Page 72 of His Unforgettable Bride
He hadn’t spoken with Juliet since she returned to the tearoom after Ruby’s appearance. Too confused and agitated to join her, he had paced instead for a short while, saying Henry Graighton and Bascandy repeatedly, hoping the words would alert something in his brain.
But no such luck.
By the time the dance ended, midnight had come and gone. The sisters had insisted on waiting for the morning to clean up the tearoom. Thus, everyone had gone directly into the house and readied for bed. So he hadn’t spoken privately with Juliet about the matter, and he suspected she hadn’t told the sisters about Ruby’s visit or the revelation of his identity. If so, they surely would have mentioned the fact.
Gray crept to the top of the front staircase. The starry night sky shone through the window above the door, and he strained to listen. Only the grandfather clock striking four times delivered a sound. With silent footsteps and tensed muscles, he descended.
On the last step, he paused and gazed around. He planned to secure the gun and then investigate the premises. He would keep the trespassers from reaching and frightening the ladies at all costs. Something crashed onto the floor, originating from down the hallway. The dining room, perhaps, or?—
“I said, get!” Cy shouted.
A chill dropped down Gray’s spine. He shot toward the drawing room. Through the darkness, he raced into the room toward the piano and was stopped short by slamming into something solid. No, someone solid, with enough force that they both crashed to the floor. Peaches released a piercing whistle.
His opponent bore the brunt of their fall and grunted. The man was similar in size to Gray and reeked of body odor. Where was the other one? Still with Cy? Or were there more than two trespassers inside the house?
Gray jerked his opponent sideways, trying to gain an advantage. Then they rolled in the other direction, bumping into a side-table leg and sending it careening to the floor with a crash. The deacon’s bench sat to his right and the piano to his left. If he could only reach the weapon, he could end this tussle and hopefully assist Cy.
In theory, it was a decent plan. But now for the execution.
Gray twisted enough to free his arm, then jabbed his elbow into the man’s face with a driving force. Immediately, his foe released him, allowing Gray to break free. He quickly scrambled to the piano stool.
“Stop. I have a gun.” A deep male voice carried a bite and a vague familiarity.
Gray stiffened, but his mind whirred, trying to find a way out of his bind. Slowly, he turned toward the shadowy figure in the doorway. But then the air whooshed, and the body collapsed, followed by a thud. The outline of a slender person stood over the man with the weapon—a large rod of some kind?
“Cy?” Gray asked.
“Look out behind you.” It was Juliet’s voice.
Merciful heavens. What was she doing down here? His first instinct was to run to her and ensure her safety. But apparently, she had control of the situation.
Instead, he flung open the stool lid and felt for the firearm.
No gun.
He spun around, his opponent on hands and knees as if searching for something, likely a weapon dropped in the scuffle. Quickly, Gray pounced on the man’s back, collapsing him to the floor. Then he pinned the intruder to the carpet. Though the fellow writhed, straining to free himself, Gray held tight.
Faint lantern light seeped into the drawing room. “I got a weapon,” Cy said, his voice growing louder as he drew closer. “And I love shooting it.”
The man beneath Gray cussed and quit resisting.
With sweat on his brow and labored breaths, Gray rose and glanced at Juliet. She knelt beside the unconscious man, who was sprawled face-first on the floor. Lantern light glinted off the blade of a knife in her hand and the abandoned iron poker beside her on the floor.
Where was the motionless man’s weapon? Did he lay atop his firearm, or had he bluffed?
Gray’s body ached from the brawl, especially his ribs. The man he had grappled with now sat, his back against the leg of the deacon’s bench. Blood flowed freely down his face into his lap and onto the floor. Was the fellow’s nose broken?
Stepping around the toppled side table and destroyed lamp, Cy handed Gray his revolver. A sling held his injured arm, and his hand gripped a lantern. “I fooled the one trespasser into thinking he knocked me out.”
Gray pointed the revolver at his attacker.
“Are you both all right?” Juliet stood by the door, the poker stick now ready for another blow, which hopefully would not be necessary. Her voice and brow expressed concern. Yet, throughout the ordeal, she had remained unflappable.
“I’m dandy,” Cy said.
“As am I.” Gray offered her a slight grin. “I must say you are quite handy wielding a makeshift weapon. Thank you for not staying upstairs like I requested.”
An impertinent smile landed on her lips. “Anytime, Gray.”
