Let her go or I'll shoot you.""I've never met a woman who'd have the guts to...

Let her go or I'll shoot you."
"I've never met a woman who'd have the guts to shoot a man," he sneered. All the women he knew were too kind. Too gentle.
"I have the guts," the girl said. "Better yet, I to shoot you."
That shook him. The words, and the tone, a kind of flat, plain aversion the like of which he'd never met in all of his privileged life. What had he ever done to deserve this girl's contempt? And why did he even care? "Which part of me will you shoot?" he mocked. "All that's showing is my head-and you can't be that good with a gun."
"I am," the girl said. "On the count of three, I'll shoot. One . . ."
"You'd take the chance of hurting Miss Victorine?" he asked.
"I won't hurt her. Two . . ."
"Amy, please, let him go!" Miss Victorine begged. "He was such a sweet boy."
"Three." Amy's eyes narrowed. Her finger began to squeeze the trigger.
And he released Miss Victorine, spinning her away from him and into a cabinet.
She landed with a thud and fell. The pistol roared.
He dived to the floor.
A shot whistled past the place where his head had been.
"Damn, that was close. Good thing you surrendered, my lord!"
"Don't swear, dear, it's not ladylike.