Page 28 of Kiss the Scoundrel Farewell
It was a standoff. Simon didn’t want to put down his gun, though he knew there was another beneath his coat. Would they find it? Would they kill him and Farrell, then get the information from Meg?
“I don’t have much coin in the house,” the baroness said in a tremulous voice. “Take what you want. I can show you what pieces are of the most value.”
“He didn’t say nuttin’ about things. He said she’d have notes,” said Short Man.
The distant sound of pounding made the two uninjured men chuckle. Other servants trying to see what was happening? wondered Simon. The demmed cracksmen had locked the doors going to the servants’ quarters.
“What’s it gonna be, my lord? Put down the gun or watch the butler here die?”
Farrell’s eyes grew wide, but to his credit, the man didn’t move.
Simon bent and carefully placed the pistol on the carpet.
“Now we’re gettin’ somewhere. Sit down on the floor." Tall Man nodded at his injured accomplice. “Get his stick.”
“To the devil with ye. Can’t ye see I’m dyin’?” cried the man on the floor.
“He missed yer heart, Chester, so stop yer whinin’. If ye can’t hold a barker to help us, ye ain’t no use to me.” Tall Man shot his accomplice a meaningful look.
“Who sent you here?” Simon asked. These men weren’t here under Lord Belten’s orders unless they thought to skim some extra bread to add to the kidnapping. There was something else at play.
“Now, now. Our line of work has a code, so there ain’t no kiss and tell,” said Tall Man, walking over to his downed accomplice and kicking Simon’s gun toward him. “And it’s none o’ yer bloody business.”
Chester reached for the pistol, then winced, and gripped his shoulder again silently.
“Give me the rope,” Tall Man ordered, moving the butler with him as he crossed the room, the pistol still pointed at his head. Chester held up a burlap sack. Tall Man pushed Farrell to the ground and proceeded to tie Farrell and Simon’s hands behind their back. Simon still sat with his greatcoat covering his lap; poor Farrell lay beside him on his belly.
“Now, sweet lady.” Tall Man licked his lips. “It’s just you and me. What if I don’t tie ye up? Instead, you can give me a tour of the house while you gather the funds.”
He snatched Meg’s arm, and Simon let out a yell. “Let her go! If you hurt her, I swear you will suffer a long, torturous death.”
Tall Man laughed. “You think you’ll live to do that, eh?”
Short Man went to follow his friend and Meg. “Stay here and make sure they don’t move, and Chester don’t die.”
Simon shook with rage as Tall Man passed them.
“I think we’ll start with the bedchambers, eh?” Tall Man slapped Meg’s backside, and Simon lunged at the man’s knees, his gun falling from his waistband.
From the corner of his eyes, Simon saw a hand reach out and grab it. A thud, then pain seared through Simon’s skull. He fell forward, his head down, blinking his eyes to erase the stars in front of him. Any more rash acts like that would get them all killed.
“Next time, shoot him,” said Tall Man as he pushed Meg from the room.
Short Man found the sideboard and poured himself some brandy. “Look at me, the gen’lmen drinkin’ fine brandy.” He sat on a wingback chair in front of the hearth, one leg swung over the arm as he leaned back and waved his pistol at Farrell and Simon. “T’weren’t expectin’ no trouble. Just a woman on her own, we was told. We better get an extra plump pocket for our trouble.”
Farrell turned his head, so he faced Simon, and Short Man couldn’t see him from his chair. “I can rise whenever you need me to,” he whispered.
Simon gave him a slight nod, turning his body to face the hearth, so he could work on the knot at his wrists without either captor seeing him. Then he could figure out a way to distract the men and retrieve his pistol from his waistband.
But the knot was tight. If he could get some leverage, rub it against something. Blast! If he moved, the pistol would soon be aimed at his head.
“I will… fake… a cramp… and half rise… inch back… throw myself… backward… on the one… behind me. You… charge… the other,” whispered Farrell in spurts to make it more difficult for their captors to understand if they overheard anything.
“Too dangerous,” Simon said, not moving his lips.
“Think of… my lady.” Farrell rolled his eyes upward, toward the bedchambers.
Simon’s fists clenched. He nodded.
