Page 85 of When a Lady Desires a Wicked Lord
“Go to hell.” Benedict raised his weapon.
A gunshot roared. Her knees trembled as she fought to steady herself.
Stockwell collapsed at Benedict’s feet. He gasped for air. Again. And again.
And then, the ragged breaths stopped.
She rushed to Benedict. Blood marred his upper left chest. Stockwell had missed his heart. Thank God!
But what damage had he inflicted with the blade?
“It’s over,” Benedict whispered. Gently, he cupped her face against his palm. “The danger is no more.”
He toppled over, but she braced him with her body. “Darling, stay with me. Help is on the way.”
Colton and his agents burst through the door. Matthew muttered an epithet as he took in the scene.
Benedict brushed his lips over hers. “I’ve always loved you, Alexandra. Don’t ever forget that.”
“Oh, Benedict, I do love you. So very much.”
“I did find a treasure after all.” His voice was a mere whisper, husky, yet so terribly weak.
His lids fluttered shut. His head sagged forward, and his body went limp. Alex struggled to support his weight as Colton and the agents rushed to their aid. She would not allow Benedict to hit the filthy floor. She could not bear the thought.
“You will not die on me, Benedict. I simply will not allow it.” She kissed him again, then stood away as an agent assessed his wound. “I love you with all my heart. I will not lose you again.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
London, Late November 1892
As Alex descended from her carriage, the chilly autumn wind blowing off the Thames cut through the meager defense offered by her wool cape. Perched on the driver’s bench, Bertram clamped a hand on his head, pinning his flat-brimmed cap in place. Giving consideration to security as well as her privacy—most particularly her desire to avoid wagging tongues when at all possible—she’d requested the cagey agent’s services this day. Typically, she would have hailed a hack and thought nothing of it.
But this was not a typical day. Far from it.
Clutching her valise, her fingers trembled ever so slightly. Goodness, she was being a goose. It wasn’t as if years had gone by since she’d last seen Benedict. Why, she and Jennie had visited his home just three days prior. Then again, perhaps, that was the very reason her hands quivered with nervous anticipation.
His recovery was nearly complete. Thankfully, the wound had been clean, missing his internal organs. With the care of a skilled physician and nurse, he’d avoided infection, and now, he’d regained a great deal of his vigor.
If only he had reclaimed the spark of vitality that had lit his eyes, that sense of challenge that had drawn her to him like a force of nature.
In the days since the incident, that dreadful night when he’d been forced to take a life, the light in his eyes had dimmed. Not quite extinguished. But only a tiny flicker of what it had been. Stockwell had given him no choice, but Benedict seemed a changed man. Distant. Withdrawn from pleasure, joy, and even sadness. He’d shown so little emotion since that night. What torment was going on deep within the recesses of his conscience?
He loved her. She had no doubt of that. Not now, since he’d willingly put his neck on the block to protect her. He’d spoken the words. She’d heard his confession of love, a whisper that would be forever imprinted in her thoughts. Now, he said little beyond ordinary pleasantries. She might as well have been a stranger. He’d gone cold.
Even though he’d lived and healed and would soon be as strong as ever, she’d lost him.
Again.
Her heart ached at the thought. The pain was very real, far more bitter than anything Stockwell had inflicted upon her. She loved Benedict. Surely, he knew that.
Yet, his indifference was a brutal blow.
Well, she was not about to sit quietly in her townhouse while he built a shell around himself, pushing her away. More than likely, he thought to shield her from whatever it was that weighed heavy on his mind. Whatever the problem he faced, they would work through it. She’d break through the barrier that was growing between them.
He needed something to draw him out of his self-imposed isolation. She’d come up with a plan, just the thing to provoke his interest. The very idea of a journey excited her. She’d been in London for months without a sojourn to Egypt. It was high time she once more embarked into the field.
“I’ll wait for ye, Miss Quinn.” Bertram smiled down at her. A kindhearted soul, he sensed her nervousness. She could see it in his eyes.
