by Renee Rose
But Teddy clearly hadn’t wanted her within listening range, or he would have suggested she wait in the parlor rather than sending her all the way up to their room. She clutched her fingers, paralyzed with indecision. The memory of Reddington’s apoplectic face when they’d last seen him spurred her to action. She took the stairs back down swiftly, and stood outside Teddy’s study, listening.
She heard nothing. Turning the handle slowly, like a thief entering a darkened house, she opened the door just a crack and peered in. What she saw made her throw the door open and bolt through it.
Teddy was on his knees, bleeding from his temple, a pistol pointed inches from the middle of his forehead. His expression was one of cold fury.
No.
Her heart beat in her throat. “What are you doing?” she gasped.
“Killing your husband, Phoebe. Demanding satisfaction.” There was something decidedly wrong about Reddington. He didn’t look angry, he looked crazed. His cheeks were flushed and he was sweating profusely, moisture running down his sideburns and wetting his collar and cravat.
She would have to somehow calm him. She took several tentative steps in his direction. “Killing him will not bring you satisfaction, Clayton,” she said, keeping her voice low and even.
His eyes shot up to her, surprised at her use of his first name.
She continued her slow approach. “What you want is me, isn’t it?”
Reddington’s gaze darted from her face to his intended target and back again. He shifted on his two feet and swiped at the sweat with the back of his sleeve. Then his arm shot out and grasped her by the hair. She gasped.
“Don’t touch her!” Teddy growled, but when he made to move, Reddington tapped his head with the muzzle of the gun.
She squirmed in his grasp, trying to alleviate the pain in her scalp. He pulled her closer and yanked her head back so her face gazed up at his.
“You chose this dandy over me?” Reddington sneered, giving Teddy a kick to the stomach.
“Leave him alone!” she screamed. “You were married,” she improvised desperately. “I wanted to stay, but you’re married to Maud, my own sister—how could I choose you?”
Reddington looked confused, his face overly expressive as it flashed to a childlike hope before the cruel coldness returned.
“I would have rather had you than a dozen Mauds! But it’s too late now,” his face grew redder, “now that you’ve been—you’ve been—sullied!” He emitted a spray of spit directed toward Teddy with the last word.
Teddy’s face was positively murderous.
“No,” she lied. “We keep separate bedrooms. I—I offered him his freedom with his mistresses. I only married him for the title.”
Reddington stared at her now, a pleased, calculating gleam in his eye.
She darted her eyes nervously at Teddy, hoping he understood her tactic.
“You’re hurting me,” she mewled softly, fluttering her lashes a bit.
He released his grip on her hair.
“Let him go, he’s nothing to me,” she pleaded. “Leave Fenton, I’ll go with you.”
“The hell you—”
The crack of Reddington striking Teddy on the side of his head with the muzzle of the gun cut off her husband’s protest.
“No!” she shrieked as Teddy fell onto his side, his eyelids fluttering, then closing.
Dear God, let him be alive. Please, let him be alive, still.
“That is not necessary, my lord! Please calm yourself and think about this situation. If you kill Fenton, you’ll be hanged for manslaughter.” Bile rose in her throat, but she kept her voice steady. She plucked at his sleeve. “I don’t want you hanged, Clayton,” she lied, making her eyes wide and innocent, trying to appear like the naïve girl she had been before he’d nearly ruined her. She slid her arm through his elbow. “Come. I’ll go back with you. Let’s leave here before he wakes.”
Reddington glanced doubtfully at Teddy, then at her. She again offered her best doe-eyed gaze. He frowned and extricated his arm from where she held his sleeve. A wave of disappointment and dread coursed through her, but then he gripped her upper arm with a bruising clasp and started toward the door, dragging her beside him.
Thank God—Teddy would be safe.
Reddington slid the pistol into his jacket pocket, then tilted the pocket so she could feel the hard muzzle pressing into her side. “Let’s go. If you say anything to the servants—anything at all—I’ll shoot you, and then I’ll come back and shoot him, too. Understand?”
She nodded, her corset constricting her ribs so tightly she felt lightheaded. He eased his grip on her arm, taking her elbow in a feigned gentlemanly gesture and leading her out through the house. The hard metal of the pistol pressed through the layers of her dress and corset, keeping her on edge as she imagined trying to make eye contact with Standish. But Standish was not there, and they let themselves out without an opportunity for her to signal to anyone about Teddy’s unconscious condition, or her predicament.
In the stable, Reddington eyed his mare.
“We can take the carriage,” she offered quickly, walking toward it.
Hensley, the driver, came bustling forward. “To the Reddington’s house, my lady?”
“No,” Reddington clipped at the same time she’d chirped “yes.”
She didn’t know what Reddington had in mind for her, but she’d already decided the safest place would be his home, where her sister and the servants might protect her and where Teddy would surely look for her. If Teddy lived.
She pressed back the image of Teddy lying still on the floor. At this moment she needed to keep Reddington from slitting her throat and dumping her in the Thames. “Take me home,” she appealed to Reddington, as if his house were still ‘home’ to her, and cringing at the same time wondering what Hensley would think of all this.
Reddington blinked.
“Maud will understand my marriage just didn’t work,” she appealed.
Reddington gave a decisive nod. “To my residence,” he ordered in the authoritative voice that made his servants scurry. She felt faint again with relief.
“Yes, my lord,” Hensley said, not able to hide his searching glance at her. He helped her into the carriage and Reddington followed.
Reddington sat beside her and picked up her hand, squeezing it so tightly she had to bite her lip to keep from gasping. How different from the idle manner Teddy had of playing with her fingers in his lap, or massaging the thick muscle of her thumb. Reddington’s hold was cruel, possessive.
The ride was short—too short. She wanted to beg Hensley to stay, to somehow communicate her plight to him, but she could think of no way to do it. Instead, she dismissed him and followed the brutal squeeze at her elbow as Reddington led her inside, directly to his study.
The knot in her belly twisted ever tighter as she looked at the familiar surroundings, the smell reminding her of the oppressive life she’d led there. The flush in his cheeks confirmed her fear—he planned to have her straight away.
* * *
Phoebe.
He scrambled up from the floor too quickly, the rushing in his head causing him to topple back to one knee before he staggered to his feet.
Where was she? Where had they gone?
He bolted out of the room, ignoring the dizzying pain in his head.
“Phoebe?” he bellowed.
“She’s gone, my lord. With Lord Reddington,” said Sarah, one of the maids.
He cursed. “How long ago?”
“Well, it was just after they left your study, my lord.”
“When was that?” he snapped, unable to contain his panic.
Sarah looked frightened. “My lord, you’re bleeding!”
“How long ago?” he shouted.
“Just a little while. I don’t know—fifteen minutes?”
Standish bustled forward at the sound of the shouting. “Send a man to the magistrate’s office, tell him I’ll need a Bow Street constable to meet me at Lord Redd
ington’s. And send Doyle and Hartford with me now. I’ll meet them in the stable.”
“Yes, my lord. What has happened?”
“Reddington has kidnapped my wife,” he snarled through clenched teeth. Running back to his study, he retrieved the pistol he’d taken from Reddington’s that first night he met Phoebe and slid it into his jacket pocket.
His carriage was gone, with Reddington’s mare still waiting. He mounted her, waiting for his two manservants, who were both young and agile enough to serve as his backup muscle.
When they’d arrived and found their mounts, the three took off, urging the horses as fast as possible on the busy streets of London. He prayed she was at Reddington’s. If not, he did not know where to begin to look. When they arrived, he cursed at not finding his carriage there. But perhaps Reddington or Phoebe had dismissed Hensley. He dismounted, palming the pistol and striding to the door where he made a sharp rap.
When the door swung open, he leveled the pistol directly in the doorman’s face. “Take me to my wife,” he hissed.
The servant’s eyes flew wide and he stumbled back, an advantage Teddy quickly took, following him into the house and looking round as he trained his ears. He poked the doorman with the muzzle. “Where?” he hissed.
“In—in the study, my lord.”
He did not wait to be shown in or announced, taking long strides down the corridor with Doyle and Hartford following closely behind. The door was locked. “Help me,” he said, throwing his shoulder against the door. “One, two, three…” He and Doyle smashed their shoulders against the door, to no avail. “Again, one, two, three.” This time it crashed open at the same time as a shot rang out and hot pain seared through his upper arm.
“Teddy!” Phoebe screamed, wrenching free of Reddington, her dress and corset gaping open to reveal one breast as she dashed forward. He caught her in his arms, pulling her against him with the arm that had been shot, aiming the pistol and firing at the enraged Reddington, who was already launching himself toward them.
The bullet caught him in the throat, and he fell in a heap at their feet with a strange gurgling sound.
In an instant, the doorway filled with servants, whom Doyle headed off by shouting, “Stay back! No one comes in. It’s over. The constables are on their way.”
Phoebe clung to him, trembling, seeming unable to speak. “It’s all right, it’s over,” he repeated Doyle’s words to her in a whisper. “Everything is all right. He’ll never touch you again.”
“I’m sorry, Teddy,” came her anguished reply and his heart constricted.
“It’s not your fault. None of it is. The man had gone mad.”
Maud pushed her way into the room and let out a bloodcurdling scream.
“Shut up, Maud!” Phoebe snapped, lifting her head from his shoulder. He felt a surge of pride, knowing it was not her habit to stand up to her sister.
“Get her out of here,” he ordered the crowd of servants. “She should not have to see this.”
“What happened?” Maud croaked, her face white.
“He shot me, so I shot him back. He tried to steal my wife.”
Maud’s eyes widened and she covered her mouth with her hands, holding back a sob that shook her chest.
“Oh, Phoebe!” she cried, coming toward them. He thought he saw regret in her expression, confirming his suspicion that she had known what her husband had been doing to her sister. “Phoebe,” she repeated, looking lost.
“Go lie down, Maud,” Phoebe said dully.
Maud nodded and left the room, sniffing.
Phoebe pulled away. “You said he shot you—” she trailed off, taking in his arm, which was now dripping with blood. He caught her as she swooned, staggering, as his own feet were less than steady. Hartford rescued them both by drawing a chair up under him so he could collapse into it, Phoebe inert in his arms.
He lost track of time, vaguely noticing Doyle and Hartford closing the doors, telling the servants nothing should be touched until the Bow Street Runners appeared.
Phoebe’s eyes fluttered open and she sat up on his knee. “Teddy, you were shot!”
“It’s nothing, sweetheart. Are you all right?”
“Teddy, you were shot.” She turned to Doyle. “Send for a doctor, straight away!”
“Already done so, my lady,” Doyle answered.
“I’m all right, Phoebe. I’m all right. I promise.” He spoke the last two words softly, as tears began to spill down her cheeks.
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
“Teddy…” Her voice was soft, full of emotion. He loved the sound of his name in that tone.
Two constables arrived from the magistrate at Bow Street. Doyle and Hartford gave the story as they knew it, and Phoebe filled in her part. He was beginning to shiver, feeling weak from shock. The doctor arrived in the midst of it and Phoebe took charge, ushering him over.
“Here he is, doctor. He’s been shot in the arm.” Phoebe had already eased his jacket and waistcoat off, leaving the blood-soaked shirt on under the linen the maids had fetched to press against his wound.
“It’s just a nick,” he said, giving Phoebe a wink to ease her tension.
“I’d like to get you to a bed, my lord.”
“Well, I prefer to go there with my wife, but if you insist, I will take you to my bed just as soon as we can get to it.”
“Teddy!” Phoebe chided, though he could hear a trace of mirth in her voice.
The doctor chuckled. “Well, I’m glad to hear you’re still in humor, my lord. Let’s have a look at this,” he said, ripping the sleeve from his shirt to expose the wound.
He winced as the doctor lifted his arm and twisted it to inspect it from different angles.
“You’re very lucky, my lord. Very lucky, indeed. The bullet has only gone through the fleshy part of your arm, no bone or major arteries seem affected, and I see no trace of lead still in you.”
Phoebe breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God!” she exclaimed.
This is what is to have a wife. Warmth filled his chest, as his vision dimmed.
* * *
She sat between their bed and the window, watching the street below while Teddy slept. The doctor had seen him settled in his bed the night before with his wound cleaned and bandaged, leaving instructions for the changing of the bandages and applying of poultices. Teddy had slept all through the night, through the changing of his bandages and now past noon without waking. Mrs. Reeves, the housekeeper, said not to worry, that he hadn’t a fever and was resting well, but still Phoebe fretted.
To think he could have been the one shot dead the night before chilled her to the bone. And she could not shake the sickness in the pit of her stomach over Reddington touching her again. She had been tormented in the moment, deciding if it was best to fight him or let him have his way with her. Like a coward, she had chosen to let him have his way, reasoning it might be her only chance of escaping alive. Now, she felt she had betrayed her husband.
Turning to glance at him, she was startled to find him watching her.
“You are awake!”
“You look beautiful in the morning light,” he said with the soft murmur of a lover.
“It is hardly morning, love, it is half past two!”
He smiled. “That’s the first time you have called me ‘love.’”
She stood from her stool and perched beside him on the bed. She ran her forefinger down his cheek. “Love,” she repeated softly. “How do you feel?”
“All right. A bit of a headache, that’s all. Nothing for you to worry about.” He lifted his thumb to her forehead, stroking the line between her brows.
She caught his hand and brought it to her lips, kissing it.
He grinned. “I should get shot more often—I had no idea you could be so attentive.”
She smiled and kissed him. “Silly man.”
His face turned serious. “I am so sorry I did not get to hold you last night.” He looked at her
with concern. “I fell asleep before they all left the bedroom, didn’t I?”
She nodded.
“Tell me what happened after I blacked out in my study.”
She took a breath, praying Teddy would forgive her. “I told him I would go home with him, that I would leave you. I’m sorry—he just seemed so insane—”
Teddy stiffened. “And then what happened?” he prompted.
She smoothed her skirts over her thighs. “He took us to his home in your carriage.” Remembering Hensley had overheard what she had said to Reddington, and fearing he might repeat it to Teddy, she explained. “I told him to take me there, that my marriage had not worked. I had hoped Maud or the servants might help me there, you see…”
Teddy’s face was dark. “And then what?”
She fidgeted with her hands in her lap, fearful of his mistrust. “He took me directly to his study.” Out of nowhere, tears sprang to her eyes. “I let him touch me. I did not fight, just like I did not fight him the first time. I was a complete coward!”
Teddy wrapped his arms around her, pulling her torso across his so he held her cradled in his arms. “No, you are not a coward. You were very, very wise. He had a gun and he would have killed you if you had fought him, Phoebe. You did the right thing, and I am proud of you.”
A sob of relief broke in her throat. “I felt I had betrayed you,” she wept into his chest.
“Shh. No, you saved my life and your own with your quick wits.” He rocked her side to side in his arms. “I am so sorry I did not protect you from him. I am so sorry.”
She sniffed and lifted her head. “But you did, Teddy,” she croaked. “You saved me.”
“Did I—get there in time?” His question was barely more than a whisper.
She nodded. “Yes, my lord.” She saw relief on his face as she nestled her cheek against his chest. “Are you angry with me?”
“Of course not. You are the victim in all this—you always have been. Reddington alone is to blame.”
She exhaled. She had a great deal to learn from him about trust. He had never doubted her for a moment. “And Reddington’s dead now.” Which reminded her of another nagging anxiety—the fate of her sister Maud.
