by Cara Elliott
“How did you discover that we knew?” asked Anna.
“Never mind that,” snarled Verdemont. “Come with me, Davenport. If you do as you’re told, the girl won’t get hurt.” A nasty grin. “But I’d hurry if I were you. Marie-Helene sometimes likes to amuse herself with her blade if she grows bored with standing guard.”
“Surely you can see that your plans have run amok,” said Devlin, feeling a chill skate down his spine. “If you’re wise, you’ll flee while you can.”
“Be quiet,” ordered Lady de Blois. “We are far more clever than you and that silly little chit you’ve chosen to take up with.”
A sound rumbled in Anna’s throat, but he shot her a warning look that silenced any retort.
“You were a fool, Davenport,” she added. “You should have been satisfied with having a pleasant little dalliance with me—and be assured, you would have been very well satisfied. But no, for some reason you felt compelled to poke your nose where it didn’t belong.”
“Aren’t you curious as to why?”
A flicker of doubt shaded the comtesse’s gaze.
“It doesn’t matter,” snapped Verdemont. “Now move—slowly and around the far end of the table—unless you want to see Marie-Helene get angry. She has a very violent temper.”
Damnation. He was too far away to make a lunge at the vicomte. There seemed no choice but to obey and hope to escape once the two of them were alone.
As for Anna…
A desperate idea suddenly came to mind. It was risky, but he had no illusion that their captors had any intention of releasing them.
“Just behave like an automaton, Anna,” he said, hoping she would understand the cryptic message. “You heard what the vicomte said—everything will be fine if we obey orders.”
Anna watched Devlin follow the vicomte’s directions and edge slowly toward the door. He turned for one last look but she had only a chance to flutter her lashes once before the vicomte jammed the pistol barrel in his ribs and made him move on.
Think! If ever there was a time to be as bold and resourceful as her pen and ink heroine, it was now.
“Ha!” Lady de Blois let out an evil laugh as soon as the outer door closed. “Men are such trusting creatures, but you and I know better, don’t we, Miss Sloane?”
Anna answered with a girlish whimper.
The comtesse curled a look of contempt. “What a spoiled, lily-livered little chit you are. It’s a pity, really. It’s far more interesting to best a worthy opponent. But you…” She ran the blade of her dagger lightly over her thumb. “I’ve known lambs with more fight than you have.”
“Lord Davenport is right. Your plans have been foiled.” It was worth a try, decided Anna, to try to rattle her captor’s composure. “Lord McClellan knows everything.”
“We’re aware of that,” snapped the comtesse. “But you see, the key to being truly clever is knowing how to improvise.” Her mouth now formed a mocking smile. “As we speak, Pierre is taking Davenport to the prince’s chambers. Two shots and voilà! What a scandal—an English peer murders a relative of the English King, but not before being mortally wounded himself. Pierre will say he heard the fight, but arrived too late to help poor Gunther, only to hear the dastardly Davenport’s confession of being an agent for the French.”
It was a diabolically clever plan. Given Devlin’s awful reputation and the rumors of how badly he needed money, the story would be believed by most people.
“What about m-me?”
“Alas, you were also a victim of the deranged marquess,” answered Lady de Blois. He had seduced you, but had grown weary of your tearful demands that he marry you. When you came here this morning and threatened to make a scene, he had to silence you.”
Anna didn’t need to muster much acting ability to appear frightened. But the fear bubbling up inside her was for Devlin. There wasn’t much time, and the seconds were slipping away with each step.
Feigning a swoon, she moaned and let her knees buckle.
The comtesse laughed as Anna caught herself on the table and slumped forward, arms outstretched as if begging for mercy.
Steady, steady. Her fingers slid over the waxed wood, feeling for the chamois. A touch of soft leather, then blessedly hard metal.
“It is pitiful how you weak English roses wilt,” taunted the comtesse. But her mirth pinched in mid-breath to a strangled snarl as she found herself looking down the shiny barrel of a bejeweled pocket pistol.
“Drop the dagger,” ordered Anna coolly as she snapped upright.
Lady de Blois stared in disbelief, then spat out a string of obscenities.
“Drop it now.” She cocked the hammer, praying it wouldn’t trigger the music mechanism. “I won’t ask again.”
After an excruciating pause, the blade clattered to the floor.
“Now kick it away.”
“Devil-bitch,” uttered Lady de Blois, her face red with rage. But after a tiny hesitation, a swipe of her foot sent the razored steel skittering into the shadows.
Darting a glance at the doorway, Anna started to edge around the table. “Now kindly move back a step,” she said.
The comtesse did as she was told.
One, two…a half dozen strides and she would be free.
A rush of elation began to tingle through her limbs, and yet a tiny voice in her head reminded her of Devlin’s warning that Lady de Blois was dangerous as a viper.
She wrenched her eyes back just in time to see the comtesse whip out a small stiletto from her skirts and lunge.
Twisting away, she flung herself sideways and threw up an arm to block the vicious stab aimed at her heart. The blade sliced through her sleeve, and cut a gash through her flesh.
The pistol fell to the table.
Lady de Blois snatched it up and with a bark of triumph, took dead aim and pulled the trigger.
A tiny bird exploded from the barrel and began to spin and flap its tiny feathered wings.
Anna swallowed the half-crazed urge to laugh. As comtesse stared in mute shock, the trilling notes of a high-pitched birdsong began to flutter through the air.
Oh, Devlin was a genius—a maddeningly clever, winsome, infuriating genius.
And one who would soon be meeting his Maker if she didn’t quickly gather her wits and rush to his rescue.
She dashed for the door and slammed it shut just as Lady de Blois made a grab for her skirts. The key was still in the lock, and a quick turn shot the bolt into place.
Fists hammered against the paneled oak, punctuated by a howl.
No matter that the sounds were nearly as sweet to her ears as the twitter of the pistol, she wasted no time in savoring her victory. Spinning around, Anna flew for the darkened corridor.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Damn. Devlin cursed his stupidity. He had made the cardinal mistake of underestimating an enemy. And now Anna was going to pay for his mistake.
His blood curdled at the idea of her alone and at the mercy of the comtesse.
“I wonder that you can bear to take a viper to bed,” he said aloud. “But then, I suppose that two poisonous snakes twine together quite nicely.”
“Shut your mouth,” snarled Verdemont, drawing back the snout of the pistol and jamming it hard against his ribs.
That gave Devlin an idea—a rather far-fetched one, but he was running out of time.
“Or what?” he retorted. “You’ll sink your ugly fangs into my neck?”
This time, he anticipated the blow and jerked sideways just as the steel touched his side. The barrel skidded awkwardly and for an instant its aim wavered. A lashing kick staggered Verdemont just enough to break free of his grasp.
Grunting in pain, the vicomte smashed the butt of the weapon into Devlin’s temple.
Pain shot through his head but he managed to dodge a second blow and counter with a punch to the other man’s gut. Both of them fell to the floor in a welter of flailing arms and legs.
Though still a little dazed, Devlin
managed to roll free.
Verdemont still had a grip on the pistol and was levering to his knees. Spotting the ancient suit of armor just ahead, Devlin slithered on his belly and grabbed hold of the gauntlet. A shove toppled the hulking mass of steel and sent it careening across the floor.
He heard a thud but was already scrambling through the doorway of the Weapon Room. Grabbing a claymore—the traditional two-handed Scottish longsword—from the wall display, he ducked behind one of the stone columns and waited.
Verdemont limped in, pistol at the ready. “You miserable whoreson. I should have put a bullet in your brain to begin with.” Eyes narrowing to a slitted stare, he surveyed the room. “That will soon be rectified.”
“Give it up,” called Devlin. “Surrender now, and release Miss Sloane. In return, you have my word that I’ll let you and your comrade-in-crime have an hour’s headstart before I alert the authorities.”
Several French epithets, each one more filthy than the last, expressed the vicomte’s reaction to the offer.
“You’ve had fair warning.” As he spoke, Devlin was assessing the situation. It was, he decided, less than ideal. The sword’s prodigious length was of no advantage against a bullet, and it was heavier than Hades, making it difficult to wield with any speed. Just hefting the point several inches off the stone tiles sent a spasm of protest through his shoulder muscles.
Wincing, he glanced across the room. A crossbow would have been a far smarter choice—
“Devlin—watch out!” The warning shout had an all too familiar ring. “Verdemont is angling for a shot!”
Damnation. His momentary lapse in attention had allowed the vicomte to seize the advantage. Moving with surprising agility, Verdemont had darted past the display of stag-handled sgian-dubh and now had a clean sightline. Already his arm was raised…
Out of the corner of his eye, Devlin saw a blur of motion, accompanied by the whoosh of flapping skirts.
“DON’T!” he cried.
Too late. Anna slammed into the Frenchman with enough force to send them both sprawling.
Devlin sprinted for his fallen foe, somehow summoning the strength to brandish the claymore. As Verdemont tried to raise his groggy-eyed head, Devlin thrust a boot atop the vicomte’s throat and forced him down. “I suggest you lie very still,” he growled, placing the massive point on the Frenchman’s quivering windpipe. “My arms are getting tired and the slightest jiggle…” A bead of blood welled up. “Oops.”
Verdemont swallowed a gurgled groan and closed his eyes.
It was only then that Devlin dared look around.
Anna sat up slowly. Her hair was hanging in disarray around her shoulders, her nose was streaked with dust and her face had a slightly lopsided look due to a nasty scrape on the left side of her chin.
She had never looked so utterly adorable.
“Are you utterly mad?” he said softly. “What in the unholy name of Lucifer possessed you to attack an armed assassin with naught but your bare hands.”
“I was,” answered Anna, “possessed by the notion that I didn’t care to see your brains spattered all over the display of quoits.” She grimaced as she flexed her fingers. “Ye gods, why are you men always so anxious to engage in fisticuffs? It hurts like the devil to land a punch on someone’s skull.”
“You’re supposed to aim for the chin,” he murmured.
“Ah.” She rubbed her knuckles. “I shall keep that in mind for next time.”
Next time, he decided, was a battle to fight at some future moment. For now, he simply stared at her smile and felt his insides turn upside down.
“How did you get away?”
“A little bird helped me.” Before she could say more, a gasp sounded from the doorway.
“Mademoiselle?”
Devlin recognized the petite figure of Anna’s maid silhouetted in the soft light.
“W-what is happening here?” Another gasp. “Sacre Coeur! There is blood on your sleeve!”
A low oath slipped from his lips. For an instant, he was tempted to slit Verdemont’s throat.
“Don’t be alarmed, Josette, it’s just a scratch,” answered Anna. “There has been some trouble, but Lord Davenport has everything in hand. However, you could do us both a great favor if you would go find Lord Dunbar and ask him to come join us here. Please do it discreetly—oh, and mention that he ought to bring three of his largest footmen.”
“Yes, of course,” replied Josette. “But…but first let me help you up.”
“Oh, you need not…”
Devlin wasn’t unhappy to see the maid was already at Anna’s side, smoothing a gentle hand through her tangled curls. “Merci,” he muttered, quelling his murderous impulse for the moment. Still, he couldn’t resist shifting his grip on the hilt, just enough to draw a squeak from the vicomte. “Miss Sloane is very fortunate to have such a loyal servant.”
Like a spark from flint striking steel, Josette’s smile flashed bright and then disappeared. “Actually, sir, I serve no one but myself.”
Perhaps the earlier blow had indeed scrambled his wits, for he seemed to be hallucinating. A pistol had materialized from the maid’s somber-hued skirts and its barrel was now pressed to Anna’s temple.
“Put down the sword, Lord Davenport.” The voice was all too real. “Enough of these cat-and-mouse games. Get up, Pierre. We must be off.”
“Shoot her, Josie,” moaned Verdemont. “Shoot them both.”
“Impetuous, as always, mon oncle. That is why you must leave the decisions to me.” She heaved a sigh. “Please do as I say, Lord Davenport. I’m willing to be reasonable, but only if you don’t make me waste time in arguing.”
Devlin lifted the claymore and let it fall to the floor.
“Mon oncle?” Anna’s voice betrayed no fear, only curiosity. “The vicomte is your uncle?”
“Oui,” replied Josette.
“I see.” She fixed her maid with an appraising stare. “At the time, I thought the fact that you chose to come work for our family, rather than a rich and influential one, was too good to be true. And now, I guess that I was right.”
“You have a very sharp mind, Anna Sloane. Please believe me that I truly admire that,” replied Josette. “Yes, it was no coincidence that I chose to come work for you. I needed an excuse to come to Dunbar Castle, and once we uncovered the fact that the countess was an old friend of your mother, a plan came to mind.”
“Clever,” conceded Anna. “And if I hadn’t been looking to hire a maid?”
“Oh, I would have come up with some way to enter your household. I can be very creative.” Her tone was light, but Devlin noted that the pistol’s barrel didn’t budge from Anna’s head. “But alas, we have no time for a comfortable coze. Come, Pierre, on your feet. It’s time to take our leave.”
“But the prince,” protested Verdemont as he gingerly got to his knees.
“I fear we must forget the prince. Miss Sloane and Lord Davenport have proved an unexpected obstacle to our attack, and we have lost this skirmish. A wise general knows when to withdraw in order to fight again another day.” She retreated a step, pulling Anna with her. “We shall have other opportunities to hurt the British, mon oncle, but only if we go now.”
“Wait,” called Devlin. “You’ve no need to take Anna with you. I give you my word that we won’t raise the alarm until you are well away.”
“Your word as a gentleman?” Josette smiled. “You English have noble notions, but I prefer to trust in more practical guarantees. Like having a hostage.”
“You forget that we have Lady de Blois,” countered Devlin. “Forget nobility—I’m offering an exchange of prisoners.”
Verdemont spat out a laugh. “Bah, keep her. As you pointed out, she’s a viper. And of late, her fangs were growing a little too sharp.”
“As you see, we have no need of bargaining, my lord.” Josette started backing up toward the doorway. “And please, do not attempt to be a hero. Much as I like Miss Sloane, I will not h
esitate to harm her if we are cornered.”
The maid’s cool calmness was far more chilling than wild-eyed anger. Devlin felt as if a vise was tightening around his chest.
“Don’t try to be Emmalina,” he said to Anna. A weak parting, but his brain wasn’t functioning very well. “I’ll…I’ll make sure you come to no harm.”
Anna’s lips twitched in a rueful quirk. “Alessandro usually does figure out a way to save the day. I—”
A tug cut off her words. “Enough, mademoiselle. Bid your love good-bye. If both of you refrain from doing anything stupid, there’s a good chance it won’t be your last.”
Love.
“Anna, I…I…” Devlin tried to swallow the lump in his throat.
“I love you too, so there’s nothing to fear,” she murmured. “Because we both know that love conquers all.”
“A poetic sentiment,” said Josette, as she led the way down a shallow set of stairs and turned into a narrow side corridor. “Did you learn that in one of the books you are so fond of reading?”
Anna answered the question with one of her own. “Where are we going? I thought you were eager to escape.”
“While you had your nose buried in some horrid novel, I was spending my leisure time in more practical pursuits, like exploring the castle,” replied her erstwhile maid. “This was dangerous territory in centuries past, so most ancient strongholds were built with a means for the inhabitants to leave if attacked by a more powerful enemy. The hill where we sit has several underground passages cut through it that lead out to a hidden egress. I took the precaution of stationing horses at one of them this morning, in case our improvised plan went awry.”
“Josie,” warned the vicomte.
“I’m revealing no great secret, Pierre. Miss Sloane is clever enough to figure it out for herself, once we enter the tunnel.” Josette finally lowered the pistol just a fraction. “How did you and your Devil discover our plan?”
“I don’t intend to reveal that.”
“I could loosen your tongue quite quickly if I wished to, but it’s not important.”
