Chapter Twenty-Eight
Genevieve sat in the carriage glaring at her father as he glowered back, his pupils unfocused and deranged.
When Jonathan tracked them down, he’d kill the man, that is, if she didn’t kill him first. And she just might, once she ensured Sophia and Christopher were safe.
She should have known that the evil man would threaten their well-being in order to control her.
As she’d tried to leave the ring to get to Jonathan—who she was surprised to see was talking to Edward Robinson—her father had grabbed her and whispered, “If you do not come with me right now, I will give Sophia to Kilsby. I must pay my debts after all. And wait until you hear your dear brother’s fate. ”
“I thought you sold Terrace Place to pay your gambling debts,” she’d snarled, for he would no longer intimidate her.
“She speaks,” her father had declared as his bruising grip tightened even more. “Do not make me remove my blade from my pocket.”
“Bugger you and your knife.” If only the blade in his pocket guts him.
Now, that had been a delightful thought. Attempting to free herself, she’d shoved him away from her, which seemed to alert Whale that she was in danger.
“Whale is comin’,” her self-proclaimed protector called as he attempted to hoist himself into the ring.
Her father had shoved him backward. Although they were only about two feet off the ground, Whale had not yet steadied his bodyweight on the outside ledge of the platform. He lost his balance and toppled into the crowd, landing on top of Jonathan.
“Jonathan,” she’d cried out. Unfortunately, he probably hadn’t heard her because Whale’s fall instigated a domino-style pushing, shoving match within the crowd.
Genevieve attempted to get the duke’s attention with a wave that he never witnessed because a conversation with Franny, Josie, and Roseanna held his focus. Also indisposed, Bear was involved in an animated discussion with an umpire, waving his arms about and pointing at the fray.
“Now.” Her father flashed a shiny, unsheathed blade, which he hastily shoved back into its hiding place in his greatcoat pocket.
“Kilsby is with your sister as we speak, and who knows what he is doing. The man likes chits young and has no boundaries.” He’d grinned.
“Likes pretty boys like Christopher, too. Enjoys watching them squirm as he forces them to take all he has to offer.”
Bile burned Genevieve’s esophagus. Christopher would slice Kilsby’s bullocks off. And yet, she had no other choice but to allow her father to shove her through the free-for-all. Hopefully, Whale could articulate what had happened to the others.
Her father hissed, bringing her back to their scowling contest in the carriage.
“I didn’t believe it at first when Clyde brought me the handbill he found in a tavern.
You? A pugilist? You are so dimwitted you couldn’t even speak.
But then I realized that it doesn’t take brains to climb into the ring.
The less the better.” His chuckle was hellishly low and utterly diabolical.
“Whatever made you think you could be a pugilist? You were quite terrible at first. So weak.”
She’d always known that Clyde was dung. Only an arse would drive a man like Arthur Bailey around.
And how dare her father comment on her fighting ability?
She’d like to see how he fared in the ring while she shot him with eye daggers.
She had redeemed herself in the end, though.
Refusing to look in her father’s direction, she’d pulled herself together, concentrated, and finished strong.
“Sod off,” she spat out. As she’d already discovered, saying indecent things brought her pleasure.
Her resolve remained firm. She would not allow him to intimidate her. Eventually, he would have to sleep. And then… Oh, my, the methods of torture were endless. She crossed her arms over her chest.
“I will see you hanged,” she said. “And as God is my witness, I swear, if anything happens to Christopher or Sophia, if you have hurt a single hair on their heads, I will kill you myself. Think I jest? Then remember this, old man; your barbarous blood flows through my veins.”
*
As the carriage rolled along, Genevieve lost track of time. The evil man refused to stop at a coaching inn, which was bad for the horses but good for her since it meant less time alone with him in the carriage. Faster travel also meant she would reach her siblings sooner.
The sun was just beginning to set when they arrived at Thorn Manor. Brown vines twisted upward, overtaking the roof and covering many of the windows. The devil in the form of a man had done it; he’d completely strangled their home.
As soon as the carriage rolled to a stop, she pushed the door open and leaped to the ground. “Christopher, Sophia,” she yelled as she darted into the foyer, almost running headfirst into the butler.
“Miss Genevieve? You have a voice.” Melvin looked her over from head to toe as if assessing that it was indeed her. “Are you well?”
“Cut the applesauce. Where are my brother and sister? Where is Lord Kilsby?”
“Lord Kilsby is not here.” His gaze slid over her head, and then his eyes widened in what looked like horror. “Sir, I was not expecting you so soon.”
Genevieve whirled.
Her father stood in the doorway, his grin wicked. “I was mistaken; Kilsby must be in London,” he said.
Her treacherous villain of a father had tricked her into coming home with him. The lying sack of dung!
Lunging, she grabbed him by the lapel and shook him until his cheeks vibrated. “Where are Christopher and Sophia?”
With a flick of his wrist, he cracked her in the jaw.
Hah. He probably thought he’d hurt her, but she’d taken far more punishing blows while training, and in the ring mere hours ago. While embracing the sting, she allowed him to step back.
“I suppose in their chambers, where they always are,” he said with a self-satisfied smirk.
So, this had been a ruse to trick her into coming home.
“Unless they are in the cellar.” His discomforting grin widened. Oh, how she’d always hated his malicious sneer. “Maybe you should go and check on them,” he added.
“No!” Melvin cried out. Clearing his visage of all emotion, the butler looked at the floor.
Her father’s murderous gaze drifted to Melvin, who continued to stare at his shoes. Could it be that their high-in-the-instep servant was defying her father in some way?
“Miss Genevieve, they are not in the cellar,” Melvin said.
Which must mean they were in their chambers.
Genevieve dashed across the foyer, then took the stairs two at a time. Sprinting down the hallway to Sophia’s room, she flung the door wide.
“Sophia,” she called.
No Sophia.
“Miss, you are home?” Kitty timidly murmured from behind her.
Genevieve pushed past Kitty to streak across the hallway.
“Christopher,” she called as she pushed on his door and barged into his chamber.
Empty!
Her shoulders sagging, Genevieve joined the maid in the hallway. “Kitty, where are my siblings?”
Kitty twisted her hands in her skirt. “They went with a man last night.”
Please, not Kilsby. “What man?” Genevieve demanded.
Unfortunately, her father crept up behind Kitty. To Geneveive’s horror, he grabbed the maid around the waist, as if to say, This is my house and I can lay my hands on whoever I want.
Kitty jumped and squealed.
Genevieve pounced and punched. The punishing blow whizzed past Kitty’s cheek, smashing her father in the jaw. As his head flew back and he cried out in pain, Kitty scurried away from him.
Genevieve advanced again, pounding her fists on his chest. “Where are they?”
He cackled maniacally. “In their graves.”
“No, they ain’t.” Kitty declared, without a hint of her usual meekness. “You are a liar.”
Her nose inches from her father’s, Genevieve snarled as if she were a starving tiger. “Who has them? Kilsby, the coward?”
“No, miss,” Kitty said. “Another man. He said he is your friend.”
But all of Genevieve’s friends had been with her at the duke’s estate except for Lady Davenport, Coach Valentine, and Edward Robinson.
Was it too much to hope that for some reason Edward Robinson, the intrepid lawman, had her siblings?
He had appeared out of nowhere at her fight.
If he had deposited them somewhere, that meant they were safe.
The heavy burden lifted from Genevieve’s shoulders.
Now she could deal with this atrocious blackguard with the paternal instincts of a power-hungry lion, once and for all.
Her father’s cackling halted, and his expression sobered. “Who has my children, Kitty?”
She clamped her lips together and shook her head.
A monstrous expression stole over her father’s face. His eyes morphed into slits and his nostrils flared. He dug into his pocket and withdrew the damnable blade, wielding it in Kitty’s direction. “Tell me who has them, Kitty.”
Genevieve stepped between her father and the maid. “Put the knife away, Father.” The word father soured on her tongue.
He lunged at Genevieve. Perhaps she had inherited her quick reflexes from him because before she knew what was happening, he’d pinned her arms behind her back and pressed his knife against her throat.
Kitty squeaked as she brought her palm to her mouth.
Oddly, Genevieve was unafraid as he dragged her down the first flight of stairs—probably because planning his demise consumed her.
He halted on the landing and yelled to the first floor, “Melvin, where are my children?”
Melvin peered up at them, his eyes wide, Mrs. Whistler by his side.
“Sir don’t hurt Genevieve,” their cook said. “She is your daughter, sir.”
“Daughter?” he spat out. “How does one know who his descendants truly are if his wife is a whore?”
Heavens above. At least now she knew the truth. Her father despised her because he didn’t think she was his progeny. If only that were true. Unfortunately, she knew deep in her heart that her mother had been a faithful woman.
Melvin held up his palm as if staying a rabid wolf. “Let Miss Genevieve go, and I will tell you everything, sir.”
“The hell I will,” her father said. “How dare servants tell me what to do? First, I will kill her, and then I will kill each and every one of you.”
“The hell you will,” Genevieve said as she elbowed her father in the stomach.
The blade cutting into her flesh burned, but not so much that she couldn’t grab his forearm as she pushed her arse into her father’s hips.
While his body was off kilter, she bent forward and tossed him over her shoulder.
As she predicted, he flew over her, toppling down the entire flight of stairs.
His body somersaulted as his head crashed into the railing a half dozen times with satisfying thwacks.
He landed at the bottom of the stairway, his arms and legs akimbo and his neck twisted so far that he appeared to be looking behind himself. The hilt of his blade stuck out of his bloody thigh.
Genevieve held her breath as she waited for him to climb onto his feet. When he didn’t move, she and Kitty descended the stairs to stand with Melvin and Mrs. Whistler. The four of them watched the pool of blood beside the supine corpse expand.
The front door crashed open, startling Genevieve. Relief washed over her as Jonathan flew toward her. He wrapped her in his arms as she collapsed into his protective embrace.
“You are hurt.” Frowning, he brushed his finger over her neck and then held the bloody tip up for her to see.
“’Tis just a tiny cut,” she said. Barely anything considering what she’d been through these past hours.
Edward Robinson strolled right up to her father’s discombobulated body. After shaking his head, he bent down and pressed two fingers to her father’s wrist. “Dead. Must have fallen down the steps broken his neck, and at some point, stabbed himself with his own knife.”
“That is exactly what happened,” Melvin declared. “He becomes quite uncoordinated with drink. Right, Mrs. Whistler?”
“Uncoordinated indeed,” Mrs. Whistler said.
Meanwhile, Kitty nodded emphatically.
“Gen,” Sophia called.
Genevieve cut her gaze from the corpse to the doorway. Sophia and Christopher charged toward her. Her uncle, the Earl of Shipley, rounded out the newly arrived party. She hadn’t seen him in years, but since they shared the same eyes, she’d recognize him in a room full of people.
She left Jonathan’s warm embrace to hug her siblings. “Oh, I’ve missed you both,” she said. “I am so sorry I left. I was trying to earn the money to come back for you.”
“We know,” Christopher said. “Mr. Robinson and Uncle helped us escape, and Lord Davenport told us everything.”
“I am sorry, Gen,” Jonathan said. “I followed you one night to your old house, because I was worried. After that, I hired Edward to look into your past. Again, because I wanted to protect you.”
“Do not be angry at Lord Davenport,” Edward said. “He wasn’t the only one worried. Franny and Josie also insisted I find out who you were running from so that they could help protect you. As did Lady Davenport.”
How could she be angry? After spending so much of her life unloved, she’d found people who adored her for who she was. Her siblings were finally safe, and she’d been reunited with her uncle.
Christopher playfully punched her shoulder. “A pugilist, eh?”
They could catch up on life later. For now, she had to focus on their current predicament. “I am afraid Father is dead.”
“Obviously,” Christopher said with a shrug.
“Good.” Sophia tapped the tiny toe of her boot on his forehead. “Now we can live happily ever after.”
Perhaps sniggering over a dead body was in poor taste, but Sophia’s little nose was twitching adorably. Genevieve and Christopher sandwiched their little sister in a tight hug.
“Heavens.” Melvin tsked.
The siblings parted to regard their butler.
“’Tis quite difficult to get bloodstains out. Shall we simply purchase new carpeting, sir?” he asked Christopher.