Chapter Thirty
D evil.
For a moment, everyone in the room froze.
Kitty’s heart leapt in her chest when Devil filled the doorway, pale green eyes cold and sharp. The knife wavered at her throat, pricking her skin.
“Portsmouth, get your goddamn hands off her.” The command was a sword at Portsmouth’s throat, in exchange for the dagger at hers. Portsmouth’s blood was already on the floor, only he had not realized it. He was finished. Kitty’s frantic pulse was not quite convinced, but the rest of her knew it. Her bones understood it, her own blood.
She stayed very still while still trying to ease away from the sharp blade. Devil’s gaze roamed over her, assessing, reassuring. “You’re all right.” It was not a question.
“Yes,” she whispered. She dared not nod.
“I will slit her throat right now.” Portsmouth spat.
Devil’s glance might as well have been a cannon ball whistling toward Portsmouth’s head. The earl tensed despite himself. “She’s bleeding, Portsmouth.”
“She’ll bleed a lot more if you don’t get out of here and take everyone with you.”
“There is no scenario where you hurt her in any way that does not end with you choking on your blood right here in this room.” It was a promise.
“Evie, you have to run,” Kitty said quietly, trying not to move against the blade.
“No.”
“Caroline might be hurt. Take her and go—”
She broke off when Portsmouth yanked on her hair. “Shut up.”
She wanted to fight back, to bite his hand, incapacitate him in some way. But the galling truth was that he was physically stronger than she was, and he was at an advantage.
“I’m not hurt,” Caroline said from somewhere to Kitty’s left.
“Oh, thank God,” Kitty replied.
“ Everyone shut up .” Portsmouth was used to being in control of every room he entered. He was not accustomed to being afraid, and anyone could see Devil scared him.
To be fair, Kitty had never seen him look so…bloodcurdling. Vengeful. Ominous.
“All of your men are gone,” he informed Portsmouth. “In fact, one of them was so kind as to inform me of your whereabouts. You’re alone, Portsmouth.”
“I don’t need them.” But his voice had changed. Kitty heard it, felt it in the way the knife pressed to her neck.
The front door slammed open, echoing down the hall. Devil stopped Pierce, who had been summoned by the gunfire, without taking his eyes off Kitty. “Priya is fine. Don’t move.”
Pierce subsided, but only barely. His curse blistered the air.
“If you let Kitty go now, you have a chance at getting out of here,” Devil said to Portsmouth. “If you don’t, you have no chance. Not ever. Not anywhere.”
Portsmouth shivered despite having every conceivable advantage. But he did not release Kitty.
“No more chances,” Devil said softly.
A sound came from behind Kitty, like a poker hitting the hearthstone. It was just enough to startle Portsmouth, to break his concentration. His gaze flickered to the side.
Devil was on him.
He went for the dagger, prying Portsmouth’s hand from Kitty’s throat. He slipped between them when Kitty stumbled forward, and then he brought Portsmouth’s hand down in a vicious arc, stabbing him in the thigh with his own blade. Portsmouth grunted in pain, blood blooming and dripping down his leg.
And then he grunted again because Evie had brought the poker right down on his head.
He toppled. No one moved to catch him.
“Oh dear,” Kitty said above the sound of her own blood rushing in her ears.
Devil caught her by the elbow. “What is it?”
“I promised Caroline she could stab him first.”
“My apologies.” His eyes were fierce but his hands were gentle as he stroked her cheek, tilted her head back to examine her neck. “Anyone else hurt?” he asked.
“Remarkably little damage, all things considered,” Pierce said, helping Priya to her feet, then Caroline.
Devil produced a handkerchief and pressed it to Kitty’s small wound, jaw clenched tight. She offered him a wobbly smile. “It doesn’t hurt much.”
“Much?”
“Stings a little, that’s all. My hand aches far more.”
“What’s wrong with your hand?” He grabbed for them both, sounding panicked and not at all like the sinister, confident Devil of Mayfair.
“She punched a vicar,” Evie explained proudly.
Devil raised a brow. “You’re punching vicars now?”
“Well, you weren’t here to entertain me. I’ve had a very dull night.”
“My fault entirely, then.”
“Clearly.”
Evie watched them with a startled, considering smile. “No one ever talks to Kitty that way.”
“No one talks to Devil that way either,” Wulf said, stomping in from outside, shirt torn, cheek bruised. There was a disconcerting amount of blood on his boots. “Told you he would find you.”
“Yes, but how did you find me?” Kitty asked.
“That wastrel who was watching your house?”
“Yes?”
“He works for me now.”
“Of course he does.” Kitty turned to Evie, who hovered, eyes wide, as she took in Wulf, Devil, Pierce. “Evie.”
Evie threw herself at her sister. Devil only narrowly avoided a fist to the eye. Kitty hugged her hard. She might have been laughing. Crying. Both. “You’re safe now. You’re safe.”
“And you’re betrothed!”
“Erm. About that…”
“You’re awfully green. Maybe you should sit down.”
“I’m fi—” Too late. Devil had plucked her off her feet and deposited her in the nearest chair.
Evie looked very near to swooning.
Kitty looked down at Portsmouth, still sprawled on the carpet, a dagger protruding from his leg. “Well, now what do we do with him?”
Evie scowled. “Can I hit him again?”
“Yes.” This was a chorus from everyone in the room. Even the housekeeper, who was helping the vicar sit up.
Kitty narrowed her eyes at Devil, catching his expression. She pointed an accusing finger up at him. “You can’t kill an unarmed man.”
Devil smiled, amused. “Can’t I?”
She rolled her eyes. “You s houldn’ t kill an unarmed man. Even one like him.”
“As it happens, I don’t have to.”
“No?”
“No. I’ve already sent word to the people he was blackmailing. Some of them are very powerful. Unlike this pathetic excuse for a vicar. And they are rather cross. He’ll be on the run. Probably forever.”
“And the evidence? Will you return it to them?”
He snorted. Wulf and Pierce both snorted as well.
“All right,” Kitty grumbled. “It’s not as if I expected him to.”
“What evidence?” Priya demanded.
“Portsmouth was blackmailing a select list of people in order to get away with his murders.”
“Who?”
Devil only smirked. Priya muttered something very uncomplimentary under her breath. Then much louder. Twice.
Portsmouth groaned.
“Stay down,” Devil snapped, “or Miss Evangeline here will hit you again.”
Caroline stepped closer to peer down at her husband. He blinked blearily at her. Her smile was deeply, happily unforgiving. “I will be in charge of your estate while you are running for your pitiful life,” she informed him. “I intend to donate most of your money to the family members of your previous wives—the ones who actually loved them. Not the one who sold them to you like cows at market. The rest will go to orphanages that care for orphaned girls and aristocratic bastards. And widows.” She crossed her arms. “And then I will drive you so deep into debt that creditors will also be hounding you to the ends of the earth, should you escape the others. Your family name will be mud.”
He groaned again. She had hit a deeper nerve than Devil’s knife.
“You’re not leaving him here?” the vicar asked nervously.
“He’s your problem until the others find him,” Devil replied, shrugging. “Next time don’t force girls to marry murderers.”
“But—”
“Count yourself very lucky I don’t stay here even a moment longer.” The threat was clear, sharp. Cold. The vicar shut his mouth.
“You’re not going to double back and kill him when we’ve all gone, are you?” Kitty whispered.
“Probably not,” Devil whispered back.
“That is not reassuring.”
He just shrugged.
Evie looped her arm through Kitty’s. “Let’s go home.”
Kitty was deeply grateful Evie and the others were safe. That Portsmouth would get justice in one form or another. But there was a thread of uncertainty too.
She did not know where home was anymore.