Page 98 of Seducing the Knave

“It means ’e ain’t comin’, ye daft arse.”

Elle narrowed her gaze at Carver’s inciting response. Did he really have to goad the man holding a damned knife to her throat?

But then she realized that with every scathing word he spoke, he’d slowly been moving farther into the room. Not coming toward where they stood in the center of the room, but stepping very subtly to the side. As though to clear the doorway.

She didn’t think Rook even noticed it, angry as he was to discover Max wasn’t coming. Because as Carver took another minute step to the side, the man at Elle’s back naturally adjusted his position, turning just slightly in order to keep Carver square in his view. His movement caused the knife at her throat to slide gently across her skin with a delicate sting, just enough to remind her of its presence.

Carver noticed it as well, his gaze flickering to the blade before he met her stare for a sharp and poignant moment. In that brief second, she suddenly knew how he’d gotten the scar on his throat. With a quick blink, he redirected his focus back to Rook. Everything he’d done and said since he’d entered the room had been for a purpose.

Rook tensed in rising agitation at the discovery that his plan was not working out how he’d wanted. His hold tightened across her chest, painfully compressing her lungs as he snarled, “Arrogant son of a bitch.”

She trusted Max implicitly. And if he’d sent this man to her rescue, then she trusted Carver, as well. If she could determine what his plan was, she might be able to help him.

Scanning his person, she noted not a single weapon in view. Carver’s hands were bare and visible at his sides. There was no pistol butt or knife handle protruding from his waistband or pockets. He looked utterly unarmed.

Yet somehow, he’d managed to get through a building filled with Rook’s men.

Even if he were an amazingly skilled pugilist, he couldn’t have done it alone.

Elle glanced swiftly toward the doorway. The room they stood in was well lit and the hallway beyond was dim. She had to peer rather intently into the shadows before she saw it—the faint glimmer of a stark white neckcloth.

Someone was out there. Silent and waiting.

“D’ye really expect ’im to fall in line with yer plans so easily?” Carver asked lightly, drawing her attention just in time to see him take one more side-step.

“’E’s got no fuckin’ choice,” Rook snarled against Elle’s ear as his entire body drew taut against her back. “I’ve planned this for months. I won’t be ignored so fuckin’ easily. Max’ll play by me rules or face the consequences.”

Time slowed to a sudden crawl.

Elle’s breath caught and her heart clenched into a knot as her captor lifted his arm to cross the knife to the opposite side of her neck, deepening the angle of the blade. In the next instant, she expected to feel the warm rush of her own blood, but there was no room for fear. All she felt was anguish over not having had a chance to fully express to Max how much she loved him.

But her blood never flowed.

Instead, the deafening report of a pistol blasted through the room. Her captor gave a sudden jerk, crying out in pain as the knife dropped to the floor with a clatter. In a blink, Carver was at her side, shoving her roughly behind him as he executed a swift jab to Rook’s face that was forceful enough to send the man flying back into the wall. Stunned at how quickly the situation had shifted, Elle stared in shocked silence at the man who’d just a second ago intended to slit her throat but now clutched at his blood-soaked shoulder as Carver hauled him to his feet.

“You’re gonna regret this, Rook,” Carver muttered casually, twisting the man’s injured arm up behind his back before shoving him toward the door.

It was only then that Elle noticed the other man who’d entered the room.

He was undeniably a gentleman as evidenced by his fine attire, including the perfectly styled cravat she’d caught sight of in the hallway and his very refined and elegant manner.

“Nice shot, m’lord,” Carver said simply as he passed from the room, apparently content to leave Elle in the hands of this newcomer.

The gentleman gave a short nod in reply as his calm and steady blue eyes turned to meet hers.

“Lady Elvina,” he said in the sophisticated cadence of Britain’s highest class, subtly sliding the still smoking pistol he carried into the pocket of his coat. “I am Lord Wright and I’m here to ensure your comfort and safety. Are you harmed in any way?”

Realizing this was the Earl of Wright had her mind whirling until she managed to shake off her shock. “My lord, thank you for coming to my aid; however, I’m not the only victim. I believe another young woman has also been taken. I’ve no idea where she might be, but she’s in grave danger.”

“Do not worry. Max is seeing to Caillie’s rescue even now.”

“Thank God.” A heavy breath slid from Elle’s lungs and she closed her eyes in relief. He had gone to his sister. The girl would be saved.

“Come, my lady,” the earl said gently. “Allow me to escort you from this place.”

Elle opened her eyes to see him offering his arm as if they were about to cross a ballroom rather than exit the lair of a dastardly kidnapper.

Deeply ingrained manners came swiftly to the fore despite the twisting turmoil claiming her heart and the intense confusion of her thoughts. Setting her hand on the earl’s arm, she allowed him to lead her from the room.

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