Page 86 of Their Master

Luke squinted; it was the music teacher—Victor Turnbull was his name—who’d left the house hours ago. Or so he’d believed.

He opened his mouth to demand what he was doing, but something about the way the man was skulking urged caution.

As Luke watched, Turnbull opened the door, peered in through the narrow gap, and then slipped inside.

What the bloody hell?

Luke strode toward Miss Moira’s room.

Hold up there, Luke. How do you know this isn’t one of the master’s amusements?

He skidded to a halt in the middle of the hallway, his brain darting in ten different directions at the thought.

But none of the directions led to his master wanting anything to do with the ill groomed, crude, repulsive music tutor.

A loud female scream broke the silence and Luke jolted into action.

“Stop it! What are you doing? You’re—”

It was Miss Moira’s voice and it was coming from Mr. Smith’s room. Luke turned and ran back the other way. But when he yanked on the handle to Smith’s room it didn’t move.

It was locked.

Miss Moira screamed again and Luke ran to the door Victor had just disappeared through. Rather than flinging it open, he had the presence of mind to peer inside first, as the other man had done.

The voices were louder, meaning the connecting door must be open.

Miss Moira started screaming again and Luke threw caution to the wind.

Luke slid to a halt when he passed through the open doorway into the other room. “Good God!” he shouted, his gaze snagged by Mr. Smith’s bloody, obviously unconscious form.

He took a step toward him and then stopped when he noticed his mistress struggling with the music teacher, the two rolling around on the floor. “What in—”

Luke heard the footstep behind him right as his head exploded.

His last thought as he careened into a table and sent something smashing to the floor was that his master would be very angry about the mess.

∞∞∞

“If youtouchhim again I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Etienne’s voice came from behind Moira.

She jerked away from Turnbull and saw her brother standing in the doorway between the two rooms, a body crumpled at his feet.

“Luke!” Moira pushed up off the floor and stumbled toward them, dropping to her knees beside Luke and lowering her head to his.

She closed her eyes when she felt a puff of air against her cheek. Thank God! He was alive. Bruised and unconscious, but alive.

Moira struggled to her feet and glared at her brother. “What is going on?” She flung an arm at Smith’s unconscious, bleeding body. “These maniacs are—”

“Doing exactly what I told them to do,” Etienne said coolly, wearing an expression of distaste as he looked at her. “Calm yourself, Honorine. You are behaving like a hysterical fool and you look like a cheap slut.”

Moira flinched at his words. Although he’d spoken in French, the loathing in his tone meant the two Englishmen could be in no doubt what her brother was saying.

He strode over to where Smith still hung, his body sagging against his bonds, and grabbed him by the hair.

“Etienne! What are you—”

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