by Kelly Boyce
Beyond the doors, no sound could be heard.
Benedict swallowed, the metallic stench of blood seared into his senses. This was the deed of a truly desperate man and it did not bode well for Hawksmoor.
“Pengrin could not have done this on his own,” he said, nodding toward the fallen men. “He must have hired men.”
“Likely promised them a nice sum for their expertise. Curious what they’ll do when he tries to run out on paying. He’s playing a dangerous game.” Marcus nodded toward the door, motioning for Benedict to open it. “Be careful.”
The scene on the other side of the door offered no improvement.
“Pengrin!” Benedict barked out the name, horrified by what he saw. Pengrin held a battered Hawksmoor pressed against the edge of his desk, a pistol leveled at his head. Two more men, likely those Pengrin had hired, lay unmoving on the floor. One stared sightlessly up at the ceiling, a hunting knife embedded deeply into his chest. The other man rested face down a few feet away from Marcus. Hawksmoor’s work, Benedict surmised. Given his current state, he’d put up one hell of a fight before being overcome.
“Don’t come any closer,” Pengrin said, his frantic voice cutting through the death soaked air.
“Gentlemen,” Hawksmoor attempted a smile, but his split lip did not allow it. “It appears you have found me in a rather precarious predicament. I don’t suppose you brought any weapons that might be of use, did you?”
They had not. In their haste, they had rushed over, hoping to get there before Pengrin arrived. Hawksmoor read the answer in their expressions.
“Pity.”
“Put the gun down, Pengrin. It is over. We know what you have done,” Benedict said, struggling to keep his voice calm and controlled.
“What he has done—” Hawksmoor stated flatly. “—is killed my men and tried to rob me.”
The pistol quivered in Pengrin’s hand. “It is my money!”
“It is nothing of the sort. You and that toad, Crowley, stole it from Glenmor. That you hired a man to be your intermediary who was as untrustworthy as you is hardly my fault.”
“He should have never come to you!” He pressed the gun against Hawksmoor’s jaw but it did not silence him.
“Where else was he to go when he discovered you were hunting him down, desperate to get your hands on the money? The man knew you to be unhinged.” Hawksmoor’s gaze slid to Benedict and fixed there, revealing a tale he may not get a chance to finish. “Crowley feared for his life and figured if he left the money with me as payment for your rather immense gambling debt, all would be square. I take it the fact Crowley’s body was found floating in the Thames, you did not agree with his assessment in this regard. Now you have the audacity to show up and demand I return the money to you as if you have a right to it? Have you gone mad?” Hawksmoor laughed then winced. “But yes, obviously you have. Mad as a hatter from where I stand. You’ll hang for this, you bastard. Your father has already cut you off and will not save you this time. I promise you, I will see you every bit as dead as Crowley.”
As Hawksmoor’s diatribe drew Pengrin’s attention, Marcus and Benedict took slow steps to circle around him. Pengrin noticed their movements and shifted his position to keep his back to the wall. But Marcus and Benedict had moved far enough apart that he could not look at them both at the same time, his gaze volleying between the two as he kept his pistol leveled at Hawksmoor’s chest.
“He’s right,” Benedict said. “You will not get away with this. There are too many loose ends. Too many people who know what you did. You may have disposed of Crowley, but you can’t kill us all.”
Pengrin’s eyes narrowed. “Crowley was a common criminal in a fancy suit. No one will care about his absence or ask questions about his death.”
“They will when we show them the letter he sent Glenmor,” Marcus bluffed.
Pengrin’s gaze swung to Marcus and Benedict used the opportunity to get closer. Escalating tension rolled off the viscount. How much time did they have before he acted, before he realized the only way for him to escape this situation was to give up, or attempt a grand escape?
“Lies!”
“He knew we were onto your scheme, stealing money from desperate lords using a sham of an investment to dangle in front of them,” Marcus continued. Benedict took another step closer. “Turns out Crowley did not trust you. He decided you were desperate enough to try and swindle him out of his share, so he came to Glenmor and offered him a choice—lose his entire investment, or allow Crowley to turn the tables and swindle you, then split the difference. He thought Glenmor would be happy with some, rather than none.”
Uncertainty clouded Pengrin’s expression. Had the situation not become so fraught with peril, Benedict would have applauded the tall tale spinning out of Marcus and the calm, reasonable manner in which he delivered it. Under different circumstances, he would definitely have been swayed to believe him.
Marcus kept talking. “We know there was no investment. The Western Trading Company is nothing more than a false front. Tell me, were you surprised when Crowley refused to hand over the bank notes? Did you truly think he wouldn’t turn on you? Honestly, Pengrin, you are a fool to have trusted in the loyalty of a man who sells himself to the highest bidder.”
“Well, he got his in the end didn’t he? The rotten little turncoat won’t be swindling anyone any longer. But before I disposed of him, he tried to buy back his life by telling me he left the bank notes with Hawksmoor.” Pengrin glared at Benedict. “And once the viscount divulges where he has hidden your tidy little fortune, I will bid you all adieu and begin a new life in France.”
“Except that Hawksmoor is not about to tell you anything,” Benedict’s mind raced. Why had Crowley given Hawksmoor his fortune? Was he involved in this mess? He pushed the questions aside. He’d dwell on the particulars later. Time was running out. He could feel it in his bones. “There are three of us and your hired thugs are dead. Your pistol has one shot and no more. Even if you take one of us down, there remain two—”
It happened in an instant and in retrospect, Benedict would never quite understand the sequence, as in his mind’s eye it all transpired at once. Pengrin jumped back and aimed his pistol as Benedict lunged forward. A shot rang out and pain seared across his upper arm. From the corner of his eye, Hawksmoor crumpled to the floor like a dropped stone. Propelled by momentum, Benedict drove his shoulder into Pengrin’s midsection, taking them both to the floor.
“Hawk!” Marcus’s voice echoed behind him.
“Benedict!” The unexpected sound of Judith’s voice rippled through him, stealing his attention and allowing Pengrin to land a solid hit to his jaw that sent him reeling backward. His shoulder screamed as he landed hard against where the pistol’s bullet had found its mark. Benedict pushed himself to his feet but not fast enough to breach the shorter distance between Pengrin and Judith.
Pengrin grabbed the knife from the dead man on the floor, yanking hard to dislodge it from his chest. Benedict tried to reach Judith, but his brain buzzed with pain and his movements had turned slow and sluggish. Blood trickled down his arm inside the confines of his coat sleeve. How badly had he been hit? He couldn’t think of that now.
“Let her go.” Fear cut through him as Pengrin caught and held Judith tight against him as a shield, the bloody knife’s tip pressed against the tender skin at her throat. For her part, she remained outwardly calm, but he could see the terror in her eyes. She, above anyone else, understood what Pengrin was capable of.
“Oh, I will let her go,” Pengrin said with a smile that reeked of malevolence. “But not until I reach the docks and only if you remain here. If I see hide or hair of you, I will slit this little doxy’s throat from end to end and toss her into the Thames like I did Crowley.”
The image forced bile to rush up Benedict’s throat, but he held himself in check. His head swam and darkness bled at the edges of his sight. Not now. He needed to hang on. “I will let you go if you leave her here.�
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Pengrin snorted in derision. “Will you now? I don’t believe any of you are in a position to bargain.”
Benedict wished he had a ripe argument against such a claim but a quick glance behind him showed Marcus had removed his cravat and had it pressed against Hawksmoor’s head, the material already soaked red. Benedict’s arm had turned into a useless lead weight hanging from his torso.
“It is fine, Benedict. I will go with him. When I reach the docks, I will have the driver return me here. It will be fine.” The pitch of her voice was higher than usual and despite her composed demeanor and reasonable words he could see she didn’t believe a single word of it. Pengrin didn’t leave loose ends.
Dammit, why hadn’t she stayed in the carriage as he’d instructed! His head spun and try as he might, it would not stop. The pain in his arm radiated throughout his body and his grip on consciousness grew tenuous. He struggled to hang on. He had to keep her safe. He had promised Sir Arran. Promised himself. Promised her. He could not fail.
“I will be fine,” she repeated. Her words echoed as if from far away. “It serves Lord Pengrin no purpose to harm me.”
Not that such a sound reason would stop him. The man had already killed three men and tried to murder both him and Hawksmoor.
“No,” he said, but the word whispered out of him and his legs faltered. His knees hit the floor. He attempted to push himself back up, but his limbs refused to respond to his commands. From the corner of his eye, he saw Marcus stand but Pengrin’s voice halted his movements.
“Ah-ah. I wouldn’t do anything rash, Mr. Bowen.” The tip of the knife dug into Judith’s flesh and she straightened against Pengrin to evade it, but his hand followed her movements. Impotent rage coursed through him as he tried to push the encroaching darkness away.
“Please,” Judith pleaded. “Let us go.”
“No.” If she went, it could spell her doom. Benedict tried again to stand, but the motion proved his undoing. Blackness mocked him then claimed him.
* * *
Pengrin propelled Judith out of the room as Benedict lost consciousness. She tripped over the bodies by the door when she tried to look over her shoulder, but Pengrin refused to stop, his grip on her arm unrelenting. Panic swept through her. How badly hurt was Benedict? Had she done the right thing, getting Pengrin away from them? It had been a rash decision, but with two men injured, she couldn’t risk him doing anything further. She only hoped to convince him to let her go unharmed, but the hope was thin.
Pengrin hauled her up the short staircase to the door. They came out to the alleyway where the Glenmor carriage awaited, the sleet soaked wind hitting her full force. The driver stood when he saw them, but Pengrin flashed his knife at her throat and barked his orders.
“If you veer even minimally from the path, you will see Miss Sutherland’s lifeless body thrown from the coach. Now move and do so with all due haste!”
Pengrin yanked open the door and shoved her inside. Her knees smacked against the floor and she had no time to react or lift herself into a seat before he jumped inside behind her and the carriage began to move at a rapid pace. She stayed on the floor and gripped the edge of the seats to hold herself steady. They went too fast and the wheels skidded and slid beneath the slick, wet snow on the ground beneath them.
“You should have left well enough alone,” Pengrin said, his voice filled with hate. “This is your fault. Had you not thwarted my plans to wed your little monster, I could have disposed of Crowley and left London quietly after the wedding. No one would have been the wiser. But you had to interfere, didn’t you? You never did know when to just go along.”
He had the reasoning of a mad man. “Did you honestly believe I would not speak up? That I would stand by and let you abuse Lady Henrietta in such a fashion? What do you think Lord Ridgemont would have done if you disappeared and abandoned his sister?”
He did not answer, but instead glared down at her with a sick smile. “Perhaps I won’t kill you directly. Maybe I will take you with me, hmm? Get a little taste of you first, before I make good on my promise.”
Her stomach heaved but she refused to give into it. “I would rather take a swim in the Thames.”
His smile grew with a twisted sense of glee. “Oh, that can be arranged my dear. That can be arranged.”
Time eluded her and Judith lost count of the amount of times the carriage skidded and tipped as it rushed along. Benedict’s driver had taken Pengrin’s threat seriously and he had not slowed down once, despite the danger it posed to all of them. Even Pengrin had cursed more times than not, but he had not shouted for the driver to slow.
“If you do not stop the carriage, we will all end up dead!”
“If Glenmor catches up with me, I am dead anyway. I’d rather die by my own hand than his. If you suffer in the process, I care little. You have brought this on yourself.”
He’d become unhinged. “In what possible way? Because I had the audacity to reveal your true self to Lady Henrietta’s family?”
“Her dowry was the only thing standing between me and ruin!”
“What of the money you stole from Lord Glenmor? It was a small fortune. All he had. If you planned on marrying Lady Henrietta for her dowry, why steal from him?”
Pengrin glared down at her, his face twisted in madness. How had she ever thought him attractive? When held up to Benedict, there was no comparison, not just on the outside but on the inside as well. Where Benedict was filled with goodness and heart, Pengrin had only darkness and hate.
“My father has cut me off and refused to pay my debts. The dowry would pay my creditors and Glenmor’s sorry excuse for a fortune would allow me to set myself up nicely without relying on my father’s largess. The man is as pious as a vicar and far too healthy to die any time soon for my liking. I needed immediate relief. And your friend, Glenmor, was only too happy to assist in that regard.”
“Until your lies began to fall apart,” she reminded him. Benedict had revealed his trepidation over the investment from the beginning and was on the verge of pulling out of it. How dismayed he must have been when he learned the money was gone and his hopes a financial recovery dashed. “You are a thief and a murderer and will not know a moment’s peace from this day forward, you black-hearted swine!”
Without warning, his hand cracked against her cheek, its full force lessened as the carriage skidded once more. But this time, the driver was unable to correct it. The horses screeched and the side of the carriage hit something hard and solid, scraping along it. Pengrin fell against her, but as they slid in the other direction, he was thrown back against the door. The force of the impact knocked the door open and it swung loosely from its hinges before being torn off completely, leaving a gaping hole at Pengrin’s back. Behind him, Judith had a frightening view of the Thames. The only thing between them and the water was a low stone barrier.
Instinct took over and she lashed out with her feet, kicking at Pengrin in the hopes of knocking him out of the carriage, but he gripped her leg with one hand and the side of the carriage with the other. She struggled against his hold, but his size gave him the advantage and he forced his way back in, shouting at the driver to stop. There was no response.
“You little bitch!” He yelled and his hand came down again but this time Judith was ready and threw her arms up to ward off the blow. She kicked out and her foot caught Pengrin somewhere soft. He cursed and keeled over, his hands clenched over his private parts. She lashed out once again. As her foot smashed into his knee, the carriage skidded away from the stone wall, throwing him backward and out the open door. For a fleeting second, Pengrin appeared suspended in mid-air, hovering there as terror and surprise stamped themselves over his features.
And then he was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Marcus claimed he was out for no longer than a few minutes, but it was a lifetime to Benedict. Judith’s lifetime. What monstrous things would Pengrin do to her? Where had he taken her?
“Head to the docks. That’s where he’ll go,” Marcus instructed after removing Benedict’s cravat to bind his arm. “They’ll have the horse ready for you outside.”
The sounds of shots had brought one of ladies who offered solace to those whose luck at the tables took a downturn. Marcus promptly sent her to the mews to have one of Hawksmoor’s horses saddled and brought around.
Benedict nodded. “What will you do with Hawksmoor?”
“I’ll stay with him. He’ll be better served if I can continue to apply pressure to the wound to keep him from bleeding out. The authorities should be here shortly. Can you manage without me until then?”
“Yes.” His ears rang and his head felt fuzzy, but he would find a way. He would not fail. Everything he loved rode on his shoulders as he vaulted onto the horse and urged it toward the Thames.
He would find Judith, get her to safety, and ensure Pengrin paid for what he had done.
His crimes would not go unpunished.
It took a lifetime before the carriage came into view, though the grooves it left in the newly fallen snow made the job of finding it easier. The cold air revived him and cleared his head, though it did little for the pain shooting through the left side of his body. The trajectory of the bullet as it burst from Pengrin’s pistol had seared the side of Benedict’s arm and cut deeply across Hawksmoor’s skull.
He cared little of the pistol now. It was the knife in Pengrin’s hand he feared most. In the distance, the carriage swung wildly from side to side, bashing itself against the low stone wall that kept it from skidding into the Thames. One hard blow sent his driver flying in one direction and the door of the carriage in another. The man landed on the snow-covered cobblestone, rolled once then stopped. He did not move again.
Benedict shot him a look but did not stop. His horse charged onward as if it sensed the urgency of his mission. The snow-covered cobblestone offered little traction, slowing his progress. He urged the animal on, fear clawing at his insides.