Page 107 of A Murder in Trinity Lane
Steele removed the remaining bullet from the chamber and tucked both pistol and cartridge into his coat. And then he pulled me into a firm, breath-stealing embrace.
A movement in the corner caught my eye. Finch rushing to Marie. He pulled a blade from his pocket and sliced through her bonds in swift, practiced motions.
As Steele moved to kneel beside Vale, blood seeped slowly from a wound in the man’s thigh, darkening the floor beneath him.
“He’s unconscious,” Steele said, checking his pulse. “But it’s only a flesh wound.”
“Barely nicked in the leg, and the bloody blighter fainted?” Finch scoffed, tossing the rope aside. “Heart of a lion, that one.”
“Not everyone has your constitution,” Steele said dryly, then turned to me. “By the way—Rosalynd, meet Caleb Finch.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Finch. I’ve heard a great deal about you.”
“All good things, I hope.”
“She’s a lady,” Steele said with a grin. “Kept the worst to myself.” He glanced down at Vale again, the humor draining from his face. “He’ll live. Long enough to answer for what he’s done.”
The room suddenly tilted as the weight of the day crashed over me in a single, crushing wave. My knees went soft, the edges of my vision blurring.
“Here.” Steele caught me before I could slump to the floor and lowered me into a nearby chair.
“Water,” I murmured, my voice barely audible.
“Not the best idea, Lady Rosalynd,” Finch said, eyeing the room with distaste. “I wouldn’t trust a single drop in this place.”He reached into his coat and pulled out a flask. “Will whiskey do?”
Steele shot him a sideways glance. “I don’t suppose that’s from my private reserve?”
Finch gave a small, theatrical bow. “You wouldn’t want it to go to waste. Your Grace.”
Steele held out a hand. “Give it here.”
He uncapped the flask and brought it to my lips. I took a sip and promptly sputtered as the fiery liquid burned its way down.
“Better?”
“Much,” I rasped, once I could breathe again.
I glanced around the wreckage of the room. The air stank of blood, alcohol, and shattered glass. But it was over.
At last, it was over.
Steele gazed at me, eyes dark with something unreadable. “You could’ve been killed.”
“But I wasn’t.” I met his gaze, lifting my chin despite the tremble in my limbs. “I told you. I can defend myself.”
A beat passed.
“Where did you get the bullets?”
“Cosmos. Our father taught him to shoot when he was ten. He keeps an unloaded pistol in his office and a box of bullets locked in his desk.” I managed a small grin. “I have the key.”
The corner of Steele’s mouth twitched. “Of course you do.” But then his expression sobered. “You realize that bullet could just as easily have found you.”
“But it didn’t.”
“And thank God for that.” He looked at me a moment longer—something unspoken flickering behind his eyes—then stood and nodded to Finch. “Let’s get them both out of here. And get this bastard where he belongs—in jail.”
Common sense reasserted itself. “Shouldn’t we bind his wound first? He might bleed to death otherwise.”
