Page 86 of A Lady's Lesson in Scandal
‘We have this, Millie. I promise.’ Ivy’s pale-blue eyes flashed with purpose.
Millie dressed carefully for dinner. She wore an evening gown of decadent chocolate velvet, almost perfectly matching her eyes. Gold thread wove through the material in intricate patterns,catching the light and glittering. Her hair blazed in contrast to the rich colour of her gown. The neckline was low enough to raise a few brows. If she were to capture St George in a silken web, it couldn’t hurt to maximise her assets. They were hers, after all.
She used the servants’ stairs to make her way down to the kitchen and found the staircase leading to the wine cellar where St George was imprisoned.
Fear sharpened her nerves.
I can do this. I’m just asking a few questions. And he’s tied up. What harm can Franklin do to me?
Slowly, she descended.
The room was dank and almost pitch black. A small candle burned in the far corner, but it took Millie’s eyes a few moments to adjust. When they did, she gasped, pressing her hand against her lips to stop the scream.
Franklin St George hung from a rope tied around a ceiling brace.
He was very dead.
Millie rushed to him, but there was nothing she could do.
Despite his atrocious actions, his horrific behaviour toward her, and the crimes he had committed, grief filled her.
Franklin was her childhood friend. Her teenage infatuation. Her first love, regardless of how unworthy he may have been. She wanted to hate him. Not mourn his death.
But now he was gone, and sorrow was an unwelcome surprise.
The scrape of a boot alerted her. She wasn’t alone.
Emotion took a step back for survival.
She loosened the blade at her wrist, holding it in her palm as she turned to face a murderer.
‘Miss Millicent. What are you doing down here?’ Reynard Renquist’s famous smile flashed in the dark as he blocked the stairs.
‘Reynard. I could ask you the same.’
He raised a gun. In his left hand.
Because I already wounded his right.
Because Renquist is the masked man.
Renquist was working with Franklin.
Renquist is the murderer.
Each truth crashed over her like wild waves, stealing her breath.
‘Drop the blade, Miss Millicent. I didn’t mind killing St George, but I’d hate to shoot you. It won’t stop me, though. I have very few choices left, you see.’ The pistol was pointed directly at her heart. If she let her blade fly now, she ran the risk of a bullet to her chest.
He lifted his right hand. ‘Ah-ah. I don’t think I need another demonstration of your throwing skills. Drop the blade. Now.’
Shit!
‘And before you do something rash, know I’m just as good a shot with my left hand as I am with my right. Your major general insisted all his men could hit a target at one hundred paces with either hand. Awfully dedicated soldier, Drake. I owe him my life on more than one occasion, although I doubt it was worth his effort. I’ll only say this once more. Drop it. Now.’
Millie bit her lip.
Renquist cocked his gun.
