Page 120 of Never Beguile a Duke
“I’m surprised,” Mr. Curtis said, his eyes locked on Silas, “that you discovered us. Pray, how did you come to learn we were hiding in Mrs. Webb’s residence?”
“I followed Mr. Hollingsworth after he attacked Roxburghe outside the gaming hall.”
“Damn fool.” Mr. Curtis shook his head. “I never should have depended upon him.”
“From what I witnessed,” Silas said, keeping his fists raised, “he shouldn’t have trusted you, either.”
“What did he tell you?” Mr. Curtis took a step toward Silas.
“That your pistol only had one shot remaining, and you didn’t know where he’d hidden the bullets.” The corner of Silas’ mouth crooked. “I heard the second gunshot.”
“I don’t need a gun to kill someone.”
“Neither do I.” Silas lifted his chin. “I will see you hanged for the murders of Miss Fernsby-Webb and Miss Ridlington.”
“Miss Ridlington?” A tiny pucker appeared on Mr. Curtis’ forehead. “I don’t recall the name.”
“You should,” Silas growled, stalking forward. “You left her daughter without a mother, and the Hills sent that poor, suffering child to a workhouse.”
A light flashed in Mr. Curtis’ dark eyes. “Are you speaking about that whip of a chit who used to spy on me during my residency at the Hills?”
“My daughter,” Silas said, emphasizing the words, “witnessed the atrocities you committed upon her mother.”
“The fanciful notions of a child?—”
“Who was hiding in the chamber during each attack and sketched her mother’s killer with such accuracy that we were able to provide your likeness to the parish constable.” A bold lie, but Silas doubted Mr. Curtis would verify the accuracy of the statement.
The faint sheen of sweat appeared on Mr. Curtis’ face, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other as though judging his body’s ability to overtake, then outrun Silas. “No magistrate will accept her word as evidence. She’s a bastard.”
“Juliette is the daughter of a duke, and even if her account is dismissed due to age or circumstance, my title holds enough weight to have you accused of and arrested for the crime.” Silas took another step toward Mr. Curtis. “Do you think the Hills will support your claim when faced with permanent ostracization from society?”
“You’re bluffing.” Mr. Curtis edged away from Silas. “You don’t have that amount of influence over the ton.”
“I do.” Silas’ lip curled. “I possess powerful friends, Mr. Curtis.”
“None of whom appear to support your reckless cause,” Mr. Curtis replied, his gaze sliding to Miss Fernsby-Webb.
He shouldn’t have taken his eyes from Mr. Curtis, but the prospect that Miss Fernsby-Webb might still be alive caused him to shift his attention to her lovely face. Her chest dipped, the slight movement bolstering Silas’ hopes.
If only she would wake.
A heavy weight slammed into Silas’ torso, and he stumbled backward, crashing into the wall. Before he could defend himself, Mr. Curtis swung his arm, his fist striking Silas’ cheek. Silas’ head rebounded off the thin layer of lime plaster coating the attic partition.
Mr. Curtis spun, took two steps toward the doorway.
Silas flung his body between Mr. Curtis and the exit, grabbing Mr. Curtis’ shoulders and throwing him away from the staircase.
Struggling to maintain his balance, Mr. Curtis danced backward, nearly stepping on Miss Fernsby-Webb in his attempt to remain upright. As Mr. Curtis regained his footing, Silas eliminated the distance between them, snapped his fist, and, with every ounce of hatred pouring through him, whacked Mr. Curtis’s smug chin.
His eyes rolled backward, and Mr. Curtis dropped to the floor without a sound.
Silas stepped over Mr. Curtis’ unconscious body and knelt beside Winifred, lifting her torso from the floor. He brushed several dark brown strands of hair from her face, tucking the pieces behind her ear.
“Please,” he said, his thumb sliding over her lips, “open your eyes, Winifred.”
Only silence answered him.
Leaning over, he touched his mouth to hers. With a gasp, Miss Fernsby-Webb jerked upright into a sitting position. Her head whipped toward him, the terror in her eyes fading.
