Page 155 of His Grace, the Duke
“Getoffme!”
“Give me the gun!”
With a growl, he sprang forward, darting down the row of fruiting trees. His heart dropped from his chest as he cleared them. There in the corner, near the wall of glass, Rosalie and Marianne were tangled together on the ground, scrambling for control of the pistol that shot Burke.
“Marianne, enough!” Tom barked, stepping forward.
Both women stilled at his voice. The distraction was allMarianne needed to tug a knife free from her leather half-boot. Tom watched in horror as she brought it up to Rosalie’s neck.
“I say when it’s enough,” she shrieked, pressing in with the knife point at Rosalie’s throat.
Rosalie gasped, going still.
Terror filled Tom as the knife pricked Rosalie’s skin. A bead of dark red blood streaked down the silver.
“Get up,” Marianne grunted. “Up, get up.”
Together, she and Rosalie shuffled to their feet, all while she kept the knife at Rosalie’s throat. The pistol lay forgotten. It was madness to fight over it anyway. It only had one shot. Marianne would’ve had to reload to use it again.
“Burke,” Rosalie whimpered, tears falling.
“Alive,” he replied.
“Don’t speak!” Marianne cried. “Don’t even look at her.” She pressed in with the knife and Rosalie strained her neck, trying to shift away from its sharp point.
Tom took a slow exhale, raising his hands in surrender. They were both stained with Burke’s blood. He saw the look of horror on Rosalie’s face, but he ignored it. He had to. “Okay, it’s alright. We’ll do this your way. I’m not looking at her. Marianne,” he coaxed, his voice soft. “Mari... look at me.” Marianne blinked back her tears, pulling Rosalie back a few steps. In a panic, Rosalie put her hands around the arm holding the knife to her throat, but Marianne stiffened, pressing in again with the point until Rosalie stilled.
“Mari, just look at me,” he pleaded. “Talkto me. I’m right here. You wonder why there’s such confusion between us, but you don’t talk to me anymore. You only talk to her. But she doesn’t matter,” he soothed. “She is nothing compared to the history we share, you said it yourself—”
“Don’t placate me,” she cried, tears falling. “And don’t you dare pity me!”
“I don’t pity you,” he replied. “Only, help me understand. What is it you want from me?”
“Why-why won’t you just love me?” she cried. “I’ve done everything I can to make you love me. I wanted you to fight for me, but you didn’t. I had to marry Thackeray. And then in the spring, when I heard you’d come back, I knew this was our chance. But you’re spoiling it with her!”
Confusion swirled with suspicion in his gut. “Oh, God,” he whispered. “Mari, when did you learn I had returned to England?”
She shook her head, her lips a thin line.
His suspicions turned to a deep sense of knowing. “Mari... what did you do?”
“I did nothing!” she spat. “Nothing except fight for the future I’ve always wanted. The future we are meant to have together! I will not let one more person stand in our way!”
Rosalie let out another whine that threatened to tear Tom apart.
“Mari, tell me what happened to Thackeray.”
Suddenly Rosalie stilled, putting the pieces together. Her eyes went wide, and he knew she shared his suspicions.
“It was a carriage accident,” Marianne replied, her tone emotionless. “A foggy day. The coachman was going too fast, and Thackeray was clipped crossing the street.”
“Did you arrange it?” Tom whispered. “Did you push him?”
Marianne hissed. “Howdareyou suggest such a thing?”
Tom shook his head, putting the pieces together. “I arrived back in England... then your husband suffers an accident that claims his life. You wait barely three months, hardly evena proper mourning period, before writing to me, seeking to renew our friendship.”
“I did only what I had to do! I would do anything for you, Tom. Shall I prove it yet again?” She pressed in with the knife and the blade sliced Rosalie’s skin, red blood dripping onto the white lace at her collar.
