The Irish Devil by Diane Whiteside Read Free Book Online

“Did you speak to him for long?” Instinctively, her hand crept toward the bottle.
    She had to deal with this herself. Sheriff Lloyd would be of no use in any confrontation with Lennox. He was far more interested in pouring whisky down his throat than saying no to the man who paid his salary.
    “I’m afraid so; he was a very stubborn man at times.” Lennox came closer. “Come, my dear, we can discuss this later.”
    “Did you argue with him, Mr. Lennox?” She had to learn the truth.
    “Gentlemen don’t have arguments. We merely spoke with some emotion,” he corrected.
    “Did the discussion become heated? So hot you had to take action?”
    “Mrs. Ross,” he began, guilt creeping into his eyes.
    “You killed him with your sword stick, the one you had to scrub. I saw you wash up at the livery stable’s water trough.” Edward’s death wound had been too deep and narrow for a Bowie knife and Lennox had the only sword in town that night.
    He fumbled for words. “He was inebriated, Mrs. Ross. We had words and he attacked me. I had to defend myself.”
    “You, who served four years in the Union cavalry, could do no better with your sword than kill a drunk in an alley?” Enraged at the murder and his lies, Viola took a half step toward him but kept her hand near the bottle. “Your actions speak of the gutter, sir, and render your offer unacceptable.”
    His eyes blazed at the insult and he tightened his grip on the sword stick’s shaft. “I suggest you reconsider, Mrs. Ross.”
    “You can say nothing that would make me accept you.”
    “Consider your position, Mrs. Ross,” Lennox snarled at her. “Where will you live? I can evict you from this hovel in five minutes.”
    Viola gritted her teeth and repeated stonily, “I will not marry you, Mr. Lennox.”
    He took a deep breath, visibly trying to collect himself. “Come, come, my offer needs more thought than that. You can have a glass of Riesling at my house and some biscuits while you reconsider. Perhaps you’d enjoy a matched string of pearls as your wedding present.” He grabbed her elbow.
    “No!” Viola yanked away from him. “No, no, no!”
    Lennox glared at her and swept the sword stick up toward the canvas roof, ready to strike her.
    Viola smashed the bottle against the windowsill and brought her newly formed weapon into position before her, business end toward her enemy as Edward had taught her on the long road west. A single spray of roses caught her cuff like reassurance and sunlight. “I think not, sir,” she announced coldly, and swallowed hard.
    He stared at the razor-sharp edge pointed at his privates. “You cannot be serious.”
    “Completely so, sir,” Viola said brusquely, her pulse steady now as she faced him.
    He brought the heavy cane down in a whistling arc aimed at simply knocking the bottle aside; Edward had always said most men discounted women in a fight. She countered as she’d been taught, aiming for Lennox’s hand to disarm him. The broken bottle sliced through skin and muscle, setting off a gush of crimson.
    He yelped as the cane fell to the floor. “Why, you vicious bitch!”
    Viola waited, keeping her weapon ready to resume the fight. If she thought about what she’d done, she might faint. God must be smiling on her, to succeed with that move.
    Blood ran down his hand. He wrapped a handkerchief around his wound, cursing continuously. “Devil take you, you’ll pay for that.”
    He clenched his good hand but she quickly brought the bottle up to block him again. He bent down slowly and picked up the sword stick, watching her constantly.
    “You’re standing on my property, Mrs. Ross.” Venom lanced his voice. “You have an hour to compose yourself after the day’s shocks. Then I’ll return to escort you to my house, the only place you’ll find shelter in this town.”
    “Get out.” Her stomach felt like a rattlesnake’s den, all twisting coils hidden from the light, but she held her ground.
    He gripped