Page 54 of Rakes & Reticules
“Traitor,” Siobhan hissed. “How could you?”
“For her and money, of course.” Grinning, Chandler shrugged. “I can retire with Samantha in style now—someplace warm and away from this stinking, dreary city. No more groveling for the likes of Westbrook, Huxley, or the myriad of privileged sots who look down their noses or ignore me.”
His tone became increasingly clipped and ominous with each syllable as he no longer attempted to hide his hatred and animosity.
“Yes, yes, darling. You shall have your revenge.” Lady Huxley soothed him like one would an irascible child. “Didn’t I promise you when you agreed to help me, dearest?”
Insanity flashed in Chandler’s eyes and contorted his features.
Heaven help me.
He was as demented as the viscountess—perhaps more so,the devil’s spawn.
“You’ll come along, or I'll shoot Fletcher now.” Her ladyship pointed the gun at his head and, with blood-chilling calm, said, “It makes no difference to me if he dies now or in a few minutes. However, I think it makes a great difference to you, Siobhan.”
He isn’t dead.
Simultaneous relief and renewed terror hitched Siobhan’s breath.
“No! Don’t.” Tears streamed from her eyes. How badly hurt was Fletcher? “I’ll come with you.”
“I thought you’d see it my way.” Lady Huxley stepped over Fletcher’s prone form as if he was an old house slipper or newssheet.
She was utterly mad.
Once Siobhan entered the secret passageway, her ladyship pressed another hidden latch, closing the door.
Apparently, Chandler had revealed everything to her, the rotten traitor.
Then why hadn’thedelivered the note Lady Huxley had given to Siobhan?
So much of this debacle didn’t make sense.
The brute holding Siobhan released her, and she dropped to her knees. Cradling Fletcher’s head in her lap, she tried to assess the extent of his injuries. Blood spattered his neckcloth and coat. His chest rose and fell evenly, though his pallor resembled death and his breathing was shallow.
“Fletcher? Can you hear me?” she whispered near his ear. “Please don’t die.” She clutched his coat. “You cannot die. I haven’t told you how I feel about you.”
At this moment, Siobhan didn’t care who knew her judiciously guarded secret—she loved Fletcher.
She brushed his hair off his forehead, wincing when the movement revealed another nasty gash. He hadn’t gone down without a fight.
“Bring them along,” Lady Huxley ordered as she slid her gloved hand into Chandler’s bent elbow, still brandishing the pistol in her other hand.
Her beastly henchmen grabbed Fletcher beneath his arms and hauled him down the narrow passageway, his head lolling to one side and his heels dragging.
Siobhan jumped to her feet and followed.
A plan.
She must come up with a plan.
But what?
She was absolute rot at this sort of thing.
God, please protect Paddy and Kimber, and please help Fletcher and me.And please, please don’t let the fire spread to De la Chance.
As Siobhan trudged along, she kept her focus riveted on Fletcher, silently willing him to wake up.
