Page 144 of Where the Heart Leads
Cameron didn’t react like a gentleman; he lunged for Penelope.
Stunned, disbelieving, she found herself seized by the arms. Wild-eyed, Cameron swung her before him; he slung one arm across her shoulders, locking her against him. And brandished a knife before her face.
She focused on it; a chill slid down her spine. Cameron had to be insane. The knife looked sharp.
“Stay back!” Cameron shifted so his back was to the wall.
She could feel his head turning this way and that. Could feel the nervousness—the near panic—pouring off him.
“Back,I said! Or I’ll slice open her cheek.”
His hand shifted; the knife with its glinting edge was suddenly very close to her face.
Icy fear trickled down her spine. He was too strong for her to break from his hold, especially not with the knife so close. He’d widened his stance—she couldn’t even kick his legs.
Hauling in a breath, she forced her gaze from the knife. She looked at the others; their faces were a blur. Then her gaze reached Barnaby and locked on his face, her focus sharpening.
He was pale, his face drawn, features tense. He stood poised beside the desk, held back by Cameron’s threat.
He was watching Cameron, and her, closely; when Cameron glanced around the room, checking the others, Barnaby trapped her gaze—and opened his mouth and bit down.
She blinked, realized; pressing her head back against Cameron’s chest, she focused on the hand holding the knife before her face. Because she was so short, the hand was in front of her mouth.
Opening her mouth wide, she sank her teeth into Cameron’s hand.
He yelped.
Closing her eyes, she bit down as hard as she could and locked her jaw.
He yelled. He tried to pull his hand away, but couldn’t. With that hand immobilized, he couldn’t use the knife.
With her jaw in the way, he couldn’t release it.
He flung this way and that, howling, furiously trying to dislodge her; for one crazy moment they waltzed around, but she refused to let go.
With a huge effort, he flung her away. The momentum forced her to release him; she sailed across the room and collided with Stokes and the earl. They went down in a tangle, tripping the two constables who’d rushed up to help.
Scrambling free of the melee, on her hands and knees, Penelope looked across the room and saw Cameron using the knife to keep Barnaby at bay. Huntingdon was on his feet, but he couldn’t get around his desk without distracting Barnaby.
And from the look on Cameron’s face, he was just waiting for a chance to slice Barnaby up.
Time slowed.
The knife flashed, then flashed again. Barnaby leapt back just in time.
Cameron snarled and lunged. Her heart in her mouth, Penelope started to call out. At the last instant, Barnaby twisted away; the knife glinted as it slid past his chest.
He reached for Cameron’s arm, but Cameron saw the danger and flung himself back. Eyes wild, flicking over the men, the knife waving before him, he backed.
He’d forgotten—or perhaps never noticed—Griselda. Stealing out from behind the screen, she’d lifted a heavy statue from a side table and crept up behind Cameron, keeping close to the wall. Raising the statue, she’d been waiting for her moment; as he backed within reach, she brought it down on his skull.
Penelope scrambled to her feet as Cameron swayed on his. “Not hard enough.” She waved at Griselda. “Hit him again.”
Before Griselda could, Barnaby stepped forward, brushed aside the knife, and felled Cameron with a jaw-cracking punch.
The force of it lifted Cameron off his feet. His back hit the wall, then his eyes rolled up. His knees buckled; he slid down, ending in a crumpled heap.
Barnaby stood over him, grimacing as he shook out his hand.
