Page 100 of My Darling Rogue
Gabriel half-turned, concern for Celia cutting through the bloodlust. It left him vulnerable for a split second.
It was a stupid mistake. Bryan took immediate advantage of the distraction and Gabriel’s closer proximity. With his bound hands, he grabbed the pistol, jerking it free from Gabriel’s waistband.
“Gotcha!” Bryan crowed in victory. Laughing maniacally, he waived the pistol at Gabriel.
Cocking the hammer, he pulled the trigger without much forethought into aiming the weapon.
The shot rang out, the bullet embedding in a rafter above them. The loft filled with the acrid smell of gunpowder and hazy smoke. Celia screamed in horror as Gabriel grappled with Bryan, fighting to regain control of the gun now wedged between their bodies.
Another shot. This one winging wide to land in the wall opposite of the hayloft. Below them, horses whinnied in confused fear, stamping their hooves and moving restlessly within their stalls.
Gabriel heard the sound of feet flying across the loft’s floorboards. He died a thousand deaths because of her recklessness, but before he could utter anything more than a hoarse “No!” Celia was beside him.
Inserting herself between the bodies of the two men as they fought, Celia shoved Bryan away with a desperate sob.
At the same time, Gabriel grabbed the pistol from Bryan’s loosely bound hands. Winding an arm around Celia’s waist, he slung her out of harm’s way.
“Get away, Celia!” he barked, terror for her safety evident in the violence of his voice.
She landed on her hands and knees a few feet away, dazed by the quickness of Gabriel’s actions, her eyes wide as she stared at the two men.
During the struggle, the two men had come dangerously close to the loft’s edge. Bryan teetered on the ledge for half a second.
“Help me!” he gasped, his arms flailing for balance.
Determined that Bryan would not escape his brand of vengeance so easily and painlessly, Gabriel reached for him. But it was too late. The heavy hook over which the noose was looped swung out over the stables with the momentum of Bryan’s body.
The snap of his neck was startling. Loud. The creaking of the hook swinging back and forth from the weight of Bryan’s body even more so.
Celia let out a muffled scream. Scrambling to her feet, she launched herself at Gabriel.
He crushed her against his chest, his face buried in the wealth of her hair as it tumbled free of its pins. Desperately, he swung her around in an effort to shield her view of the dead man.
“I’ve got you, my love.Petite femme.I’ve got you. You are safe now. Safe.”
It was all Gabriel could say as he held Celia’s trembling body. He absorbed her sobs, arms wrapped tight around her as she wept with relief that the nightmare was finally over.
* * *
“We’ve avoided the inquest,thank God,” Sebastian said, plopping down on a settee in Rosenthorne Hall’s drawing room. The space was full of friends and family who had gathered to celebrate the somber decision delivered by England’s highest magistrates that very morning.
Gabriel nodded, taking Celia’s hand and squeezing it tight. She smiled at him, then accepted her mother’s affectionate kiss on her cheek.
“It was preposterous they attempted charging you with a crime in the first place,” Heath chimed in with his customary sardonic grin. “I suppose having friends willing to vouch for your name when it’s needed most is a valuable thing. One never knows when a situation might require such influence.”
“Obviously, the Rosenthorne title can only do so much on its own,” Gabriel replied with a crooked smile. “It took the Duke of Richeforte and the rest of you standing behind me to end this hellish nightmare. Regardless, I was prepared to hang for my part in Flannigan’s death. What happened kept Celia safe from further harm.”
Celia snuggled closer to him, holding Gabriel’s arm tighter. “I would not have allowed it. I would have rescued you from any cell they placed you in, and we would have escaped to a place they would have never found us.”
Gabriel chucked his wife underneath her chin. “Coming from my little wife who attempted to stop Flannigan’s crime spree without assistance, I believe it.”
Celia blushed, but she did not dispute his assertion. Only they knew the full truth of what happened in that hayloft, and it was a secret they would never reveal to another soul. A secret that was buried with Bryan Flannigan in a pauper’s grave just three weeks ago.
All of them—Ravenswood, Bentley, Lord Buckholt, Heath, and Celia’s family—had banded together and protested Gabriel’s imminent incarceration for the crime of murder. But it was Nicholas, the Duke of Richeforte, who’d held the most sway over the proceedings. The man had recently swooped into London, conducted a few secret meetings, then departed just as suddenly. He’d been reluctant to leave his duchess alone for very long, considering the advanced stage of Grace’s pregnancy. There was no doubt his actions on Gabriel’s behalf resulted in the dismissal of the case.
“Self-defense resulting in accidental death was all they could concoct against you. And even that was tossed based on Flannigan’s previous crimes and his activity since coming into your employment,” Bentley said, raising a glass of brandy in a celebratory toast. “The man basically hung himself in that loft after stealing God knows how much from you, Rosenthorne. Everyone knows you could have shot the man several times over for the single crime of holding Celia hostage, never mind the evidence of the money and jewels he’d taken. Who knows how many other estates he worked and used the same tactics?”
“So true,” Lady Darby said, holding a hand to her heart. “Thank goodness you thwarted that man’s evil plans, Lord Rosenthorne. My daughter is indeed lucky to have married a husband so dedicated to her safety. Her father and I thank you.”
