Claire’s head had fallen back, but no merciful oblivion of unconsciousness had come to her relief. Her mouth was a little open and the breath came in short, quick gasps between her grey lips. Her face looked like a mask, set in a blank stupor of horror.
The sound of the shot brought Blaise and Nick racing to Jean’s side. One glance through the glass door sufficed them.
“God in heaven! He’s gone mad!” Nick’s voice was quick with fear for the woman he loved.
“Get Tucker here at once!”
Blaise’s swift command, flung at her as he and Nick leaped forward, sent Jean flying along the terrace as fast as feet winged with unutterable terror could carry her. As she ran, she heard the crash of splintering glass as the two men she had left behind smashed in the panel of the locked door, and, almost simultaneously, Sir Adrian’s pistol barked again—another shot, and then a third in quick succession.
The sound seemed to wring every nerve in her body... had that madman shot him?
With sobbing breath she rushed blindly on into the house and met the butler, running too, white faced and horror-stricken.
“My God, miss! Sir Adrian’s murdering her ladyship—and the room door’s locked!”
The man almost babbled out the words in his extremity of fear.
“The terrace door... Quick, Tucker!”—Jean gasped out the order. “Mr. Brennan’s there they’ve broken in the glass...”