Page 121 of Never Beguile a Duke
“You’re late,” she said, a tiny smile cracking her face. “I expected you yesterday.”
“Forgive my tardiness,” he replied, his grin matching hers. “It took a while to determine your exact location.”
“Is the Duke of Roxburghe with you?”
“He’s recovering from an injury caused by Mr. Hollingsworth.” Silas took her hand and skimmed his lips across her knuckles, relishing the tingles that accompanied the intimate action. “I’m certain he’ll return to his usual ornery disposition in no time. However, before I deliver you to your sister’s care, there’s something we need to discuss.”
“Are you angry with me?” Miss Fernsby-Webb withdrew her hand from his.
“For falling victim to Mr. Curtis’ ruse… certainly not.” Silas retook her hand. “I wish to speak about the rumor that we’re engaged.”
Sinking her teeth into her lower lip, Miss Fernsby-Webb lowered her gaze as a light pink blush exploded across her cheeks. “That was for protection. I needed a distraction to prevent Mr. Curtis from killing me.”
Silas hooked his finger under her chin and lifted her face, his eyes searching hers. “Do you still wish to be engaged to me?”
“You haven’t asked…”
Eyes widening, Miss Fernsby-Webb screamed, and blinding pain exploded in Silas’ shoulder.
Reaching up, Silas’ fingers closed around the quill knife’s hilt. However, before he could pull the blade from his body, Mr. Curtis seized Silas from behind, flung him away from Miss Fernsby-Webb, then pounced on him, landing two quick blows to Silas’ head.
They rolled across the floor, snarling at each other like wild animals. As they completed a rotation, Mr. Curtis grasped the knife handle and yanked the blade from Silas’ shoulder. Silas yelled out, his arm numbing as blood poured from the wound.
Mr. Curtis swung again, his fist colliding with Silas’ right eye. With black spots dancing through Silas’ vision, Mr. Curtis leaned back, raised the knife high in the air, and brought the blade down with lethal force, aiming for Silas’ heart.
Silas’ arms whipped up, and he grabbed Mr. Curtis’ wrists, stopping the knife from slicing through his muslin shirt. The tip pressed into Silas’ chest, threatening to impale him.
Laughing, Mr. Curtis leaned all his weight forward, driving the knife through Silas’ shirt. “I’ve never taken the life of a duke before. I do hope it will be as enjoyable as killing your fiancée.”
As the blade pierced his skin, Miss Fernsby-Webb released an ear-splitting shriek, rushed across the chamber, and leaped onto Mr. Curtis’ back. Weaving her hand through his dark hair, she closed her fist around the strands and yanked.
Mr. Curtis’ head flew backward. He dropped the knife, narrowly missing Silas’ torso, rose, and spun around, attempting to dislodge Miss Fernsby-Webb.
Digging her fingernails into Mr. Curtis’ skin, she tightened her hold on him.
With a yell, Mr. Curtis turned and ran backward into a wall, smashing Miss Fernsby-Webb against the hard surface. His efforts did little to dislodge her, who, taking advantage of her current position, adjusted her grip and locked her legs around his torso by hooking her ankles together.
“One of us is going to die today,” she said, her voice filled with grim determination.
“Agreed.” His eyes glittered with malice, and he danced away from the wall, whipping them around in blurry circles.
As he spun, Miss Fernsby-Webb pummeled his head, cuffing his ears and any other portion of his body within striking distance of her fists.
Curses poured from Mr. Curtis. He reached behind his head, blindly swinging, but he couldn’t protect himself and remove Miss Fernsby-Webb from his back. Staggering backward, Mr. Curtis stumbled through the attic doorway.
“Watch out!” Silas scrambled to his feet, but he was too far away.
Hovering on the top step, with Miss Fernsby-Webb firmly attached to him, Mr. Curtis teetered forward, then backward, then forward again, and then, both their eyes rounding to the size of teacup saucers, they tipped backward and tumbled down the staircase—feet over head—their groans drowned out by the crashing of limbs against the wooden steps.
When they came to rest on the second-floor landing, a deafening silence blanketed the house.
Creeping to the edge of the staircase, Silas peered down at the floor below him, but only a fraction of Miss Fernsby-Webb’s bare left foot was visible.
And that portion wasn’t moving. Was Mr. Curtis lying in a similar position?
Silas turned, his gaze searching the dim attic floor for the quill knife. Upon locating the blade, he hastened across the floor, snatched up the weapon, and raced to the doorway. Raising the knife into a striking position, Silas crept down the staircase, descending one step at a time.
When he reached the final riser, he peered around the corner, expecting to find both Miss Fernsby-Webb and Mr. Curtis. However, only Miss Fernsby-Webb’s body lay on the floor, her appendages twisted into a macabre pose.
