by L. L. Muir
Please! God! Forgive me for disdaining a noble deed. If I can be useful just once, let it be now!
But God was silent.
~
Mercy came alert in an instant. The darkness surrounding her was thick with dried spices and the smell of rotting wood. The stone floor beneath her hands was cold and unyielding. Silently, she got to her feet and felt for a wall to help her define the space she’d been left in. She found a wall. Square stones. Cold, but clean. She had to expend effort to keep the image of a crypt from her mind.
It took a moment to quiet her panicked breathing in order to listen for others in the room with her, but when she heard nothing, she continued. Three walls. A fourth with a large door, the top half of which was made of bars.
It was locked.
If Norleigh were near, she had no doubt there would be light. He didn’t seem the sort to inconvenience himself much, even if it meant tormenting her further. But was she truly alone?
They’d been in the basement, well below the kitchens. He’d told her no one would hear her scream, but then he’d stopped her from screaming. Had he lied? If she screamed now, would someone above be able to hear? Or would the chaos of the party drown her out?
Did she dare try? Or was Norleigh waiting to punish her again.
Her face ached from the blow she’d taken. Another assault might do worse than just render her unconscious. Pugilists died from such strikes, did they not?
The distinct scrape of a shoe echoed in the darkness beyond the door. She wasn’t alone after all. But why didn’t he come for her? Was he finished with her? Intending to leave her there to die and rot? Or did he merely mean to frighten the wits out of her?
Had he left some guard to watch over her while he joined Louis and the others in searching the grounds for her? Or would anyone realize she was missing?
The Scot would. But would he know to worry?
Either way, she would not cry out for help. At least, not yet.
But now she had another problem. Norleigh was onto her. He’d either seen through her pleasant mask or he’d overheard her conversation with Connor in the orchard. But either way, her plans meant nothing now. Revenge was lost to her. And if she didn’t find a way out of her little prison, Norleigh would have the blood of another Kellaway on his hands.
Oh, yes. He would have no choice but to kill her now. She had new sins to lay at his feet, and judging by the looks on the faces of Lord Ashmoore and his friends, she would find sympathetic ears if she ever found her freedom. Norleigh could never risk that.
Whoever was out there, in the shadows, was silent again. And silent she would be as well…while she tried to think of what to do when that door opened again.
~
It was no use. The lass had to be in another part of the house. Or even out of the county, for all Connor knew.
God was no help at all, which only proved that God knew him better than to have faith in him. And though he was disappointed, he wasn’t particularly surprised. He and God had never been on speaking terms.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Connor made his way back to the main chamber that seemed slightly brighter than before, since his eyes had adjusted to the darker halls. But after a pause, he realized the room was getting brighter—someone was coming down the stairs with additional light!
He hurried back into the hallway, ducked around a wall, and listened. With the place picked clean, there was little reason for servants to be coming below…
The hallway lit with the progression of the intruder. Steady steps of someone who wasn’t worried about being followed. Had to be a servant after all.
The light moved away again, down the corridor, and Connor stepped out, planning to hurry back up the stairs without anyone the wiser. But it wasn’t a servant moving deeper into the cellars, it was a tall gentleman in black. Brown hair, shiny boots, and a swagger he recognized.
Norleigh.
~
Mercy saw the glow of light before she heard the footsteps and returned to floor and the pose she’d awakened in. After a few deep breaths, she tried to relax and appear to still be unconscious.
“It is no use, Miss Kellaway. When I left you, you were much closer to the center of the room. But I do applaud you for trying.”
The coward stood outside the door and held up a lantern to shed light through the bars. If he’d only come inside to check on her, she would have attacked him, gotten her fingers into his eyes, and bitten him hard enough that his own screams might have brought people running.
But no.
“You are probably right to give up hope,” he said, as she rose to a seated position. “I ordered a carriage for Miss Kellaway so she could return to Atherton Hall. Then I helped a lady inside. If your Scotsman goes looking for you, it will take hours to get to Lady Russell’s, search for you, and then return here. By then, it will be too late for you, I’m afraid.”
His eyes lit with delight while he slid the end of a pistol through the bars and rested it on the wood, watching her face all the while. So, just to be contrary, she moved closer, instead of away, resting the backs of her legs against the table in the center of the room. There was also a barrel sitting at the far end, and above it, a noose dangled from the rafters.
She folded her arms and tilted her head as if none of it bothered her. She was simply bored, waiting for someone to let her out so she could seek her bed.
The delight in Norleigh’s eyes dimmed.
She smiled.
His chin wrinkled like that of a small child about to have a tantrum, but his face cleared again, as if he’d changed back into an adult once more.
“I was almost hoping the fool would think to come look down here, so I could set up a nice little drama for the servants to find in the morning. I’m sure you can guess what they would infer—a spurned Scotsman tries to force himself on a respectable Englishwoman. She shoots him. Then, mortified, she hangs herself rather than face the gossip that will ensue and will ensure that she is never welcomed back to Society again.”
“And just where did I get the rope? Or learn how to tie a noose?”
“Ah, but ropes are often found lying about, my dear. And apparently, noose-tying is a family talent, and despair a family trait. Of course, Denny had no such skills either. I had to tie it for him. And he carried on so loudly, he could barely hear me.” Norleigh rolled his eyes. “You would have been pleased how he wept over failing his poor sister.”
Mercy choked back a combination of bile and tears, unwilling to let Norleigh see how his words broke her heart and turned her stomach.
“How do you suppose you will compel me to stand on a barrel?”
His smile stretched wide and his brows bounced once, but he said nothing.
“Come to think of it, if my brother was so drunk, how did you get him to climb onto a table?”
“I had to keep him drinking to get him to shut up, and his legs were useless. I had to put the noose around him just to get him on his feet. It was rather like lifting a heavy puppet, you see.” His gaze veered away from her and he stopped speaking, as if watching himself murder her brother all over again.
“I knew it was you, that Denny would never have done such a thing, no matter what you’d driven him to.”
Norleigh’s attention snapped back. “Oh, come now. I cannot take all the credit. Your brother hurried to his own ruin willingly enough. So determined to prove he was worthy of my company—determined to be a gentleman of means, with endless pockets and a remarkable capacity for expensive indulgences.
“Taught to revere monstrous ways, by the monster himself.”
Those brows jumped again, but he didn’t deny it. “I fear I have grown too tired to drag this out any further, my dear. Without the Scot here to complete the picture, you’ll just have to hang yourself and let the world speculate.”
“I can’t wait to see how you’ll make me do it.”
“Yes. I admit I’m a wee curious myself.” Connor appeared in the circle
of light behind Norleigh. And the way the latter stiffened, Mercy suspected he had a sharp blade pressed against his back.
“Oh, how nice,” Norleigh said, lifting the end of his pistol into the air and releasing it into Connor’s hand. “You have arrived just in time for our little drama!”
“Aye, there is about to be a dramatic death scene, my lord, but I’m afraid it will be yer own.” He reached carefully around the man’s other side and with the blade of his dagger, lifted the handle of the lantern and eased it out of the other man’s grasp and hung in on the wall behind.
Norleigh chuckled and grinned at Mercy, his brows bouncing again, suspiciously.
She hurried to the door, but stayed well out of his reach. “Connor? Do not trust the man. Stay well back.”
“Auch, aye. Just within spitting distance.” He pressed his back against the far side of the hallway and pointed Norleigh’s gun on him. “Unlock the door.”
“No.”
Connor grinned to one side. “Last chance.”
Norleigh turned and leaned back against the door, folded his arms, and shrugged. “I need her contained…for the moment.”
Connor gave the hammer one last tug and straightened his arm, aiming directly at Norleigh’s chest. “As it happens, what ye needed was to repent of yer sins. But ye’re too—”
Whatever the Scot was about to say was cut off by the sound of another gun being cocked. Mercy stepped to the side and saw one of the larger servants standing five feet away with his pistol trained on Connor’s ear. “Lower your weapon,” he said coolly.
Connor laughed and disobeyed. “Ye’re assuming I have something more to live for than this man’s death, aye? And ye’d be wrong. But if ye’d like to lower yer weapon, I may let his lordship live.”
“Shoot him,” Norleigh said casually. “He hasn’t got murder in his eyes. Sorry, Mr. Gray, but you haven’t.” He looked at his henchman. “I said shoot him.”
Connor’s chin lowered, his eyes narrowed, and Mercy watched his finger tighten around the trigger, but still, he did not fire. Why didn’t he fire? The servant looked completely capable of murder, in fact—
The report of the pistol was deafening in such tight quarters, and as Connor’s body flew to the left, she caught a whiff of the gunpowder.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“No!”
No! No! No! He can’t be dead. He can’t!
“Connor!”
But no matter how she screamed, the man didn’t move. She couldn’t see the side of his face, it had landed in shadow, but she knew the gun had been pointed at his head. He lay on his side, his broad shoulder blocking her view, his legs as lifeless as a doll’s.
He might have been grazed, she told herself. But she knew better. Norleigh had stolen another love from her life. For no matter how long that life might last, she would think of Connor Gray as the man she should have embraced with all her heart. A humble man. A man willing to do anything for her. A man ultimately incapable of killing another, no matter how badly that man needed killing.
She’d been wrong to think it sufficient to ruin Norleigh’s life. Ashmoore, Connor—all of them had been right to assume she would kill the snake because that was precisely what she should have done! What she had to do now!
She lunged for him through the bars, but he moved away too quickly and she was left grasping for air. “I will kill you for this!”
“You are being tedious, my lady.” He nudged Connor’s unresponsive foot. “This man means nothing to you. If you want to hate me for Denny’s sake, do. Tear-stained cheeks will make it all the more believable in the morning. But you cannot expect me to believe your tears are for this…this Scotsman.” He waved her away from the door. “Stand back, or I will not unlock it.”
She backed up against the table and watched while the big man dragged Connor’s body in through the opening.
With his own gun again in hand, Norleigh aimed it at her. “Remain where you are.” He then closed the door and locked it, then dropped the large key into his pocket. “I cannot have you running away after I’ve gone to all this trouble.”
She couldn’t rush him and expect to avoid being shot. She had to live long enough to kill the man. Dying next to Connor would do no good at all, though, at the moment, she wanted nothing more than to lie down next to him and will him back to life.
Norleigh nodded at the servant. “Sam, here, is going to help you up onto the table. From there you can step on the barrel.”
Mercy laughed. “I have a better idea. Let Sam climb on the table and step onto the barrel.”
Norleigh smiled and the look in his eye, combined with the light slashing across his face, turned Mercy’s blood cold with dread. “You do as you are told, Miss Kellaway, and I promise to leave Louis Condiff alone. You know this will end badly for you. So if you accept your fate, you have my word that Condiff will not be touched.”
The threat surprised her. He obviously thought that she and her cousin were much closer than they were.
“Louis is no fool,” she said. “I have no doubt he can fend for himself. And besides, three deaths in one family would raise suspicion—”
“Louis is an honorable man. He wouldn’t hesitate to stand up for your honor, would he? And I promise you, I have never fought fair.”
Norleigh painted a clear picture for her with little effort. But the picture he hadn’t intended to paint was that of himself using such tactics on Denny. And in a drunken stupor, her brother would have believed all of it. But Mercy wasn’t drunk. And she wasn’t foolish enough to play into the monster’s hands.
“You shouldn’t have shot Connor Gray.” She ignored the threat of the gun and walked around Norleigh to Connor’s body. She was temptingly close to that pocket and the key within, and her mind rushed to a plan. “If you would have threatened him, I might have obliged.” She bent over and stroked the side of Connor’s still-warm face, then swung around and grabbed the hem of Norleigh’s coat. He was so surprised he only sought to pull his garment from her grasp, and she had the key before he realized what she was about.
She pushed him away and hurried for the door, but froze when she heard the click of the pistol.
“You will be dead before you can turn the key,” he growled.
She stuck her arm through the bars and turned to smile at him. “I had no intention of unlocking the door.” She hurled the key down the hallway where a servant might be able to find it easily in the morning, then pulled her arm back inside the room and brushed her hands together.
Norleigh stomped to the door and looked through the bars. “Damn you!”
And though he’d obviously deduced it for himself, she pointed out his dilemma. “If they find lifeless bodies in the morning, they will find you here as well. And I am certain Lord Ashmoore and his friends will have some difficult questions for you.”
He raised the gun as if he meant to bring it down on her head, and she stepped back quickly. “Get me the noose,” he growled. “We will drag her up, just like I did with her brother.” He narrowed his eyes and leaned close, his rotten breath puffing into her face, his gaze boring into her own. “That is what you want, is it not? To be like your brother in all things?”
“I believe it was you who wished to be like Denny. Isn’t that why you killed him? Out of jealousy?”
Norleigh said nothing, but his nostrils flared, which told her how right she was.
She jumped when the noose dropped around her neck, but it tightened quickly, before she could get her hands between the prickly rope and her neck. A tug from behind pulled her off balance, but by the time she flung her arms out to catch herself, the tension was gone, and the rope hung slack at her back.
She took a quick step to the side, to put more distance between herself and the two dangerous men, but the servant was rushing toward the wall where his head slammed against the hard surface. Connor stood under his own power and held one of the man’s arms in both hands, having propelled him into the wall. When t
he fellow lay still on the ground, he flung the heavy arm away from him and faced Norleigh.
Mercy still couldn’t see the side of his face, but what she could see of him made her heart leap in her chest. Steady on his feet. His face flushed with color. He was beautiful!
Norleigh laughed with gusto. Because he still held a gun?
“Mister Gray,” he said. “How convenient. Did you hear Miss Kellaway admit, only a moment ago, that if I threatened you, she would do what I say?” He dissolved into laughter again, but the point of his gun, now aimed at the Scot, never wavered.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
It was terribly awkward—wanting to rush into Connor’s arms but forced to stand her ground because of the gun raised between them.
“You should know,” she said, “that we are locked in. I threw the key away.”
Connor nodded. “So I heard. But what I need ye to do is to move back and stay back while I dispose of this man.”
Norleigh chuckled. “Did that first shot affect your sight? Or had you not noticed I still hold the only weapon here?”
“Did it escape yer notice that I cannae be killed?”
“Come, now. I’m hardly surprised that a servant was a poor shot.”
Connor held out a small silver ball. “Not so poor as ye think.”
“Amusing.” Norleigh shrugged and tilted his head to the side. “Shall we, my dear? I’m afraid you’ll have to climb onto the table without help now. And when you get to the edge, you’ll have to toss the rope over the beam—”
“Pay him no mind, lass. He cannae harm me.”
Mercy prayed for inspiration, for some clever ploy that would keep Connor alive. She wouldn’t even care if Norleigh got away. Revenge no longer mattered. But she’d been given a second chance and she would do whatever she could to keep the brave man from ending in a puddle on the floor.
“I will do it,” she blurted, and stepped toward Norleigh. “Just as soon as you can prove that Connor will not be harmed. Can you prove that?”
