Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“NO!” Laurence roared.
Benedict produced a pistol of his own from nowhere, pressing the barrel of it tightly to Ellen’s bruised temple.
One second, they were a few inches apart.
The next, Benedict’s free arm was wrapped tight around Ellen’s throat, her back pressed fully to his chest as Benedict nudged the barrel against her head once more.
“You just keep getting in the way, don’t you?” Benedict snarled, madness glittering brightly in his eyes. “Step away,” he commanded through gritted teeth.
Laurence didn’t move. Did not even breathe as his gaze kept flicking from Benedict to Ellen. She’d been crying, and she was hurt. It was all his fault. Guilt threatened to make him buckle, but he refused to give in to it.
“You are not leaving this place with her,” Laurence answered.
“She is mine!” Benedict snarled.
“Let her go then,” Laurence quickly countered. “If she is yours, as you say, she will stay by your side.”
Doubt shifted through Benedict’s eyes, and with fierce quickness he turned Ellen in his arms. Fear tightened the muscles in Laurence’s stomach as Benedict shook her shoulders, his right hand still laced loosely around the handle of his pistol.
“I know you want me, Ellie,” he said in a trembling voice. “Tell him.”
Ellen said nothing as her lips trembled, her gaze focused solely on her cousin.
“Tell him!” Benedict roared, giving her another fierce shake.
The pistol fell from his loosened grip, and Laurence wasted no time in lowering his own and firing a shot into Benedict’s knee.
A roar of pain exploded from his open mouth as he let Ellen go, and she stumbled hurriedly from the carriage and into Laurence’s side, grabbing Benedict’s fallen pistol along the way.
Laurence wrapped his free arm around her in an instant, holding her tightly against him as if he’d needed proof that she was actually there. He spared a second to press a kiss to her forehead as he tossed his pistol to the side and took Benedict’s from her shaking hands.
He wanted to pick her up and take her away there and then, but he couldn’t risk Benedict finding a way to escape. So he stayed, keeping her safe in his grasp as he kept his pistol trained on Benedict.
“No, Ellie,” Benedict sobbed in a crumpled, bleeding mess on the carriage floor. “Come back.”
“You killed him,” she sobbed, trembling heavily against Laurence’s side. “You killed him.”
Hurt, not for himself, but for Ellen, bloomed in Laurence’s chest as he realized that his suspicions regarding Robert Munro’s death had been confirmed. If Benedict still refused to give up his involvement in the auction, at least that would land him in prison.
“You have already confessed one sin,” Laurence pushed on, staring down at Benedict. “Give us the other. Tell us the truth about the auction.”
Benedict let out a strange, wounded sound. It was somewhere between a snarl and a sob.
“You and that blasted auction!” he roared, his hands hovering above his ruined knee. “Yes, I convinced your sister to take part, but I have already told you, I do not own it!”
Laurence sneered in frustration as his grip tightened on the butt of his pistol.
“But you have some part! Admit it!” he yelled with commanding rage.
“I pretended to be so to get under your skin, Curtis, but I do not,” Benedict seethed through gritted teeth. “I convince women to participate so I can act as their patron and receive their cut; that is all.”
Laurence let out a sound of rage as he moved the pistol slightly to the left and fired, the shot narrowly missing Benedict’s arm. Benedict bared his teeth as he jerked away from the sound, pain etching his face as he did so.
“You call me mad, Ellie?” Benedict seethed.
“Do not speak to her,” Laurence warned, pressing Ellen closer to him.
“He is going to kill me because he cannot get what he wants,” Benedict continued, ignoring Laurence’s warning. “You stay with him, and he will hurt you more than I ever could!”
“I am nothing like you!” Laurence bellowed and pulled the trigger again. This time the pistol only clicked, the single loaded bullet already used. He snarled and threw the gun aside.
“Laurence.”
Ellen’s voice was soft and calming as she slipped a hand up his cheek. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, as he glared at Benedict. All he had to do was take two steps, and he would be on him. He could throw his fists into his face until he was bloodied and broken. He could…
“Laurence,” she repeated in that same angelic tone, her hand stroking lovingly over his cheeks. “Look at me.”
It took him a second to rein in his rage and obey, but when he did, he nearly buckled to his knees.
There was a bruise blooming on her temple.
Her beautiful lips were red and bruised.
Exhaustion and stress clouded her mesmerizing blue eyes, but there was something else there too.
Something pure and loving that made his heart ache.
“You are right. You are nothing like him,” she said in that same soothing tone. “You rescued me. You protected me. You are nothing like him.”
“I could kill him,” Laurence snarled, feeling self-loathing overtake him. “Just as he has killed others.”
“But you will not,” Ellen quickly countered. “You are better than him, Laurence. You know you are.”
Something broke within him then, or perhaps snapped into place. He wasn’t sure, but whatever it was, had him wrapping both arms around Ellen. He kissed her softly, so as not to bruise her poor lips any further, and in doing so, another roar of rage from Benedict erupted into the air.
“Oh, do shut up,” Solomon’s voice snapped loudly through the bellowing.
Ellen and Laurence both turned to his voice and found that he and the constable had finally caught up to them with the barred carriage used for transporting prisoners.
Benedict’s roaring ceased as he spotted the constable, but he let out a snarl of pain as Solomon and the constable hauled him to his feet.
“Do we have our confession?” Solomon demanded to know, glaring furiously at Benedict.
Laurence grimaced as he shook his head.
“Not the one we want,” he grimly replied, “though the kidnapping charges are obvious.”
The rage in Solomon’s face was apparent as he bared his teeth and gave Benedict a violent shake.
“You know what you did!” he exploded, red-faced and feral as he yelled in Benedict’s face. “It is because of you that Annabel Curtis is dead! You destroyed her innocence! Admit it!”
“I will not,” Benedict growled back. “I showed her an opportunity to live a different life; that is all! I was not there. I did not kill her!”
“Maybe not,” Ellen spoke up, causing Solomon to freeze just as he cocked his fist back and readied to punch Benedict in the face.
“But we do have a confession of at least one murder,” Ellen said quietly, her gaze settling solely on her cousin.
Benedict shook his head, his gaze suddenly pleading.
“Ellie, do not—”
“He murdered my father,” she cut him off. “Confessed to poisoning him.”
“No!” Benedict snarled, struggling within the two men’s grasp. “I did no such thing! She is lying!”
“There is proof,” Laurence said. His tone was quiet, but it seemed to catch everyone’s attention anyway, as all eyes turned to him.
“What?” Ellen breathed, her brows furrowed. He hated, hated the look of betrayal in her eyes.
“I was going to tell you,” he swore. “I was just waiting for this to be over. I thought you should have the opportunity to recover from one misfortune before I revealed another.”
It hurt him to tear his gaze away from her, but he did, looking at the constable.
“In his study there is a window seat,” he explained. “Remove the cushions and lift it. Inside you will find diaries that point to his involvement in Robert Curtis’ death.”
Benedict’s red face paled as his eyes widened.
“How do you know that?” he rasped.
Laurence did not answer. The constable, who seemed to have heard enough, began dragging Benedict toward the barred carriage.
Just as he was ready to unlock it, though, Madalene came around the carriage, her eyes bright with rage and her face set in determination.
Benedict stopped struggling at once, his eyes growing impossibly wide as he looked her up and down.
“Annabel?” he whispered.
Madalene’s slap across his face rang throughout the bare space of the country road, echoing beyond it and into the trees.
“For my sister,” she seethed.
A red handprint was starting to form on Benedict’s face as he slowly turned his head back to her; the fight in his spirit had suddenly gone.
He was led into the carriage without further incident, and it was Solomon who wrapped an arm around Madalene and whispered soft words of comfort to her.
She did not fight him as he led her to the horse that Solomon had freed from Benedict’s carriage.
“I will take her back to the stables and bring your carriage,” Solomon said as he helped Madalene mount the horse.
Laurence only gave a curt nod as Solomon then mounted the horse himself, sitting behind Madalene.
“You knew?” Ellen asked when the world grew quiet again.
Laurence waited, watching as Madalene and Solomon rode off, and the constable’s barred carriage made its way toward London.
“It was just a few days ago,” he finally answered, turning to her. “I swear, Ellen, I was going to tell you.”
The hurt lingered in her eyes a little longer, then she bowed her head and closed her eyes.
“Always trying to protect me,” she whispered.
Relief poured through him, and he gently drew her into another embrace.
“Let us get you home,” he gently urged as he held her close. “You deserve a bath and a long rest. Then, I think we should talk.”