Page 84 of A Deal With a Notorious Devil
“’Course it will,” Scratch said, with a sly cant of his head. “Weren’t foolish enough to come alone, either. So ye’ll do as I says, else I’ll have my man find yer pretty little wife, drag her out here by her hair, and snap her neck right in front o’ ye.”
∞∞∞
“I really do think we ought to summon the police,” Brooks said as bent to stuff a wad of cloth into the mouth of the behemoth of a man who laid, unmoving, upon the once-pristine marble floor of the foyer. Phoebe thought that the precautions he’d taken—binding and gagging the villain—had been utterly unnecessary, when one considered that the man was unlikely to go much of anywhere or say much of anything with a stiletto lodged in hisgut.
His fault, really. He oughtn’t to have surprised her like he had. She hadn’t even had the luxury of a scream before he’d clamped one hand over her mouth. But she’d had practice enough in drawing her dagger. That instinct had won out, and she’d freed herself ably enough. Brooks had found her here moments later, on his nightly rounds to secure the house for the evening—a little too late to be truly useful.
“No,” Phoebe said. There was a man in the process of bleeding out upon her floor, and she could not take the time to weigh the potential ramifications of bringing the authorities into this matter. Kit’s reputation was something of a nebulous thing at present. Perhaps he’d see the inside of jail cell right alongside the men who had invaded their home. Perhaps he’d swing from the gallows beside them.
Perhaps the courts would decline to charge them at all, and they’d be released to plague them another day.No.She was going to let Kit handle them, exactly as he’d suggested.
Right after she’d saved his life. When she’d peeked out the window nearest the garden, all she’d seen was what had appeared to be two men engaged in pleasant conversation. But for the pistol Russell had trained upon Kit, at least.
Phoebe drew a swift breath, the words coming in a rush. “I need you to fetch Lord Rafe as soon as possible.” Mama was already in the process of sending someone for Laurence, and Papa had gone hunting for his pistol. They hadn’t understood, exactly, and there had been no time to make explanations, but they had trusted her judgment implicitly. Best to keep it quiet—or at least as quiet as possible. Bring in only those whom she knew could be trusted.
“Me?” Brooks echoed incredulously. “Madam—”
Phoebe shoved her hand into the reticule that dangled from here wrist and withdrew the tiny muff pistol that Kit hadpurchased for her.
“Oh,” Brooks said. “Still, I don’t think—”
“Now,” she hissed. Before the conversation taking place just a little ways away turned ugly at last, as it was bound to. “The carriage is waiting on the street. I think they meant to make off with it.” It had been readied when she had arrived, though for what purpose, she could not guess.
“He’s going to murder me along with them,” Brooks muttered beneath his breath, but he managed a short nod nonetheless.
Dear God, she hoped he wasn’t correct, she thought as she tiptoed toward the garden door. She’d grown rather fond of the man. But probably Kit would be angry. If he survived.
Her heart pounded in her throat. Her palm slipped upon the grip of the pistol, clammy with sweat and terror. As she peered through the gap that had been left in the door, she bit back a sigh of relief to see that the conversation had continued in her absence.
They were some distance away. Farther than she suspected she could shoot accurately. Good lord, she was going to have to sneak up upon him, the very same way he’d done to her in that alley. Close enough to get off a shot that she knew would kill, or he might have time to get off a shot of his own before he could be disarmed.
“Good luck to you,” she heard Kit say scathingly. “She’s not here. I sent her away. Just in event that youwerefool enough to come here.”
Phoebe swallowed hard.Her. They had been discussingher. She slipped one foot through the gap in the door, endeavoring to make as little noise as possible. The hinges tended to creak, but at least Russell had not given any particular thought to closing the door behind him.
“Ye think I can’t find ‘er?” Russell said on a noxious laugh.“Weren’t difficult to get to ‘er before. Weren’t even difficult to let m’self into yer fancy ‘ouse.”
Phoebe could not see Kit from her angle just yet, wedged as she was between the door and its frame. But she winced as she heard the roughening of Kit’s voice, the changed tone and tenor, the stress of the situation causing him to slip into the common accent he was generally so proficient at masking. A tell, she thought—one his opponent would use against him. “She’s got nothing to do wiv ye and me, Scratch.”
“She ‘as now. Ye married her.”
Phoebe emerged into the garden at last, moving slowly, silently toward the shadowy lawn. An inch at a time, careful to let her feet fall softly, cautious of moving too far into the scope of Russell’s peripheral vision. He was facing mostly away from her, but any quick motion, even the subtlest sound might alert him to her presence. Another tiny step closer—another.
She saw the moment Kit spotted her. He hadn’t turned his head, hadn’t let his gaze linger upon her—but his jaw went tight and he leaned just a little more heavily upon the support of his cane, as if he couldn’t quite trust his legs to hold him upright.
“So what’s it to be, boy?” Scratch asked. “I seen ye survive a lead ball, and it’s too good a death fer ye anyway. Come along quiet to the death ye deserve, and maybe yer lady only ‘as a tiny scar and an ‘usband to bury. Or I kill ye here anyway, and I send yer lady on to meet ye as soon as I get my ‘ands on ‘er.”
Oh, Lord—Russell wanted Kit to surrender to him to save her. He hadn’t in mind a quick death for Kit but a protracted one. Slow and full of torture, most likely. And if she let Russell take him, then—then he would never be found. He’d go to ground in one of his bolt holes, as the footman had once told her, and this time he would take Kit with him.
Three more steps, perhaps four, and she would be close enough to shoot. And pray her aim would be true enough not tostrike Kit by accident.
“All right, then,” Kit said. “I’ll come.”
What? No! But of course he could not hear the silent shriek that rang through her head. He steadied himself with his cane and began to take slow, careful steps toward Russell.
Russell made a gesture with the pistol as Kit approached. “Leave the cane. Ain’t foolish enough to let m’self get whacked upon the ‘ead wiv it.”
“I need it to walk properly.”
