Chapter Thirty-Six #2
Just when she thought Benjamin was getting the upper hand, Deering’s substantial form rolled over, pinning him to the ground.
They both fought with a wild ferocity that made Charlotte certain that neither would stop until the other was dead.
Charlotte’s head was still ringing from Deering’s blow, and it made it seem as if the fight before her was playing out in slow motion.
She watched in growing horror as it became clear that while Benjamin was the more skilled fighter, Deering had the advantage of size and the frenzy of madness.
“You took my son.” Deering punctuated the yowl with a punch to Benjamin's gut that Charlotte felt reverberate through her. “You will not take my wife!” he screamed as he pinned Benjamin’s torso under his haunches, landing blow after blow about his face.
“STOP!” Charlotte screamed, her hands shaking as she jumped down from the stairs to grab the pistol that had been knocked across the hall. “STOP!”
She almost fired a shot in the air and then realised that this was a duelling pistol and she did not have another round to load. Luckily, her movement and shouts seemed to have drawn Deering’s attention, for he lurched back upon seeing the firearm levelled at his head. “Stop, or I will shoot you!”
He truly was beyond sanity, for he just sneered and grabbed Benjamin from the floor, wrestling him up to hold before his body. “I would like to see you try. Shoot me, and you shoot your dear gutter rat.”
Charlotte’s breath caught as she saw Benjamin’s face.
His jaw was starting to swell, blood trickled down his lip, and his eyebrow was split, oozing blood over his left eye.
As if he heard her gasp, his eyes opened, and she was caught in the familiar deep blue gaze.
For a moment, time stood still, and Charlotte felt all they had left unsaid pass between them.
No, he was trying to get her attention. His lips were moving. She looked down and tried to make out the word. No, she must be mistaken. It looked like he was saying, shoot.
His eyes flicked to the meaty hand grasping his shoulder. Deering had his arms pinned to his sides so that Benjamin could not buck back and twist out of his grip. Benjamin looked down at the hand again, looking up at her and mouthing the word again.
Shoot!
He could not be asking her to do that. She could kill him! He could not be asking to sacrifice his own life just to save her from this deranged beast!
“You will come with me, Charlotte. Or I will kill you and this underworld bastard, right here and now. Do not doubt me. All it takes is a quick snap of the neck, and it is you and me, anyway. As a matter of fact, I might as well do it—”
Deering moved, and Charlotte did not have to think. She pulled the trigger. The powder lit and exploded in the empty hall, the recoil sending Charlotte reeling back, and the pistol clattering to the bare marble floor.
Then, all hell broke loose. Shouts were filling the hall, men streaming in from all sides. Charlotte could not see through the melee to Deering and Benjamin. Someone helped her up, leading her outside. She fought against the arms.
“No! No! Is he okay? Is Benjamin alright?” The stranger lifted her up and carried her flailing from the house until they set her down on the pavement beyond the front steps.
“Stay here, Lady Charlotte. We have him. Deering has been apprehended.” The Duke of Wells put his hands on her shoulders to steady her and hold her in place so she could not bolt back into the chaos of the foyer.
“But what of Benjamin!” she wailed, unable to modulate her voice with the shot of the pistol still ringing in her ears.
“He was alive when I grabbed you. I will go back in and see to him. But you must stay here!” She was not sure if she had heard his words, but by some force of will, she was able to nod her agreement.
A crowd was forming on the street, neighbours craning their heads to try to find the source of all the commotion.
A housekeeper from one of the neighbouring houses began fluttering over Charlotte’s bruising face, but Charlotte did not pay her any heed.
She could not tear her eyes from the dark doorway—the love of her life somewhere on the other side. Dead or alive. She did not know.
After interminable moments, she could not stand it any longer and began to make her way back inside. The Bow Street runners that Wells had appeared with were already beginning to file out of the house, and she could not stand to watch another man who was not Benjamin step out of that door.
But before she could take the first step, two figures emerged from the chaos.
Wells’ ducal profile was immediately recognisable, and he held up the slumped form of—“Benjamin!” His name tore from her chest, and she sprinted up the steps, her hands fluttering around him, not sure which injury to tend to first. Then she saw the blood seeping through his coat and felt her heart drop.
“Benjamin! Oh, God, Benjamin.”
She did not know whether to grasp him or stand back, lest she do any more harm, and so she found herself floundering uselessly on the front stoop of her family’s empty house.
“We are even now.” The words were weak, and Charlotte thought perhaps she was imagining them.
But when she leaned forward, she saw the strained smile on his bloody face, and a strangled, hysterical laugh bubbled up from inside her. “W-what?”
“You shot me. We’revn.” He gave her a full, dazzling smile, his face transforming. And in the next moment, he was gone—dropped away in a dead faint.
Charlotte let out a scream and rushed to catch him, the blood from his wound seeping into her bodice the moment she touched him.
“We need help here, now!” Wells shouted towards the group of runners, and two robust men hurried up the steps to help lift Benjamin’s unconscious form.
The pain of being moved must have brought him back around, for he groaned and swore—though it was full of pure agony, Charlotte did not think a sound had ever made her happier in her entire life.
“Benjamin, I am here with you. Just hold on. We will get you help.”