Page 57 of Rakes & Reticules
A hoarse shout somewhere in the club drew Siobhan’s attention. The clamor outside made it impossible to tell where the cry came from.
A sinister smile twisted the viscountess’s mouth upward.
“That makes my vengeance that much sweeter.” She tapped her chin, switching her attention between Fletcher and Siobhan. She aimed the gun at Siobhan’s chest. “I shall quite relish your anguish, Fletcher, as you watch her bleed to death, knowing you are helpless to save her and that you brought this end not only on yourself but on her—an innocent victim.”
“All because I rejected your proposition two years ago?” Raspiness threaded Fletcher’s voice as he affected weakness. “Is this what the vandalism, fires, and sabotaging have been about? Vengeance because I didn’t jump into your bed when you crooked your finger?”
Arms folded and one hip resting on the desk, Chandler remained oddly impervious to the conversation. He’d undoubtedly heard the tale before from Fletcher’s and the viscountess’s perspectives.
One of Lady Huxley’s collaborators occasionally lifted the drapery’s edge while the other stood near the door. The entrance to the secret passage gaped open a few inches, though whether from an oversight or because her ladyship was confident no one would intervene, Siobhan couldn’t discern.
And it appeared no one would come to hers and Fletcher’s rescue.
Not knowing if Paddy and Kimber were safe cleaved Siobhan’s heart in two. She didn’t mind dying. Everyone did, eventually. She did, however, object to being murdered before she’d ever had a chance to tell Fletcher she loved him and before ensuring her brother’s and sister’s futures were secure.
“I was pregnant.” The viscountess loomed above Fletcher, her eyes narrowed and mouth thinned. “I wanted to marryyou, not that doddering, simple-minded fool! Huxley, the impotent sod, wished to claim the child as his.”
The unscrupulous tart had thought to entrap Fletcher into marriage and didn’t have a qualm about admitting her subterfuge. What made a person that wicked?
Siobhan risked a glance toward Chandler.
Her ladyship’s confession couldn’t be easy for him to hear.
His expression remained stony and inscrutable.
Anguish crumpled Lady Huxley’s features. “I lost the babe, and the physicians say I shall never bear a child. You robbed me of the chance to be a mother, Fletcher.”
Had grief caused her tumble into lunacy?
“I’m truly sorry, Samantha.” Fletcher kept his tone kind and comforting. “The loss of a child is tragic, no matter the circumstances. But surely you must know, deep in your heart, that had we married, there is no guarantee the child would’ve survived.”
“That’s not true,” she railed, completely unhinged. “Itisyour fault, and I determined you would pay. You would grieve as I have. I’d strip you of everything important to you.”
“But why would Lord Huxley agree to this madness?” The question left Siobhan’s lips before she could stifle it.
“Because the fool loves me and would do anything I ask of him.” Lady Huxley cackled. “Love does that to a person. Makes them do things they never believed themselves capable of.”
Was that why Chandler helped the viscountess, or was his motive purely greed?
Did love cause one to toss aside morals, decency, and honor?
Siobhan could not conceive it.
She loved Fletcher so much that it consumed her, but she wouldn’t have committed crimes to appease him. True, sacrificial love made a person better, not worse.
Another chorus of dramatic shouts drew everyone's attention, and they glanced toward the closed draperies.
The next instant, chaos erupted.
Men burst through the windows, charged through the secret passageway, and kicked down the office door. In moments, Lady Huxley’s outnumbered thugs were overtaken and subdued.
Without a second thought, Siobhan levered a forceful kick and dislodged the gun from Lady Huxley’s hand.
“No!” the viscountess shrieked as she frantically turned this way and that, searching for her pistol. “Chandler. Kill her! Kill them both.”
Fletcher yanked Siobhan to her feet and placed himself between her and the frothing viscountess.
Gun in hand, Chandler charged across the office, straight toward Fletcher, but at the last second, veered toward her ladyship and pointed the gun at her instead. “I don’t take orders from you.”
