Page 92 of A Little Bit Dangerous
The solution came sooner than expected.
The sudden boom of pistol fire and panicked cries had the guard leaving his post and racing downstairs. She waited a minute before creeping along the corridor and peering over the bannister.
Two armed men, one who looked familiar, ushered the guard and liveried servants aside, warning them to keep their hands raised.
Isabella blinked and narrowed her gaze.
Praise be! It was Mr Daventry’s buccaneer agent, Mr Sloane.
A wave of emotion swept over her—relief that help was on hand and that sometime soon Christian would know she had not deserted him.
She hurried downstairs. “Mr Sloane!”
The gentleman saw her and beckoned her forward.
After a garbled attempt to explain all that had occurred, she said, “Someone needs to free the women in the cellar. Tell me Mr Daventry didn’t send you here without assistance.” Pulse galloping, she glanced behind her. “We must help those poor hostages before my father and the conte find us.”
Mr Sloane placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “The conte is dead. Killed by a gentleman here for the auction. One of the conte’s men shot the assassin. We cannot enter the ballroom. Your father and his lackeys have pistols aimed at the Chance brothers.”
“Christian is here?”
Mr Sloane managed a weak smile. “Yes, but they’re locked in a stalemate. The Chance brothers and our colleagues have their pistols trained on your father and the men in the crowd. If one shoots, they all will.”
Her heart skipped a beat.
She could not lose Christian.
Not now she had found a reason to stop running.
Not now she had found someone to love.
“I have an idea.” She explained her plan to enter the ballroom. “It’s lunacy, but it might give us a few precious seconds to disarm my father.”
Mr Sloane conversed with his colleague.
Time was of the essence. “If I can distract my father, Mr Daventry can shoot. I’m light on my feet. Is it not better to risk one life than many?” Did the Chance brothers not deserve retribution?
A footman spoke and explained she could access the stage from the garden terrace.
“I could hide behind the curtain and strike with a viper-like snap,” she said, praying she could hold her nerve.
“I’ll accompany you,” Mr Sloane said. “Hunter can keep watch here.”
Though her heart thumped hard against her ribcage, she followed Mr Sloane into the garden. As they headed towards the paved terrace, they heard footsteps and muted cries.
Ethel Cartwright and the enslaved women burst out through the servants’ door. Some were barely clothed. Some were dazed. Some were sobbing, relieved to find themselves free of their shackles.
“Ethel?” Isabella whispered, beckoning her over.
Wielding a pistol, Ethel closed the gap between them, the hostages following behind like sheep. “I planned to come looking for you, Miss Lawton, once I’d found somewhere safe to hide the girls.”
Isabella introduced Mr Sloane. “There’s no time to talk now.” She explained her plan. “It’s my only option. My father won’t see me as a threat. If I strike quickly, I can catch him unawares.”
Ethel wouldn’t hear of it. “I’ll go. You wouldn’t be in this mess if I’d not hammered on the Den’s door. Besides, if I can knock a burly guard out with an empty bottle, I can rid the world of the devil’s spawn.”
“I have a better idea. You’ll assist Mr Sloane. Do everything in your power to ensure I don’t die.” Isabella made for the terrace doors before it was too late and someone fired the first shot.
Ethel followed, as did the foreign women who barely spoke a word of English between them. Still, they understood hand gestures and the need for silence.
