by Holly West
“Nathan told you?”
James smiled. “Nathan was quite tight-lipped when he discovered Margaret’s betrayal. No, I learned that Adam had married my sister and fathered her child on the day he died, when he begged me to spare his life, if only for their sakes. I couldn’t heed his request, of course.”
“Is that what you tell yourself? That Adam had to die?”
“Adam nearly ruined this family’s reputation and drove us into ruin. Do you know how important a name is to a man? It’s my name. When my father dies, I shall inherit his title, and my son will inherit it after me. A man’s name remains with him forever, there’s no escaping it. I couldn’t look upon Adam’s transgressions as anything other than murderous. Consider my deed against him one of self-defense, for that’s indeed what it was.”
With this grand statement, James had absolved himself of all guilt in Adam’s murder. “You had to know Adam wasn’t acting alone,” I said. “Why didn’t you kill all of them then, when you had a chance?”
“Ah, but I didn’t know who he was working with. That secret went with him to his grave. It wasn’t until you discovered Clarke and Stowe’s involvement that I finally learned who his accomplices were.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, as though it would shut out the sound of his voice. My body ached from the hard dirt floor and I squirmed to find a more comfortable position. James held out his free hand. “Let me help you.”
Using all the energy I had remaining, I tensed my stomach muscles and allowed him to assist me to a seated position against the dungeon’s wall. The quick movement made me dizzy and I nearly fell back, but he held tight to my hand.
“Steady there,” he said.
I inhaled deeply, hoping it would calm the spinning in my head. When I felt better, I said, “Does your father know you’ve kidnapped me?”
“Father is too sentimental about these things—he’s a fine businessman but unfit for some of life’s uglier necessities. But I’m confident he’ll understand why I’ve done this.”
“What’ve you done with Susanna?”
“You’ve nothing to worry about on that score. She’s happy here. She’s where she belongs, with her family.”
A lump of fear rose in my throat. What if James thought Susanna knew enough about Adam’s death to make her a threat to him?
“She doesn’t know anything,” I said. “She can’t hurt you.”
He raised himself from his crouched position, standing on one foot and shaking the other in order to get the blood flowing back into his limbs. I stared up at him.
“She knows her father was murdered,” he said.
“That’s all she knows. I swear upon my life, she poses no danger to you.”
“Perhaps not now, but one day soon she’ll figure out the truth.”
“Mother of God,” I said. “What do you intend to do to her?”
“Now, now, there’s no need for such vulgarity. For the moment, Susanna is safe. I’ve not yet decided how I’ll deal with her. Her mother, however, is another matter. It was a mistake writing to Margaret. She can never come back to England. If she does, I’ll have no choice but to do away with both her and Susanna. I’d hate for that to happen.”
“She might never come back,” I said. “She’s got a good life in America.”
“Do you really think she’ll stay there once she learns that her daughter is here in London? But enough about that. It will be weeks before Margaret receives your correspondence, if she gets it at all. I’m much more concerned with my present dilemma: you.”
“Hurting me would be a mistake, James. The king knows I’ve come to Bingley House. He won’t take kindly to you killing one of his mistresses.”
“Never mind that. Your corpse will be found alongside your driver’s. Set upon by highwaymen and tragically murdered, the broadsheet will read.”
“What have you done with Elijah?”
“I’m afraid he didn’t survive the attack. I’m sorry.”
I closed my eyes. They’d killed Elijah and it was my fault. I’d led him to his death.
“You’re probably wondering why I didn’t have them kill you, too. I confess, I couldn’t do it—you’re my one weakness. We were in love once, weren’t we? I’d like to think so. I can’t bear to think of you dying by my hand, and yet, in some ways, it’s rather poetic, don’t you think?” He bent to stroke my cheek and Wilson heaved a frustrated sigh.
James ignored him. “I foolishly thought I could spare you, but I fear Wilson is right—I should never have brought you here. You know too much and I’ve no choice but to silence you.”
“You say this as though I’ve forced your hand. The fact is that I knew nothing of your guilt until just a few minutes ago when you confessed it to me. Where is the justice in killing me when it’s your fault I know your secret?”
“I’m sorry, Isabel,” James said. “It’s too late for justice now.”
Did I dare pretend that I still retained some feelings for him? Could he possibly be deluded enough to believe it was true? I lifted my face to his and stared into his eyes, mustering all of the tenderness I could. His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, and for a moment I glimpsed the pimple-faced boy he’d been when he first kissed me.
“It’s not too late, James,” I said. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Dear God,” Wilson said. “Can’t you see she’ll say anything to get out of this? If we don’t finish this soon, someone will happen upon us.”
“Leave us be,” James said.
“You can’t be serious,” Wilson said.
James waved him off. “You can remain just outside the door. I’ll just be a few minutes.”
Wilson raised the gun and examined its barrel. I remembered firing it—had he reloaded it? Yes, I could see that the hammer was pulled back. For a moment I thought he’d shoot me, but in the end, his devotion to duty won out. He heeded his master’s words and left the room.
James cupped my chin in his hand and smiled at me affectionately. “Do you mean to say you still love me, my dear?”
The switch in his manner was so abrupt that I could scarcely believe he’d been speaking about killing me just moments before.
I gazed into his eyes, searching. “How could I not? I was a fool to have abandoned you for the king, I’ve always known it. But I was so young and silly then.”
Good Christ. It was as though I was acting the heroine’s role in one of Lucian’s infernal plays. And yet, it seemed to be working.
“Kiss me,” I said.
His lips were dry and warm as he touched them against mine. The kiss was tentative, as though he couldn’t quite make up his mind whether this was a good idea. I encouraged him with my tongue, hoping that the bile I felt rising in my throat would mind its manners. This would not be a good time to vomit.
In his growing excitement, he put his arms around me, pulling me toward him. Bound, as I was, I could only lean in to him, hoping he’d support me so that I wouldn’t fall over.
“Oh, this won’t do at all. If we’re to do this right I suppose I should at least untie your arms.”
I gave him a smile that conveyed a simple message: I love you.
He made quick work of untying the knots, including those around my thighs. Only my ankles remained bound. When he was finished, he laced his fingers into mine.
He leaned forward to kiss me again, this time with a lover’s passion. When I judged him to be completely engrossed, I raised my hands to his head as if to caress his cheeks. Instead, I moved my head to the side and smashed his face against the dungeon’s hard stone wall. Once, twice, three times, until his body went limp beside me.
I rolled out from under him and began untying the ropes around my ankles. One of the knots was tightly wound, and despite my best efforts, I couldn’t free mys
elf before James regained consciousness. His head lolled on the floor and he groaned, trying to make sense of what had happened.
Just stay calm. I hooked a fingernail under the rope and wiggled, loosening it slightly. I moved on to another part of the knot and did the same thing. I repeated these steps until it finally gave. I finished working through the knot just as James pulled himself to his knees and pitched forward.
“You bitch,” he croaked, lunging at me.
I scrambled backward and jumped to my feet. James was still shaky, giving me the upper hand. As hesitant as I was to get near him, I knew I could fell him with little effort. I stepped toward him and raised my arm to hit him under the chin with the heel of my hand. Alas, I was too slow. He grabbed my wrist.
“That was a mistake,” James growled. In one rapid movement, he twisted it down and pinned it behind my back. I gasped with the pain of it. He grabbed my other arm and held it tight against my side.
Another of the dungeon’s doors creaked open, this one from inside the house. I was certain Wilson had heard the commotion and had come to save his master. James must’ve thought the same thing, for he gave me a menacing grin.
A moment later, Sir Richard stood in the doorway, pointing my pistol toward his son. “Let her go, James.”
Chapter Forty
James didn’t loosen his hold. “She knows everything, Father.”
“I don’t care. It’s time for this to end.”
“Don’t care? Have you forgotten that she’s a Barber? It’s treachery that flows through their veins, not blood.”
“And I’ll not have so much as a drop more of it shed. I protected you when Adam died, but I’ll not do it again. On that, you have my word.”
James stared at his father, incredulous. “So you mean to shoot me, Father? You’ll spare her blood, but not mine?” He tightened his grip, digging his fingernails into the soft skin on the underside of my wrist, causing me to cry out involuntarily.
Sir Richard winced but otherwise maintained his composure. “I’m not going to shoot you. Let her go and we’ll discuss this matter like civilized people.”
“Please,” I said.
“We tried to reason with her and it didn’t work, remember?” James said. “I’m tired of polite conversation.”
James crooked his arm around my neck, his forearm and biceps muscle pressing tightly against it. I clawed at his arm, trying to get him to release me, but it only made him squeeze harder. Was this how he killed Adam? By squeezing the breath out of him? Was I to suffer the same fate?
“Grandfather?” a young female voice called. “Where are you?”
Susanna appeared from behind the heavy iron door. “What are you doing to Aunt Isabel?” she cried.
The interruption startled James and he released me slightly. Sir Richard broke away and attempted to smooth his facial features so as not to alarm her.
“Everything’s all right, Susanna,” he said. “Be a good girl and go upstairs.”
“Help me!” I said.
“Uncle James, what’re you doing?” Susanna said. “You’re hurting Aunt Isabel!”
Sir Richard aimed the gun toward James and me. “Let her go, James!”
He laughed. “You won’t pull the trigger, Father. You’ve as much chance of hitting her as you do me.” He contracted his arm muscles to the point where my breathing was cut off. I began to gasp.
“Aunt Isabel!” Susanna cried.
Sir Richard threw the gun toward the door, far enough away from James that he couldn’t easily get to it. Pressure built painfully behind my eyes and nausea overtook me as my heartbeat soared. My finger muscles burned from my efforts to free myself and I knew instinctively that I had very little time left in which to try.
Sir Richard strode over and grabbed at James’s arm, trying to loosen his hold, just as my own strength had begun to fail. I let myself go limp.
“Wilson!” James yelled.
“You’ll get no help from him,” Sir Richard grunted. “I sent him upstairs.”
My consciousness was already fading. The voices sounded far away, as though I’d overheard them from another room.
Sir Richard was having little success in thwarting his stronger son. Susanna ran toward us, her toe accidentally kicking the gun. She stopped and picked it up.
“Put that down right now, Susanna,” Sir Richard said. “It isn’t safe.”
“Let Aunt Isabel go,” Susanna said, pointing the gun toward James. He hesitated a moment before doing what she said.
I fell to the ground, against James’s legs, causing him to step backwards. My chest heaved as I gulped for air, my throat aching from being squeezed so tightly. I lay there helplessly, waiting for my wits to return, and clutched at my bosom.
“Are you all right, Isabel?” Sir Richard asked.
I could only sputter and cough.
“What have you done to her?” Susanna demanded, still brandishing the gun at James. He stepped toward her tentatively, holding his hand out for her to give him the gun.
“It’s all right, Susanna,” James said soothingly. “Your aunt Isabel will be all right.”
“Stay away from me!” She aimed the barrel of the gun at him.
James took another step forward. “There now, be a good girl and give me the gun.”
The gunshot cracked through the air, echoing against the dungeon’s walls, momentarily deafening us.
“Susanna, no!” Sir Richard screamed.
It took a moment for me to realize that James’s knees had buckled and he folded to the floor. Susanna’s shot had punctured him straight through the chest.
But he was not yet dead. James raised his hand as though to cover the wound, his eyes wide open in surprise as if he could not comprehend what had happened.
“Father,” he said.
“Oh, my dear boy.” Sir Richard knelt before him. “Someone, fetch a doctor.”
But a moment later, James’s body went slack. He gasped one last time, and his eyes became dull from death.
Susanna had dropped the gun on the floor. “I’m sorry, Grandfather! I didn’t mean to do it!”
Sir Richard seemed not to hear her. He bent over his son’s body, his shoulders quivering with the force of his quiet sobbing. His anguish was palpable and I wanted to reach out to comfort him.
But Susanna needed me more. I hurried over to her and hugged her close to me. Her small body shook as she pressed herself against me, hiding her face against my shoulder. “Oh, my lady, I’m so sorry!”
“Shh, shh,” I murmured, rocking her in my arms. “It’s all right. You saved my life, dear girl. You saved my life.”
* * *
There was little time for Sir Richard to mourn; we had to come up with a plausible explanation for James’s death.
Sir Richard calmed himself to the extent he could and addressed Susanna. “I need you to do something for me. Go upstairs to the playroom with the other children. I know you’re upset, but it’s very important that you pretend that nothing is wrong. Can you do that for me? Your aunt Isabel will join you as soon as she can.”
Susanna nodded, but she looked as though she might burst into tears at any moment.
“Everything will be all right, my dear. I promise. But you must do what I say.” He poked softly at the corners of her mouth, prompting her to smile. “There now, that’s a good girl. I’ll take you up now. I’ll be back in a moment, Isabel.”
He took her hand and led her out of the dungeon. Alone now, I gazed down at James’s body. “This is the man who killed Adam,” I whispered, as though saying it aloud might somehow make what was once unthinkable more real. “He was going to kill you, too.”
But the shock of what had transpired that afternoon was already beginning to dissipate and my thoughts
became clearer. My carriage had been left somewhere on the barren road to Ickenham, along with Elijah’s body. I had to find both as soon as possible; I couldn’t allow his corpse to be taken up by hungry animals or destroyed by the elements. He deserved a proper burial.
Sir Richard returned with Wilson, who cried out when he saw James lying there.
“Spare me your tears, Wilson,” Sir Richard said. “You’re as much to blame for this as James was. Tell me what happened today and do it quickly.”
“James sent Lady Wilde a note saying that Susanna was here at Bingley House, sir,” Wilson said. “He hired a couple of ruffians to act as highwaymen to attack her and bring her here.”
“Where’s her carriage now?”
“I’m uncertain of the exact location, but I reckon it’s about ten miles southeast of here. That’s where they said they got her.”
“God’s blood,” Sir Richard muttered. “Ten miles. How will we ever explain this?”
“Please, sir, I meant only to help protect James,” Wilson pleaded. “Can you ever forgive me?”
Sir Richard just glared at him. “My son is dead, Wilson. I don’t suppose I’ll ever be able to forgive you.”
“We’ve no time for this,” I said gently, still cognizant of the pain Sir Richard must feel. “I’ve an idea, but we have to act fast. The two of you will go upstairs and act as though nothing is amiss. When James’s absence becomes apparent, profess your ignorance and concern.
“Meanwhile, I’ll take his body back to the carriage, on horseback. I’ll lay it out and ride back here, then say we were meeting for an assignation when we were set upon by highwaymen.”
I thought Sir Richard would object to the idea that his son was engaged in an infidelity, but his only concern was for me. “I won’t let you travel alone at night,” he said. “It’s far too dangerous and too cold besides. You’ll freeze to death.”
“It’s ludicrous,” Wilson added. “What are the chances that someone hasn’t already happened upon it?”
