men.
"I merely shared my admiration for your wife," Malachi whimpered, trying to stem the bleeding with his handkerchief. "There's no need for violence between gentlemen."
