“Could you not just trust me, Stefan?”
“No.” With a shake of his head, he moved to stand directly before her, his hands gripping her shoulders. “That is the one thing I cannot do.”
“Why?” She resisted the urge to pull from his grasp. “I would never do anything to hurt you or your family. Indeed, I have done everything in my power to protect you. It was your own ridiculous notion to follow me.”
His lips thinned, as if angered by her sincere words. “You knew that I would.”
“Actually, I presumed a duke would have more important duties than chasing after an unwelcome guest.”
“I never allow anything that belongs to me to slip away.”
Swallowing her pride, Leonida parted her lips, prepared to plead if necessary. Before she could speak, however, there was a loud, unexpected bang just outside the window.
Mon Dieu. Had someone just fired a pistol?
Caught off guard, Leonida did not readily recognize the danger. Not until Stefan stumbled forward, a trail of blood running from his shoulder down his bare chest.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
WRAPPING HER ARMS AROUND Stefan’s waist, Leonida managed to keep him upright as he struggled for his balance.
“You have been shot,” she breathed, still stunned by the unexpected attack.
“Yes, I had surmised as much,” he said dryly, managing to steady himself as he turned and headed toward the window.
“What are you doing?” she demanded. “You must lie down.”
“And allow the bastard to slip away? Not bloody likely.”
She pressed a hand to her heaving stomach, her heart pounding with fear. Stefan had been shot. He might have been killed. And it was entirely her fault.
“For God’s sake, do you want to be shot again?” she hissed, watching as he pressed against the side of the window and glanced out.
“Damn,” he muttered. “Whoever it was has made his escape.”
Moving forward, Leonida grabbed his arm and steered him toward the bed. Her concern for the wounded Stefan was for the moment far greater than for the escaping attacker.
“Would you please take a seat? You are bleeding everywhere.”
He grudgingly allowed her to settle him on the edge of the mattress, although he appeared remarkably indifferent for a man who had just been shot.
“It is nothing more than a crease.”
“I must call for a doctor.”
With startling speed he reached to grasp her wrist. “No.”
“Do not be a fool, Stefan. You must allow your wound to be properly treated. It might become infected.”
“And have all of Paris buzzing with the news that the Duke of Huntley was shot in the private hotel suite of the Countess Karkoff’s daughter?” he demanded.
“No one in Paris knows who I am. We could say…”
“Leonida, there would be no means to prevent an investigation. The French authorities would insist upon it.”
“And you believe there will be no investigation if the Duke of Huntley bleeds to death in a Parisian hotel?”
His lips twisted. “You will not be rid of me so easily. I have received worse injures cutting wood. If you would be good enough to hand me my jacket?”