Page 105 of No One's Bride
Almost choking in panic, Ailsa swung around to face the group of agents from the Alien Office. “Did Mr Smith say what he wanted with Lord Denton? Has he come for the grimoire?” Or did he mean to silence anyone who’d deciphered the code?
The fellow, who’d had his nose broken by Mr Gibbs in the alley, shrugged and shifted uncomfortably. “We were just following orders, ma’am. We were told to wait outside while Mr Smith discussed the exchange.”
The exchange?
So, he had come for the spell book.
Mr Chance growled his frustration. “Step aside. Let me kick down the door. If that blackguard has hurt my brother, he’ll hang from the balustrade.”
Perhaps their concerns were irrational, and Mr Smith’s reason for visiting was genuine. But the short sharp crack of pistol fire penetrated the night air, sending them all stumbling back in shock.
Mr Daventry kicked the door hard.
The wood splintered.
They all charged inside, following the howl of a man in pain.
Mr Gibbs’ strained voice reached her ears. “Hurry. Find something to stem the bleeding.”
“Sebastian!” Ailsa dashed along the hall, not knowing how her weak knees kept her upright. She burst into the drawing room behind Mr Smith’s men, their broad shoulders blocking her view. “Sebastian!”
Tears welled as she came up on her tiptoes.
“Don’t move him,” Mr Daventry growled. “The lead may have penetrated a major artery. We need to pack the wound and apply a tourniquet.”
“Sebastian!” Ailsa tried to push through the crowd of men and managed to glimpse Mr Chance. He looked calm and unruffled, which meant it wasn’t Christian Chance bleeding to death on the floor.
Dinnae let it be Sebastian.
The room started spinning.
Her vision grew hazy.
She was falling, a slow slide into oblivion.
But strong arms encircled her waist, scooping her up and carrying her across the hall to the study. She didn’t need to open her eyes to know it was Sebastian. His potent scent filled her head. The heat of his body turned her blood molten.
She dared to look at him. The first glimpse of his face amid the candlelight failed to soothe her spirit. “Tell me ye’re well.” He looked pale, weary. “Tell me ye’re unhurt.”
He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “My heart almost stopped beating when Smith said he’d arrested you. Now you’re here, I can release the breath I’ve been holding for hours.” He held her tightly to his chest, kissing her lips, nose, and brow. “If I’d lost you tonight, Ailsa, I’d have—”
“I know.” Too scared to think about what might have happened, she said, “Were ye forced to shoot Mr Smith?”
“He shot himself in the leg during the tussle.”
Tears of relief trickled down her cheeks, though her stomach still roiled at the thought of losing Sebastian.
“Smith came for the grimoire.” Sebastian dashed her tears away with the pad of his thumb. “Someone offered him money in exchange for the book. I’m just thankful he came here first and wasn’t compelled to find the list.”
She explained what happened with Mr Chadwick. “He persuaded Mr Hibbet to join the cause and feigned illness to avoid detection.”
He didn’t care about Mr Chadwick’s motive. “Why the devil did you step out from behind the curtain? Chadwick might have shot you.”
“I couldnae let him shoot Mr Daventry.” She knew fear had caused his sudden outburst. A fear of losing those close to him. “But we’re both here to tell the tale. That’s all that matters. Oh, and the fact yer arms must be aching from holding me for so long.”
A smile tugged at his mouth. “You’re a master of distraction and know how to drag a man out of a sullen mood.”
Sebastian dropped into the wing chair, pulling her onto his lap. The panicked shouts from the drawing room spilled into the hall, the din and the thud of footsteps receding.
