Page 12 of A Gentleman's Guide to Save a Lady
1.Let wild dogs loose on him.
2.Make him walk the plank.(Don’t have a ship.)
3.Steal a ship and make him walk the plank.
4.Shoot him on the spot.
5.Hire a gunman to shoot him on the spot.
6.Poison.
7.Lock him away in the basement. (Forever.)
About the only thing, she could reasonably manage on the entire list was to point a pistol at him, but, even then, she was a terrible shot. And she had no pistol.
Locking him away in the basement would be best—as long as he never escaped. But even if she managed to accomplish such a herculean task, it would require a life-long commitment. He was not worth such dedication.
To poison his food once he’d been apprehended would be much easier, but Belle did not wish to lower to such a degraded level of wretchedness if she could avoid it.
And, before any of these could be accomplished, she’d have to act as bait and entrap him, something that seemed impossible. At least on her own. It would require a cunning that she wasn’t certain she possessed.
Drat it, but she was awful at plotting to catch villains.
A frantic laugh escaped her.
Was she truly plotting to murder a man? But then again, he had started it.
Oh, who was she fooling? She was probably going to die a horrible death!
No!You are strong, her inner voice cooed.You can beat him.
She repeated those words to herself until the beat of her heart steadied again.
Pouring over her notes and all the accompanying possibilities again, she took a deep breath. Luring him out would be easy enough. That much she could do. But she’d no means to catch him or force him to eat or drink anything she offered. He was a French spy for pity’s sake! And she? She was just a fearful girl.
What an utter mess.
The only thing in her power to do was number five: to hire a person of questionable character to complete the deed for her. Assuming she could really intend harm on another being, that plan was not without risk, however. Edgar had been a cunning man four years ago; there was no telling how devious he would be now. Much more so, she imagined. So her hired mercenary would need to be far craftier than a spy to match Edgar and not be in danger in the process.
“So this is what I am to do, Charlemagne? Hire a thug to take care of our problems?” Belle muttered down at the hound, watching as his ear twitched. “If only a kiss could turn you into a prince charming—wouldn’t that be grand? I’d be a princess and Edgar couldn’t touch me then. I imagine you’d have a mass of blond hair with an enchanting grin plastered on your handsome face.”
Belle swallowed a groan at her own description of prince charming. How addled her mind must be to imagine Westfield, of all men, as a role model for it.
“There is no shortage of plans in the world, Charlemagne,” she mused to her hound, “only the shortage of time. And perhaps heroes. Aren’t there supposed to be more of them wandering about?”
Charlemagne lay as still as a statue.
Hire a thug it is.
Midnight
The street was silent as Belle made her way down a dark alleyway just off Serpentine Road, the echo of her boots hitting the cobblestones in sync with the rhythmic beat of her heart. She pulled her black cape tighter around her. There was a distinct iciness to the night, one that chilled her to the bone.
She was summoning a mercenary.
Earlier that day she’d sent word to one of her seamstresses to deliver a message to a trusted friend. Since not even Madam De La Frey’s own seamstresses knew her identity, it seemed the best approach. An hour later, she received an unsigned missive to meet at midnight at the corner of Hyde Park. An odd place indeed, since Hyde Park was within the bounds of Mayfair.
Belle halted at the edge of the street and settled back into the shadows, waiting with bated breath. She had no idea if this was a trap, but she’d come this far and refused to turn back. If she perished tonight, at least it would not be at the hands of Edgar. The thought consoled her even as the cold air stung her face. No matter what happened, she wouldnotreveal her fear.
