Tony cocked a brow, and asked, "Don't you think that some people might question the coincidence of my finding Arabella in a compromising position with my best friend? A position that bears marked resemblance to what she found five years ago in this very same place?"
Burgess shook his head. "Don't be ridiculous. It would take a dunce not to see that Arabella was paying you back. No one would think any different."
The problem, Tony admitted darkly, was that Burgess was probably right. No one would likely question the findings. Except Jeremy, he thought suddenly. And Jeremy would be no match for Burgess. Unless he stopped him, Tony was bitterly aware that not only would he, Arabella and Patrick die, but Jeremy, too. Conscious of time slipping away from them, Tony slanted a covert glance at the pair on the bed. His heart nearly stopped when he realized that Arabella was stirring, that her lashes were fluttering, and that one of her hands was absently rubbing her temple.
He had hoped that it would be Patrick who regained consciousness first. Filled with a gnawing sense of terror of what might happen if Burgess realized that Arabella was no longer insensible, Tony sat up straighter, and drawled, "It appears that you have it all figured out."
Burgess nodded. "Indeed I have. I have waited a long time for this moment. Of course, I never intended to wait this long. After Mercy died so providentially, I kept hoping you'd break your neck, and then I'd only have Father and Franklin to worry about. None of it was really planned," Burgess admitted. "It just seemed to fall in place—although I did grow tired occasionally of the waiting. If it weren't for my great-aunt's money and your Westbrook fortune, I would have killed you years ago. You should be quite grateful to Auntie Meg—if she hadn't left me her fortune, I would have been compelled to seek an earlier resolution to my financial difficulties. But dear Auntie Meg came to my rescue." Burgess grinned. "You might say you owe the last several years of life to dear Auntie."
"And for that I am exceedingly thankful," Tony said, risking another swift glance at the bed from underneath his lashes. Arabella's eyes were wide-open, staring at him in horror. She knew their danger, and his heart twisted at the knowledge that these might be their last moments together. There had to be a way out for them, he thought stubbornly. They had endured too much for it to end this way. For the moment, however, he was aware that all he could do was to keep Burgess talking. Taking a deep breath, he sought frantically for some way of continuing the conversation—if it could be called that.
"What about Mercy?" Tony asked abruptly. "How did you arrange that?"
On the bed, her head aching, her heart thumping madly, Arabella barely heard Burgess's reply. As she had gradually drifted up toward consciousness, Tony's voice was the first thing she recognized. For a moment, hearing his voice and the steady beat of a heart beneath her ear, she had thought that she was lying safely in her bed at Greenleigh with Tony. Burgess's voice had shattered that notion and brought memory crashing back. For several stunned seconds she had lain there, listening to the ugly story unfolding just a few feet away, trying desperately to take it all in—and equally desperately seeking a way to save them from certain death.
Aware that they had little time and that Tony's question was merely a ploy to keep Burgess's attention on himself, she fought to gather her scattered thoughts. Her head felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton wool, and her temples were throbbing out a vicious tempo, but she pushed those discomforts aside. She had known this was a trap, hadn't she? And she had taken precautions, hadn't she? The pistol! Had it fallen from her grasp when Burgess had hit her? Where was it? Heedless of the pain ripping through her head, she focused on trying to think clearly.
She moved slightly and when she did, she became aware of something digging into her back. She nearly groaned with relief when she realized what it had to be: the pistol. It was underneath her, tangled in the shawl.
Keeping her eyes half-shuttered in case Burgess happened to glance her way, she carefully snaked a hand beneath herself. It seemed to take forever, but in a few blessed seconds her questing fingers touched the cool metal of the pistol. A feral grin curved her lips. Burgess was about to be very surprised.
Oblivious to anything but the pleasure of a captive audience, Burgess happily replied to Tony's question. "Mercy? Oh, I did no arranging. Well, perhaps a trifle. When I heard that she had run away with Terrell, I merely saw to it that the information reached your ears. I don't know what I expected to happen, but I can't say that I was displeased by the results of my meddling."
"And is that when you decided that my fortune would do you very nicely?"
"Oh, no. Not at first. In those days, I was simply trying to live on that miserable allowance Father thought was adequate for his youngest son." Almost meditatively, he added, "I had already considered killing Father and Franklin, but I hadn't quite brought myself to the sticking point." He smiled. "I hadn't yet discovered how simple it was to murder someone—it took dear Elizabeth's death for me to learn that lesson."
One part of his mind on Burgess, the other on Arabella's stealthy movements, Tony gibed, "Of course, killing a grown man is not quite the same as killing a helpless woman."
An ugly expression contorted Burgess's features. "I killed Leyton. It wasn't much different than Elizabeth or Molly."
"Probably not," Tony said coldly, wondering if he could goad Burgess into making a false move. It was worth a try, and Burgess, Tony thought savagely, had had things too much his own way for long enough. "Like the little coward you are, you stabbed him in the back. Not quite the same as murdering a defenseless woman. But near enough."
"How d-d-dare you!" Burgess spluttered furiously. "I am no coward."
"Aren't you? You don't think it is cowardly to shoot down a pregnant woman in cold blood? To strangle a woman half your strength? To stab a man in the back?" Tony shook his head. "They sound like the acts of a sniveling coward to me."
"Damn you!" Burgess spit, fury roaring through him. Stepping near Tony, the pistol wavering from its position, he struck him a savage blow across the cheek. "Take it back!" he screamed. "I am no coward. And now you'll see for yourself."
He raised his hand to strike Tony again, and it was the opening that Tony had been waiting for. Like a big cat springing upon its prey, Tony leaped at Burgess, one hand brutally clamping on the wrist of the hand in which Burgess held the pistol, the other closing around Burgess's neck.
Burgess's eyes bugged, and he gagged and clawed ineffectually at the hand crushing his throat. Tony smiled, and Burgess increased his efforts, terror cascading through him. Unable to escape the suffocating force at his throat, he twisted and fought to free his pistol hand.
At Tony's first move, Arabella, her own pistol held ready, struggled up from the bed. A wave of nausea swept over her as she stood and she swayed wildly on her feet. For one terrifying moment she feared she would black out, but she shoved away the darkness that threatened her.
Locked together in a dreadful parody of an embrace, the two men rocked violently as if buffeted by a high wind. In the feeble light of that one candle, their shadows danced grotesquely on the walls. The air was filled with their labored breathing, their grunts muffled as each struggled to overpower the other. It was as ugly as it was primitive.
Stronger, coolheaded, knowing that all their lives lay in the balance, Tony fought with savage intensity. With explosive strength, he smashed the hand in which Burgess held the pistol against the wooden table, smiling fiercely at the scream that came from Burgess. He did it again and again, and finally he had the pleasure of hearing the pistol thump when it hit the floor.
Nearly blind with fury at the knowledge of all this man had cost him, Tony proceeded to take him apart inch by inch, every cry, every moan that came from Burgess a balm and blessing to his anguished heart. It was only Arabella's soft voice that brought him to his senses. "Don't, Tony. Stop. Don't kill him—he isn't worth it." With disgust, as much at his own loss of control, he let the man's bloodied body slump to the floor.
The next instant, Arabella was in his arms and his mouth buried in her bright curls, he muttered, "I love you. I love you. I will love you until the stars fade and forever ends."
"I know, I know, my love," she replied, "I love you the same way—until forever ends."
He lifted his head and looked down at her glowing face. "You're not hurt?"
She smiled faintly. "My head aches, but it is nothing that a cool compress and time will not cure."
Shaken by how close they had come to death, Tony jerked her next to him. "Jesus! Sweetheart, I do love you."
Absently putting the pistol in the deep pocket of her gown, Arabella reached up and gently touched his cheek. "Not more than I love you."
"If you two are through declaring yourselves," Patrick said with a muffled groan, as he sat up and put a hand to his head, "I would suggest that we do something about that vermin on the floor."
Over Arabella's head, Tony glanced at Patrick. "How badly are you hurt?"
Patrick made a face. "My pride, dear friend, far more than my head." He looked at Burgess, an expression of surprise crossing his handsome features. "Boots was Burgess?"
Tony nodded. "Yes. He fooled us all. I never considered him, mainly because I did not think that anyone would be cold-blooded enough to kill both father and brother." Dryly he added, "It seems that I was wrong. Almost fatally so."
Patrick struggled from the bed and, after picking up his shirt from the floor and shrugging into it, staggered over to sit on the chair so recently vacated by Tony. "I feel an utter fool. To think that I allowed that bit of frippery to best me. I shall not live the indignity of it down anytime soon." Patrick grimaced and gingerly rubbed the back of his head. "I knew it was a trap, but I thought that I was prepared for it." He cast a look at Tony. "It is a good thing that you got my message—else we would all be dead."
Tony frowned. "What message? The only message I received was supposedly from Arabella's stepmother."
Having been reminded of her nakedness when Patrick had reached for his shirt, Arabella turned away and swiftly rearranged her bodice. Rejoining the conversation, she said, "I sent you one, too. I knew that the note from Patrick could not be true, and I wrote you telling you that I was meeting him here at eight o'clock."
They all three looked at each other and then down at the groaning Burgess. "It would seem," Tony said grimly, "that my cousin planned for every contingency. I fear that both of your servants are dead."
Arabella pressed her face against Tony's chest. "I am almost sorry that I stopped you from killing him," she muttered.
"Which brings us to the question: what are we going to do with him?" Patrick inquired wearily. "If we are surprised at his identity, how are we going to convince anyone else of his villainy? We have little evidence but the note to Molly and, of course, our testimony as to what happened tonight." His lips twisted wryly. "The problem is that with our reputations"—he glanced at Arabella—"with apologies to the lady, no one is likely to believe our telling of the tale." He looked at Tony. "I fear that everyone will think that she is lying to protect you."
"Oh, now I do wish I had not stopped Tony from killing him." Her eyes big and anxious, she asked, "Surely we cannot let him get away with all his evil deeds. I did not hear your entire conversation, but he is the person who killed Molly and Leyton, isn't he?"
"Yes, he confessed—bragged about both killings," Tony said wearily. "And Elizabeth's, too."
"So what are we going to do with him?" Patrick asked simply.
Involved in their own conversation, none of them were paying attention to Burgess. Keeping his eyes closed and feigning unconsciousness, he listened to them, waiting with deadly patience for a chance to turn the tables. He was, he reminded himself, very good at waiting. Knowing that he was no match for Tony and Patrick, he risked a swift glance in their direction, looking for his pistol. His pulse leaped. There, lying on the floor where he had dropped it, was the pistol. It was not more than two feet away.
Stealthily he inched toward the weapon, an ugly smile curving his battered lips when his fingers finally closed around it. The fools! Did they really think that they could best him!
Ignoring the aches of his beaten body, with a maniacal will he surged to his feet, the pistol held firmly in his hand. At the incredulous expression on the other three faces, he giggled. "I told you," he boasted, "that I was the best. You cannot beat me."
With the pistol, he motioned Arabella away from Tony. "This isn't quite how I planned it, but it will do," he said with a terrifying smile on his bloodied face. "Yes, it will do very nicely, indeed." He pointed the pistol at Tony. "And you, dear cuz, will be the first to die."
Arabella didn't hesitate. Heedless of the danger, she hurled herself at Burgess, slamming into him like a small cannonball. Caught totally by surprise, Burgess staggered and Tony was on him in a flash, his powerful grip forcing the hand in which Burgess held the pistol upward. Patrick sprang from his chair intent upon joining the fray, but a wave of blackness swept over him and he tumbled weakly to the floor.
Burgess and Tony were locked together in a deadly duel. There was no mercy in Tony's face as he fought for possession of the pistol. Both men knew that only one of them would survive this fight.
Horrified and furious, Arabella cast a desperate glance around the small room for a weapon. Then with a gasp at her stupidity, she remembered the pistol in her pocket. She snatched it free and swung it in the direction of the two men. Her skill with the pistol was minimal and she knew it. Even worse, staring at the intertwined bodies of Tony and Burgess as they strove to overpower the other, she was terrified of hitting Tony by mistake. Patrick was an excellent shot, but a swift look in his direction revealed him retching painfully at the side of the table—Burgess had hit him far more viciously than he had Arabella, and he was paying for it. He would be of little use for several more minutes—minutes they did not have.
Unable to stand by helplessly, yet afraid of shooting Tony, she was on the point of trying to get near to the struggling pair to be certain of her target when the pistol in Burgess's hand went spinning away. With a feral scream, Burgess smashed a fist into Tony's face. Tony staggered back and Burgess leaped into the shadowy darkness where the pistol had fallen.
Tony was blocking her line of fire and knowing there was not a moment to lose, Arabella shouted, "Tony!" and as he swung in her direction, tossed him the pistol.
The pistol sailed through the air, flashing silver in the flickering candlelight. Her aim had been true, and, with a thrill, she saw Tony's hand close round the weapon. He swung back around the same instant Burgess came plunging out of the shadows.
Two shots rang out. An expression of astounded fury on his face, Burgess stared down at the widening splotch of blood that bloomed in his chest. "You shot me," he said accusingly, as he stared across at Tony.
"And you missed me," Tony said coolly, despite his ragged breathing.
Burgess slumped to the floor, a pool of blood spreading out from his body.
There was a stunned silence, then Arabella was in Tony's arms once more. Patrick weakly knelt beside Burgess and a second later looked at the other two. "He's dead," he said flatly.
Arabella shuddered. "Oh Tony," she cried, "I am ashamed to say it, but I am not the least sorry he is dead. He was a terrible man."
"That he was," Tony agreed, kissing her softly on the forehead and temples. He pushed her slightly away from him and smiled tenderly down at her. "You saved our lives, sweetheart. If you had not thrown me the pistol—"
With only the merest tremor in her voice she said, "Well, I am not a very good shot. It seemed only logical to get the pistol in the hands of someone who was."
Patrick and Tony both laughed, some of the tension of the night easing.
"So," Patrick said a few minutes later, "what are we going to do now? We can't leave him here. I think we are agreed that naming him as a cold-blooded killer will only rebound on us."
Tony looked thoughtful.
"His horse has to be somewhere nearby. I think," he said slowly, "that Burgess will have suffered a tragic end at the hands of a murderous highwayman."
"Hmm, it might work," Patrick agreed. "Let's get busy."
Kissing Arabella, Tony said, "I'll see you back to Greenleigh, and then Patrick and I must be busy. We'll talk later tonight—after we have disposed of Burgess."
* * *
The discovery the next morning of the body of Burgess Daggett on the outskirts of Natchez had the area buzzing. Polite folk were outraged that such a dastardly act could occur so close to town and to such a prominent member of their society. There were calls for the beleaguered Governor Gayoso to do something. And if he wouldn't do something, then perhaps they would be better off under American rule. Everyone knew Americans got things done.
But the discovery of Burgess's body aroused none of the furor that the announcement of Arabella's marriage to Tony Daggett did. Everywhere one met, the topic of the stunning marriage was the first thing discussed—as well as their sordid parting five years ago. Some thought their marriage wildly romantic, others that Arabella was a fool. Some hardened gamblers even wagered on the odds of Arabella surviving the first year of married life. To all of it the newly wedded pair turned a deaf ear; they had each other, and that was all that mattered.
Before the announcement of their marriage had been made public, Arabella and Tony had traveled to Highview to tell Mary. It had been an awkward meeting.
"I see," Mary said when Arabella had finished giving her an expurgated version of the circumstances of the secret marriage. No mention of Burgess's villainy was mentioned—or Mary's part in having helped part them years ago. "A runaway marriage is not what I would have wished for you, but you are old enough to make your own decisions—something I should have seen... years earlier." Her eyes painfully searched Arabella's. "You must love him very much."
"I do," Arabella replied quietly. "More than life itself."
Mary forced a smiled. "Then I wish you happy." She looked at Tony, who stood silently at Arabella's side. "Treat her well, she deserves great happiness."
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