Page 121 of Miss Prim and the Duke of Wylde
Drago waved Thomas to a chair before the desk. Maintaining any semblance of equanimity in the light of what Drago now knew was difficult. Contrarily, when he looked at Thomas, he saw the same man he’d known since Eton, who had remained close—a friend, supposedly—through all the years.
Still frowning, Thomas dropped into the chair.
Drago noted Thomas remained alert. Drago found a slight smile, but he couldn’t make it reach his eyes. “You know I didn’t expect you to come down.”
Thomas waved dismissively. “As I said earlier, I couldn’t stay away.” He grimaced lightly. “Although I’m not sure what good my presence did. I didn’t see anyone who shouldn’t be around while I was patrolling outside—well, other than George and Harry. They were so obvious, I suggested they fall back a trifle. But then”—Thomas frowned as if puzzled—“I couldn’t see Meg anymore. She was in the rose garden. Did she come inside?” He sobered. “Or has something happened?”
Drago throttled the urge to fling himself at his so-called friend and beat the truth out of him. Adopting a faintly surprised expression, he replied, “Not that I’m aware of.” He manufactured a sigh. “It seems our villain was too canny to be taken in by our trap.” He heard the tramp of boots approaching. “Here come the others.” Drago looked toward the door. “Perhaps they have news.”
The door opened, and Toby, Aidan, Evan, Carter, and Denton trooped in.
Toby grinned good-naturedly and nodded at Thomas, then looked at Drago. “We just saw George and Harry. They’re on their way in.”
Drago inclined his head, taking that to mean that George and Harry had alerted the others as to who their villain was.
Glancing at Thomas, Drago noticed that he was gripping the arms of the chair rather tightly. He was holding himself still, ready to act; Drago’s failure to comment about Meg’s whereabouts was confusing him, and having all the other males about was making him nervous.
The others claimed chairs, all except Toby, who prowled toward the French doors that gave onto the terrace, and pretended to be looking out.
When Denton, in one of the armchairs facing the desk, looked at Thomas as if about to ask how he came to be there, Thomas forced a smile and preempted the question. “I had to come and help.” He gestured with one hand. “I couldn’t let you lot have all the fun.”
The door opened again to admit George and Harry. Both came in as if expecting…something.
Thomas glanced swiftly around, but there was nothing in anyone’s faces to give him any clue. Finally, Thomas looked back at Drago and manufactured a concerned frown. “So…where’s Meg?”
“Right here.” The ringing declaration swung everyone’s attention to the connecting door as Meg walked in, with Ridley held on a rope leash and Tisdale and Maurice a step behind.
Meg’s gaze—hard, crystal-blue—landed on Thomas.
Ridley saw Thomas as well. Teeth baring, the golden-pelted puppy snarled and snapped.
Everyone looked at Thomas.
He stared at Meg, at the dog, then wet his lips and raised his gaze…and realized everyone was watching him.
He started to rise, and Meg cried out, “He has a gun!”
His features contorting, Thomas drew the revolver from his pocket and aimed it at her. “Why won’t you just die?”
Ridley’s snarl filled the room, and the dog lunged, yanking the rope from Meg’s hand. In a golden blur, Ridley bounded, leapt, and locked his jaws around Thomas’s arm.
Thomas yelled and dropped the gun. Trying to shake Ridley off, Thomas stumbled back and fell over the side of the armchair.
Meg rushed up to catch the trailing rope and pull Ridley away.
Drago flung himself over the desk to reach Meg and put her behind him.
Denton and Evan both dove for the gun.
Toby closed in on Thomas from behind—only to be flung aside as Thomas sprang to his feet, looked wildly around, then lunged for the French doors.
In a flash, he was through them and outside.
With curses flying, the others—so many they were bumping into each other in their haste to reach the French doors—rushed to give chase.
Drago was more concerned with, more focused on, Meg. Slumping against the front of the desk, he hauled her to him and clutched her tight. That she clung to him equally fervently went a long way to calming his galloping heart. When he could control his voice, he murmured into her curls, “Are you all right?”
She nodded, then she raised her head, looked into his eyes, and reached up, framed his face, and kissed him. Hard. Forcefully. Confidently. Then she pulled away, stepped back, and caught his hand. “Come on! We need to be there when they catch him. We can’t fall too far behind.”
