Fear coiled through her.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Thomas said flatly.
All traces of charm had fled his voice, leaving only harsh desperation. “Come back over here, Blythe and sit down. I’m out of time.”
“Adam can help you, whatever trouble you’re in,” she replied without looking back. If she just could turn the corner…
She took a step.
“I will shoot you if you take another step.”
Her heart lurched in her chest, pounding so loudly she was certain he could hear it. If she could just inch her way around the corner.
“Do not press me. As long as I get what I came here for, I won’t hurt you.”
She reached up to touch the cheek that still smarted, certain she’d have a bruise of a handprint come morning. As she turned around, she tried not to focus on the dark gun pointed right at her, but it was hard not to let her gaze drift.
He flicked the hand that held the gun toward a crate next to him. “Sit. Now.”
She moved slowly, but did as he asked.
“Now tell me where my trunks are.”
“You are holding a gun to my head for clothes?” She winced as soon as she said the words. It was not a good plan to anger the madman with the gun.
“Do not be daft. I have something else in the trunks that I need. You rearranged my room, and they are no longer there.”
“You were in my bedroom?” Disgust slid over her.
“Only long enough to realize you’d redecorated. And pink, at that.” He sniffed. “How long did you wait for me, my devoted wife? Now, my trunks.”
She gestured behind her, toward the back of the attic. “Against the wall. But…but they are empty.”
His empty fist clenched against his side. “What do you mean, empty?”
“I…I gave your clothes away.”
He visibly relaxed. “But the trunks are intact?”
She nodded, confused. “Why do you want empty trunks?”
“Get up. And make it quick.”
“Someone will come looking for me, Thomas. If you leave now and quickly, I won’t tell anyone you were here.” Terror pooled in her belly as she realized that any moment, Bethie would be pounding up those steps, excited to play dress up.
“Move.” He gestured with the gun.
She hurried toward the stack of his three trunks and stood in front of it. She’d just get him out of here as fast as she could. She would not let anything happen to Bethie. “Here it is.”
He waved a hand at the one on top. “Open it.”
She knelt before it and unlatched it, throwing the lid back. Peering inside, she saw it was as empty as she expected. “There’s nothing in here.”
“Push on the left corner of the bottom.”
She frowned, but placed her hands inside the dusty trunk, pressing against the corner. “Nothing is moving.”
“Harder, Blythe. You do not believe I’d make it easy to discover?”
She leaned into it and pushed with all her weight behind her. “Oh,” she yipped in surprise as the false bottom gave way.
She gripped the edge of the board and pulled it out. Peering back in, she gasped.
“Where did you get all this money?”
“It’s mine.” His tone was unyielding. “Nothing you need to concern your pretty little head over.”
“Michael was right,” she murmured. She had believed that he believed Thomas had stolen money, but Blythe realized now—with the proof right here—that she hadn’t been certain Thomas actually had stolen it.
Then she heard the slight creaking noise of the staircase. “Oh God, no.”
Thomas glanced back at the staircase. “What was that?”
“It was nothing. Explain this money, Thomas!” she yelled, panic raising her voice to a screech. Please God, let Bethie run the other direction. If I just yell loud enough, it will scare her away. “Don’t just stand there and wave that gun at me.”
“Shut up!” he said through clenched teeth, looking back and forth between her and the staircase.
She reached into the trunk and grabbed a handful of crisp bills and threw them at him. “You’re supposed to be dead!”
“Shut your mouth, Blythe, or so help me, I’ll put a bullet through you.” He raised the gun until it aimed right at her head.
Blythe could only hear the roar of the blood rushing through her as she sat perfectly still, willing no one to come up the steps.
Another step creaked.
“Noooo!” She stared at the gun and realized it wasn’t much of a choice. She would not let him hurt Bethie.
She lunged toward him with a cry, attacking his face with her fists. She tried to reach for the gun, to pull it out of his grasp, but she couldn’t fight his strength.
His other hand cracked against the side of her head, and a sharp pain filled her senses as she fell to the floor. Her eyes blurred as she looked up at him, saw the gun pointed down at her.
She was going to die.
The gunshot exploded in her ears at the same time a shock of pain burst in her shoulder. She reached up and felt a sticky warmth gushing over her fingers, just as Thomas fell to the ground in front of her.
She looked at his face, eyes wide open, and screamed.
“Blythe! My God, you’ve been hit.”
She somehow managed to look up through the fuzzy whirlwind of shapes that floated in her vision. “Adam.”
She closed her eyes and surrendered to the darkness.
Chapter Nineteen
“Are we going to ride the entire way in silence or will you get over your pout in the near future?”
Michael glared at Keenan, as they rode side by side down the dirt road. They had scarcely made it a mile past Rosemead, and every instinct he possessed wanted to turn the horse around and gallop back to Blythe.
And yet he kept heading forward, knowing that going to Anne’s—finding Thomas—was the only option he and Blythe had for any future. He just hoped when he got back to explain it to her, Blythe was still willing to listen.
“You’re being a dreadful bore,” Keenan goaded.
Michael ignored him.
“Paaaapaaa!”
Michael whipped around at his daughter’s scream. “Bethie?”
He yanked on the reins, brought his horse to a halt and looked down the path.
“Papa!” She yanked on the horse’s mane until it practically slid to a stop just in front of him. “Papa, you must come now. Mama is in trouble.”
Michael frowned. “Mama?” His eyebrows shot up. “Blythe? What do you mean, in trouble?”
“Cousin Thomas is with her!”
“What do you mean, he’s with her?”
“Up in the attic. She went up there because we were going to play dress up and go through all of her trunks. I went to my bedroom to get-”
“Bethie, tell me what he was doing.” He grabbed the reins and glanced back to be sure Keenan had stopped as well.
“He was talking mean to her.”
Michael didn’t need to hear any more. “Keenan, bring Bethie back!” He kicked his horse’s side to urge him into a gallop.
Every second that passed seemed an eternity as he wondered why Thomas had come back to Rosemead. What could he want with Blythe?
After what seemed like an eternity, Rosemead finally came into view. The horse flew down the dirt road until Michael pulled the reins tight just before they crashed into the house. He vaulted off the horse and ran into the house. Taking the stairs three at a time, he continued on until he hit the attic door. Practically tearing the door off the hinges, he lurched through it. When he finally cleared the stairs, he pulled his flintlock out of the holster under his coat.
His footsteps landed like hard rocks across the wooden planks of the floor as he turned around crates and boxes, not seeing anyone or hearing anyone.
“Thomas, you cowardly bastard, come out and deal with me.”
He turned a corner and stopped. A b
ody lay in a heap, dark stains spread across the chest. Thomas. Dead.
Terror clutched Michael’s heart. There was no sign of Blythe. Where was she?
“Blythe!” He ran through the maze of crates until he found himself back at the staircase again. He practically fell down the steps and burst out into the hallway, turning to head toward her bedroom.
“Blythe!” His voice broke, hoarse from the lump that had lodged itself there. If Thomas had hurt her, it was his fault. If he’d been honest that Thomas was alive, she’d have been prepared.
He reached her door and hesitated, afraid of what he’d find. The thought that he could lose her—
The door swung open and her maid, Mary stood on the other side. “Well, stop your bellowing, Your Grace, and get in here.” She turned to the side to allow him to pass, and he walked in the room, his eyes immediately focusing on the bed.
Blythe lay there, eyes closed, as still as death.
“Oh God, what have I done?” His voice foreign to his own ears, he started toward her, only to feel his gun snatched from his hand.
“I shall just set this in your room for safe keeping.” Mary held the gun delicately in one hand. “And mind that she needs her sleep.”
He swiveled to face her. “Sleep? She’s not—”
Surprise flickered on Mary’s face. “Oh, good heavens, no. The bullet grazed her on the shoulder. The doctor is on his way, but she will be right as rain in no time. We just gave her something for the pain.” With a quick nod, she hurried out the door, holding his gun an arm’s length in front of her.
He went to Blythe’s side, and careful not to disturb her, sank to the chair next to the bed. “Oh, sweetheart, what have I done to you? He could have killed you.”
He lowered his head to the edge of the mattress and tried to ease the ache in his heart. Why hadn’t he just told her the truth? In all his brilliance in trying to handle it all, he had kept from her the knowledge she needed most to be safe.
Although he’d never expected Thomas to come back here. He lifted his head and frowned. Had she killed Thomas?
“What are you doing here?” Blythe’s brother came into the room and glared at him. “I thought you’d left.”
“Bethie came after me.”
Adam stood at the end of Blythe’s bed. “Your daughter saved Blythe’s life. She ran into me downstairs and told me there was a bad man in the attic with Blythe. Thomas had a gun pulled on her when I walked up there.”
The image crashed into Michael’s head and he stifled the overwhelming urge to get his gun and shoot Thomas himself, no matter how dead he was.
Adam watched him carefully. “You do not seem surprised that Thomas was here.”
“I knew he was alive.”
Adam’s jaw twitched. “You did not feel it necessary to inform me or Blythe of this? You bloody bastard, you almost got her killed.” Every precise word grew louder with his rage.
Michael stood and strode out of the room, certain the man would follow. He heard the click of Blythe’s door and turned to face Adam.
The heavy fisted blow to the right side of his jaw snapped his head back. His hand fisted at his side, but he checked the urge to return the favor.
“I deserved that.”
A murderous gleam flickered in Adam’s eyes. “Damn right you did. I knew from the moment you arrived here, you were trouble. You never cared about her! You were just after…what? Why the pretense?”
“I love your sister,” Michael said quietly. “That is not a pretense. I came here because I knew Thomas had cheated a lot of people out of money, and I also knew he had faked his death to get away with it. I believed, at first, that your sister had helped him.”
Shock crossed Adam’s face. “Blythe? She would never do such a thing.”
“I know that now. Your sister knows…most of this. I didn’t tell her Thomas was alive. I never expected him to—” He glanced down the hallway as two footmen entered the door to the attic. “Who killed him? Did she…”
“I did,” Adam said flatly. “And you shall be lucky if I don’t kill you. I should call you out.”
Michael met his gaze. “So someone she loves will die, either way it turns? I understand your anger and it is justified. But I won’t fight you. I won’t kill you.”
“You are an arrogant bastard,” Adam snarled. His fist raised slightly.
“Hit me again and I will reciprocate.”
“Boys!”
Michael and Adam both turned to see Hypatia hurrying down the hallway toward them. She came to a stop and glared at each of them.
“I am appalled at you both. Blythe needs rest and quiet, not to have her two men fighting at a time like this.” She looked at Adam. “You, go and deal with the matter in the attic.”
“No, I should,” Michael interrupted. If he could not kill the bastard, he could at least bury him.
“Very well.” She aimed a finger and wagged it at both of them. “I do not want to catch either of you at this again. Or I am liable to knock your heads together myself.”
“Yes, Mama,” Adam muttered. With a glare at Michael, he turned back to Blythe’s room and entered quietly.
Michael looked down at Hypatia.
“He was your cousin. I am sorry,” she said softly.
He shook his head slightly. “Don’t be. I would have killed him myself if I’d found that he hurt a hair on her head.”
She studied him. “You are an intelligent man.”
“I…uh…thank you.”
“This would not be something that surprised you. You would have known that Thomas was still alive.”
Michael offered a quick nod. “Yes, I did.”
Hypatia sighed. “This is going to hurt her, far worse than that bullet did.” She settled her arms across her chest. “It is only my common sense that stopped my son from hitting you again, but make no mistake. You have hurt my daughter and I will not stand for her to be abused any longer. If you don’t love her absolutely, if you aren’t prepared to fight past her extremely justified anger, then take your daughter and leave.”
Not knowing what to say to her mother, he simply nodded his head and turned toward the attic to deal with his dead cousin.
****
Light filtered in as Blythe came awake. She was in her room, in her bed…She moved to sit up and a sharp, intense pain shot up from her shoulder to the back of her head.
“Oooh!” She dropped back to the pillow as pain radiated through her upper body. She reached up and felt the bandage there, and the memories splashed over her. Thomas in the attic, her fear of Bethie coming up, the gun, she rushed him….
He’d shot her, apparently.
Careful not to move her shoulders, she turned her head slightly and saw Michael sprawled in the chair next to her bed. One leg stuck straight out, the other one propped against her mattress. His head was thrown back, his face etched with exhaustion.
How long had he been there? She lifted a hand and feeling the pain starting in her shoulder, quickly dropped it.
She let out a sigh.
Michael jolted awake and shot to a sitting position. “Blythe?”
“You look awful,” she said.
“How are you feeling?” He reached out to grab her hand and then stopped midway, and instead put his hand on the bed.
She frowned. “My shoulder hurts. And my head feels a bit like I drank too much champagne.”
“They gave you something for the pain.” He looked…nervous.
She glanced at the window, the bright light streaming into the room pushing against her eyes. “You’re back from Anne’s rather quickly.”
His eyes were solemn. “I came back that day. I never went.”
“You mean today.”
“Sweetheart, you slept for almost two days.”
She gasped. “Two days?”
“The doctor has been here and gone. He said your body needed to heal, that you just needed to rest.”
“Have you been sitting here f
or two days?”
“Not quite. I’ve had to fight for the hours I’ve sat here. Your family was quite formidable in getting their fair share.”
She smiled. “That sounds rather like them.” Thoughts of Thomas intruded and she sighed, realizing that for all intents and purposes, Thomas had been Michael’s family. “Thomas is dead, isn’t he?”
Michael nodded. “Yes, my love, he is. He won’t hurt you anymore.”
She shook her head slightly. “He wanted his money. The money you said he’d stolen.”
Michael reached for her hand. “Tell me what happened, if you are feeling up to it.”
“I went up to the attic, Bethie wanted to play dress up. He was there. At first, he acted happy to see me. He said that he’d seen something….” Her eyes flew to Michael’s. “He said he’d seen a murder.”
He squeezed her hand. “It was a lie, Blythe.”
“Oh.” She took a deep breath and tried to recall all the details. “He…made it sound like he’d left for me, to keep me safe. He said there were men on the grounds the day of our wedding, and that was why he’d had to leave that way.” She frowned. “Was that true?”
“Possibly. There were men looking for him, ones he’d stolen money from.”
“In any case, I imagine he had to leave quickly that day and that’s why he didn’t take his trunks with him.”
“He’d kept the money in his trunks,” Michael clarified. “We found the open one and searched the rest that were his. Each was the same. It amounted to a portion of what he’d taken.”
“That is good. You can give it back to the men he stole from.”
His jaw tightened. “Why did he shoot you?”
“I didn’t take him seriously, I suppose. He told me not to leave the attic, and I didn’t listen. I was going to let Adam throw him out. And Thomas shot me to stop me from leaving.”
Raw emotion painted Michael’s face. “Oh God, Blythe, I am so sorry.”
She squeezed his hand. “You couldn’t have known.”
A shadow crossed his face and he looked away.
“Michael?” Her heart pounded. “You didn’t know, did you?”
After a minute, he looked back at her, the truth in his face. “I knew he was alive.”
“But…since we saw Anne? Did she tell you?”
Willoughby 01 - Something About Her Page 16
