Chapter 24
Frantic, Ellie pulled Harriet away from the tussle as she watched the fight with her heart in her throat. Her breath held as one of the brutes threw a punch.
Benedict dodged the attack easily, grabbing the man’s arm with one gloved hand, twisting it behind the other’s back before he delivered a kick to his backside, shoving him into the dirt.
The other blackguard spun and charged Dorian, and her blood roiled in fear.
Unfazed, Dorian met him first; while the man came in with wild punches and swings, Dorian met him with targeted hits.
The blows were aimed at cracking ribs and bruising kidneys; the calculated assault took the other down in seconds.
The first man Benedict had floored was back on his feet again, while a fourth yanked a blade out of his boot. The moon broke through the clouds, and through the rays, she saw his eyes as big as an owl; he had a wicked scar that bisected his nose.
He slashed, and Dorian evaded the swipe of the knife, then yanked his jacket away and balled it up. He managed to block a blow with the dagger but had to lurch back as the knife came across in a gutting slash—when a dark object dropped into the bush.
The pistol.
“Oh no, oh no, oh no…” Harriet chanted frantically, her hand clutching at her breastbone in dread and fear.
Ellie felt her heart hammer too, but her determination was just as high as her panic. She pulled Harriet to the side and whispered, “In two moments, I want you to scream as loud as you can.”
“B-But—”
“Do it,” Ellie ordered her as she looked to the men fighting. “I can put an end to this, but I need you to help me. Dig deep, Harriet. Be strong for me now.”
Jerkily, Harriet nodded.
Ellie dropped low and crept to where the pistol had landed. It was a miracle none of the men had spotted it, and she fixed the dark lump in her sights.
She turned to Harriet, then lifted her hand. Her cousin let out a cutting scream.
She lurched for the gun as Dorian smashed his fist into the knifeman’s temple. Something cracked, and the brute collapsed to the ground in a heap. Dorian kicked the fallen knife away as Ellie took up the pistol.
The weapon was black and heavy. With trembling hands, she grasped it firmly and raised her arms. Inhaling deeply, she took aim in the dark evening sky.
Her trembling hands automatically maneuvered the barrel toward one of the men charging at Dorian.
Pressing the trigger hard, a shot rang through the air in a deafening blast.
The violent gunshot, followed by a loud grunt from the intended target, sapped everyone’s attention. The two blackguards who were still on their feet froze in place. “Stop!” she shouted. “Or I—I will shoot!”
Wind whistled through the trees in the eerie quiet before three of the four rogues assessed the situation, turned tails, and sprinted for their lives. Dorian rested a heavy boot on the small of the collapsed man’s back.
A policeman’s whistle was the second piercing noise in the air as the field was flooded with constables.
“Chief Constable Briggins. Stand fast, in the name of the law!” the sturdy constable bellowed. Upon recognizing the situation had been stabilized, his hand lifted placatingly toward Ellie. “Your Grace, please lower the pistol…”
“And please step away from the suspect, Duke Wolfthorne,” another constable said as he approached Dorian.
Dorian took his foot off the blackguard’s back as two watchmen hauled the unconscious man onto his feet by either elbow.
Dropping her arm, Ellie almost collapsed in fear, but Dorian had her in a firm hold, his arms crushing her in a fierce embrace. He held her tight and gently took the pistol from her fingers.
“You did well, sweetheart. You did exceptionally well.”
Briggins went over to the brute and tipped the wounded man’s chin up. “Your Grace, your lordship, does this man look familiar to you?”
“No,” Dorian said after a moment.
Benedict came closer and shook his head, too. “No, not to me either.”
“We’ll hold him at Fleet Prison,” the constable latched iron on the man and walked him away, possibly to a carriage waiting for him. “Don’t worry, Your Grace, we’ll get the answer out of him.”
Dorian nodded to Benedict, who swiftly took Dorian’s place by Ellie’s side the moment he let go. Approaching the prisoner, Dorian asked, “Was it Edgar or Sterling?”
The constable frowned, “Pardon?”
“Not you,” Dorian nodded to the prisoner. “Was it Edgar or Sterling?”
“Yer ol’ man send ‘is regards, Yer Grace,” the man’s chopped cockney accent, mired with sarcasm and spite, struck Ellie but did not seem to faze Dorian.
“Take him,” Dorian muttered.
As the man was dragged away, Dorian returned to Ellie while Benedict blanketed his jacket over Harriet’s shoulders and bundled her. A growing bruise was spreading over Benedict’s cheekbone as he turned to Dorian.
“Thank you,” he mumbled between swollen lips. “Your assistance stopped them and well… nearly damned well saved my life.”
Curtly, Dorian nodded. “Even with our differences, I could not allow you to die. Not like this. You need a thorough pummeling from me first.”
Choking out a hoarse laugh, Benedict asked, “Where did you learn to shoot, Ellie—my apologies, Your Grace.”
“To you, it’s always Ellie,” she murmured, swallowing tight. “And I never learned. What you saw was instinct. I could not allow the man I love to die.” The words coming out so easily surprised her. She felt Dorian’s hand subtly tighten around her middle.
“As much as I want to stay around and find out why my bastard uncle targeted you, I think I need to get my wife home. We can speak tomorrow.”
Benedict stuck out a hand, and Dorian, after a moment of hesitation, shook it. “Coffee on the morrow.”
“Not before midday,” Dorian replied. “And it might be best down at my club.”
“I’ll be there,” Benedict agreed.
Inside their carriage, Dorian unceremoniously dropped the curtains, pulled his jacket away, and bundled Evelina up, heaving her onto his lap. He knew now that the calm had returned, she would begin to feel the repercussions of what she had done.
She was shivering. Her breaths grew fluttery, and her hands trembled. “Dorian…”
“Breathe, Evelina,” he soothed, while his hand rubbed up and down her back. “Breathe it out. It will pass.”
“My head is spinning,” she whispered.
“It is the after-effects of the night’s violence,” he kept his tone tranquil. “It will pass.”
“I—I shot him,” her words were strangled.
“Yes, and quite possibly saved all our lives,” Dorian assured her.
“Yer incomparable, sweetheart. You did bloody well. I hadn’t remembered the pistol, Evelina, and I am relieved you got it before those blackguards could.
When I saw Benedict getting attacked, instinct took over, and I leaped in with my fists. ”
She tucked her face into the crook of his neck and jaw. “You helped him.”
“Yes. Surprised me too,” he murmured. “I suppose a part of me remembered the boy he used to be. Benedict was smaller than me, even in those years, and I would protect him at Eton. Instinct must have just flooded in.”
Evelina closed her eyes, “I cannot get the image of him out of my mind.”
“It’ll fade,” he said. “Eventually.”
The carriage turned off to a drive in Grosvenor Square, when Evelina asked, “Where are we going?”
“One of my townhouses,” he replied. “I think it's best if we avoid the manor house for the night and return to Somerton tomorrow. Don’t worry, we’re safe here.”
Pulling away, she blinked up at him, her sooty lashes fluttering. Uncertainty flitted through her eyes, making his gut twist… with shame. Of late, he’d been a bastard to her, and he knew it. The lies, the deceptions, all of it.
I’ll make it right soon. I promise.
The carriage came to a halt at the townhouse.
Before alighting, Dorian took out a keychain from a box under the seats; it contained a myriad of keys.
He descended first, then stepped out and helped Evelina down.
She gazed at the nondescript townhouse, the front facade as uniform as the others surrounding it.
He saw her head swing from left to right as they stepped into the elegant and fashionable antechamber. The marble floors and rosewood paneling gleamed, and the scent of lemon polish mingled with smoke from the banked fire.
“Is it only us?” she asked when no staff came to meet them.
“Yes,” he nodded. “For tonight, at least. If we do need to stay, I’ll call some from the manor house. Go into one of the bedrooms, you can choose any you’d like. I’ll make your bath and gather some food for us. The staff always makes sure the cupboards are stocked.”
“I—” she looked around, “I don’t have any clothes here.”
“You do,” he said. “Check the drawers.”
As she went off to the rooms, Dorian locked the doors, slid the bolt in place, and then headed to the bathing room. A perk with this townhouse was that he’d fitted it with the newest plumbing, so water came in directly from the pipes.
He began filling the tub with water and scented oils before going off in search of some food.
While puttering about in the kitchen, Dorian assembled a platter of cold meats, cheeses, and fruit. With everything set neatly on the dining table, he went to a nearby window, dropped his hands on the sill, and waited for Evelina.
The moment his mind was no longer immediately occupied, apprehension and rage filled Dorian’s veins.
This was bad. Edgar was either ready to attack or he was pulling up the stakes to run. The damnedest thing of it all was that Dorian could not find him first. How was he to intercept the man, whether in offence or to defend himself and his wife, if he had not the faintest of where the man resided?
He knew the key to all of this was Sterling; if he could get into that safe Evelina had informed him of, the chances of finding that old bastard would rise immensely. Hunching over, he scolded himself. He had gotten distracted from his objective for far too long and now put his wife at risk.
“Dorian?”