Page 87 of Love Abandoned

“The money,” he said, holding out one gloved hand, the other one gripping the scythe.

“And the girl?” Richard asked, taking one step closer as though he intended on cooperating.

“I’ll send word of where you can find her. When I’m safely away.”

“How do I know I can trust you?” Richard asked, trying to buy some time. He could not let the man leave even if it was the safest course of action. There was no money in the bag. The culprit might harm Patricia in retaliation.

Death shrugged again. “You don’t.”

There was nothing for it but to hand over the satchel and hope Walford had been following the conversation and would proceed as planned. Richard pulled the bag off his shoulder and held it dangling by the strap. It was the agreed-upon cue.

“Stop!” Walford shouted, running up the path, panting as though he’d traversed a great distance. “That man’s a fraud. I’m Thornwood. Here. Take the bag.” Walford slowed but continued forward with the satchel held out.

Death had swung around, and Richard took advantage of the momentary distraction and leaped. His foot caught on his cloak as he landed, and he stumbled forward. He fell to one knee, momentarily taking his eyes off Death. When he looked again, Death towered over him, the scythe raised high.

The next few seconds were a blur of movement as the gate crashed into Death and a harlequin, in a swirl of color, wrestled for the scythe. Another figure, a domino like Richard but masked in plain white, charged from the woods, knocking Death to the ground as Walford yelled, “Stop, or I’ll shoot!” Richard heard the warning loud and clear and rolled to the far side of the path, out of line of the shot.

Another man flew from the woods and fell upon the two men wrestling on the ground. It was clear Walford could not shoot even if he wanted to, so Richard stood slowly. The two men subdued Death, and the harlequin dropped the scythe he’d freed from Death’s grip. He looked from Richard to Walford and back at the three on the ground, turned to the gate, and slammed directly into Sophia, knocking her to the ground.

What the devil was she doing here? Before Richard could get up, the harlequin pulled her to her feet.

“Mon Dieu!” she said, her face in shock, taking a step back.

The harlequin bowed to her, then sprinted down the garden path. Walford, now without a mask, approached the pile of men, his gun raised and ready. Richard pushed himself to a standing position and circumvented the men. Walford abruptly came to a halt, but Richard did not stop to see what was happening. He ran through the gate, to Sophia.

“Are you hurt?” Richard asked, as he, too, removed his mask and tossed it into a shrub.

Sophia shook her head, her hair in disarray, her very exposed bosom heaving with labored breathing. “Winded,” she said as he helped her sit back onto the ground, the quake of her body obvious even in the dim light.

He hesitated.

“I am fine. Go,” she said, waving back toward the men.

It was an odd tableau. Walford stood rooted to the same spot, but his gun was lowered and his face ashen, and he was staring at the domino. The domino stared back, keeping Death’s back pinned beneath his knee while the other man held Death’s arms.

“You,” Nicholas said quietly.

The domino shook his head and picked up the mask that had fallen off in the struggle. Walford studied the domino as the man put his mask back on. Then Walford seemed to return to the issue at hand. He glanced at Richard before turning his attention to Death.

“Unmask him,” Walford commanded, and Richard stepped forward as the domino grabbed the back of Death’s head and jerked it off the ground. Richard leaned in and yanked off the black mask, stepping back in disbelief.

“Miller!” he said at the same time as Walford, who had come around to see.

“You bloody bastard,” Walford growled, grabbing Miller’s shoulder and wrenching him to his feet. The other men scrambled to theirs and took hold of Miller again before he’d even had a chance to register they’d let go.

Miller glared back and spit on the ground.

“I trusted you. Led my friend to you. A traitor.” Walford ground out the words.

Miller’s nostrils flared. “Not all of us get handed an easy way out of the war, Captain Sinclair. Oh, my mistake, Lord Walford.”

“You bloody little—”

Richard grabbed Walford’s arm before the punch landed. “Patricia?” he asked Miller.

Miller smirked. “Your whore? How would I know?”

Richard pulled back his hand, and before he could reason himself out of it, his fist landed in Miller’s face. The crunch of bone and the trickle of blood were a satisfying balm to the instant pain in his hand. “I asked you where she was,” he said with a calm he did not feel.

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