Page 91 of A Little Bit Dangerous
Griffin? What the devil was he doing at the conte’s auction?
“I’ll not be silenced,” Griffin shouted. “You promisedmeyour daughter’s hand in marriage. Yet this posturing dandy claims you granted him the privilege. I paid you in good faith, yet you forced me to partake in this disgusting charade.”
Mr Griffin failed to see his own hypocrisy.
The conte raised his chin and cursed in Italian. “Sir Geoffrey is powerless to act. I have a legally binding contract. Being a fair man, I shall see you reimbursed. Or you may accept another woman in return for your payment. I know a fiery red-headed creature who will serve you well. I shall have her brought up at once.”
But Mr Griffin would not be deterred. “Miss Lawton accepted my suit when she was eighteen years old. Miss Blunkett from the Bramling Seminary had Sir Geoffrey sign a letter agreeing to the match.”
The conte faced Lawton. “Is this true?”
Lawton shrugged. “The letter is worthless. Besides, I imagine Miss Blunkett disposed of it years ago.”
“I have it!” Griffin whipped the note from his pocket and waved it vigorously. “And shall read it out before witnesses.”
Christian groaned. A good barrister would have this fool dismissed from court. The conte obviously agreed and decided to vilify and humiliate the reprobate.
“You’re no match for a man like me,” the conte sneered. “From the poor cut of your coat, it is clear you lack refinement. Why would Miss Lawton wish to marry a mister when she can carry the title of contessa?”
Christian leant closer to Aaron. “If I’m to marry Miss Lawton, I must eliminate the competition.” A less confident man might question his own worth. But he knew Isabella cared for him. It was there in every kind word, every kiss, every gentle caress.
“You’re worth more than these cretins. If Miss Lawton cannot see that, she doesn’t deserve you. Besides, what can Griffin do?”
Like Aaron, the conte and every other man in the room, Christian had underestimated the power of Griffin’s vehemence. “You will bring Miss Lawton to me, else I shall wipe that smug grin off your face.”
The conte laughed. He called for his men to intervene, the same miscreants who had aided him outside the Grapes tavern.
Much to everyone’s horror, Griffin pulled a hunting knife from a satchel. Those next to him darted from the aisle, knocking over their fancy chairs. The onlookers merely gasped as Griffin threw his blade with practised expertise.
From the trajectory, Christian knew it would hit the target.
For a second or two, the conte seemed confused by the crowd’s horrified cries. With an air of nonchalance, he glanced down at his expensive silk coat and noticed the knife protruding from his chest. As quick as the spread of burgundy blood, the life drained from the conte’s shocked face.
He swayed, his eyes so wide the whites were visible. Then he dropped to his knees before his face hit the floor with a thud.
* * *
Only an imbecile would lock a desperate woman in a bedchamber and presume she could not escape. Only the conte would assume he could bribe a woman with a ruby necklace and a pretty red dress.
But something was amiss.
The smell of smoke and distant cries had drawn Isabella to the window. Amid the inky blackness of the Thames, the moored boats were a wild blaze of amber and gold. Men were busy filling buckets from the river to douse the flames and had been battling the fire for an hour.
Knowing the distraction would assist in her escape, Isabella listened at the bedchamber door before pulling pins from her newly styled hair and using them to trip the mechanism.
She laughed to herself.
Every miserable moment in her life had brought her to this point. Had it not been for Miss Blunkett’s strict punishments, Isabella wouldn’t know the first thing about picking a lock.
Armed with a wine bottle, she prised the door carefully from the jamb and peered into the dimly lit corridor. There was no one in the hallway except for the beast keeping guard at the top of the marble staircase.
She hesitated.
The servants’ stairs were closest, and she’d have a better chance of escaping into the garden. Yet it would be impossible to leave via the river, and the fire would have drawn more servants outside.
And who would free the women in the cellar? By the time she sought help, they might be in carriages bound for Dover. Doubts crept into her mind. There was more chance of getting caught if she didn’t run now.
She said a silent prayer, hoping the Lord would offer a solution.
