“Uncle,” Lord Harry said. His voice did not crack. It was deadly calm and remarkably controlled. “Let her go. It’s me you want. She’s nothing to you.”
“Ah, but she is something to you, isn’t she?” his uncle said. “You’ve got plans to marry her and get yourself a fat little heir or two, don’t you? Well, my doddering father might not recognize what you are, filthy bastard, but I do. I’ll be dead before I see any of my family’s rightful titles fall onto your worthless head!”
“I don’t care about your damn titles!” Lord Harry said. “I care about her. Let her go. You can do whatever you want with me.”
Oh, but that was even sweeter than Anthony’s crackling voice! If it wasn’t for the horrible knife cutting into her skin just where it could potentially do some serious damage, she would have swooned away. Lord Harry cared about her! He admitted it right here, in front of all these people! Oh, but she truly hoped she lived long enough to tell him just how much she returned the sentiment.
“Tell your friends here to leave,” Nedley said. “Unless this room starts to empty out now, this chit is going to be bleeding.”
To emphasize his point, he jabbed the knife harder. She couldn’t help but let out a sharp squeak. Drat it all, but this man was hurting her! She did not care for this one bit.
Lord Harry made a noise something like a growl and moved another two steps closer. Nedley snarled back at him.
“I don’t see anyone leaving. I thought you said you cared about her. Tell them to leave!”
“I’m not leaving,” Anthony said. “Put the knife down now, Lord Nedley.”
Nedley just ignored him and growled at Lord Harry. “Call off your exotic watchdogs. Now.”
From the corner of her eye, Penelope could see that Lord Harry wasn’t the only one who’d been inching his way toward her. The frightening men in turbans had been coming this way, as well. Their movement was almost undetectable, but somehow Lord Nedley must have detected it. Likely he detected the gentlemen’s hands resting on those bright, curving swords they wore, too. What Penelope wouldn’t give for one of those right now!
She glanced back at Lord Harry, wondering how he’d react. That dratted knife was pressing pretty sharply into her skin. Would Harry beg everyone to leave them? Did he have some sort of plan? She rather hoped so!
His eyes met hers and then flicked to look down toward the table directly next to her. Did that mean something? She thought perhaps it did. Lord Nedley was making it rather difficult for her to turn her head and follow Harry’s glance, but she managed to twist just enough that she caught sight of an object. It was there, resting in its customary upright position, just on the table.
The funerary phallus. Ah, she knew quite well that implement could make a suitable weapon. True, it was not quite as lethal as those Egyptian scimitars, but it might do to subdue Nedley long enough for a sword to become useful. She darted her glance back to Lord Harry to let him know she understood. She also hoped he recognized the question behind her understanding. How on earth was she to get that phallus in her hands?
She blushed at the mere thought of it, recalling her first encounter with that phallus, which, oddly enough, made her think of a certain other first encounter with something vaguely similar. In truth, standing here with Nedley’s knife at her throat was probably not the most appropriate time for her to be recalling what had passed earlier in that darkened shop room, yet how could her thoughts not wander there? If she was to die tonight at this madman’s hand, at least she’d had that one hour of bliss.
“What do you want, Uncle?” Lord Harry asked, clearly stalling for time as he looked for an opportunity. “What can you possibly hope to gain now, after all this?”
“I’ll be rid of you!”
“You don’t really think they’d let you murder me in cold blood.”
“Don’t I? They’re letting me murder her now.”
He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head back, exposing more of her neck. She gasped before the awkward position cut off her air. The knife grazed across her skin. Had it cut her? She thought so, though the pain was only slight. Was that a good sign, or a bad sign? Had he done as he’d been threatening and caused her serious injury, or was this just another warning? She could only judge by the reactions of those around her.
She heard Maria screech and Anthony swear. Lord Harry swore twice. The magistrate off to her left cocked the pistol he’d taken from Lord Nedley earlier.
“It’s now or never, Harry,” the man spat. “You do exactly as I say, or she dies.”
“Very well. What would you have me do? Just don’t hurt her any more.”
It was difficult to breath and impossible to swallow. With her head tilted back this way, all she could see was the side of Nedley’s horrible face and the ceiling. It appeared Lady Burlington’s bathtub had leaked at some point. It seemed a real shame that her last vision in this life would be of a moldy stain in someone else’s ceiling.
“Here’s what you’ll do for me,” Lord Nedley announced. “All of you. First, my dear magistrate, if you’d be so kind as to unload that pistol, please.”
That seemed a rather silly command, she had to admit. Of course he’d want to disarm the man, but why not just take the pistol from him? Surely even a fool like Nedley could see that a pistol might be a far more useful weapon than this knife. Although, she wasn’t at all certain she’d rather be shot than slashed.
The magistrate made some pretense of disagreeing, but all it took was for Lord Nedley to press that knife more sharply against her throat and suddenly the man capitulated. She took that to mean whatever this horrible villain had done to her, it certainly must look dreadful to the bystanders. But she was too busy trying to focus on what was happening to allow herself time to worry more about it.
She could hear the mechanical sounds of the pistol being unloaded. No one was speaking. Nedley was breathing heavily; she could hear it and smell it, unfortunately. Finally the magistrate’s feet sounded on the floor as he moved toward them.
“Here. It’s unloaded.”
“Give it to my nephew there,” was the response.
This surprised her. Why on earth should he want Lord Harry to have that unloaded pistol? Perhaps simply so he could keep an eye on it. Indeed, he would not want to risk it falling into someone else’s hands where he might not see them reload, she supposed.
Now the footsteps moved in Lord Harry’s direction. It sounded as if he passed the pistol over. Well, this was no help. Now she couldn’t even see Lord Harry or that nearby phallus. How would she ever know if there was a chance to use it?
“Now get out,” Nedley ordered. “Everyone but my nephew.”
“I’m not leaving,” Anthony repeated.
It seemed the others felt the same way. Penelope could feel the knife. The tension was beginning to show in Lord Nedley’s grip. The knife dug at her, but it was not steady. It had begun to shake just slightly.
“Very well,” he said. “Stay. And watch your bastard friend blow his brains out.”
More gasping. Penelope choked. What was this crazy person ranting about? Watch who do what? He couldn’t possibly mean…
“That’s right,” he went on. “Load it, Harry. Yes, load it, hold it to your temple, and pull the trigger.”
“You’re insane!” Lord Harry said.
“Do it! Or stand there and watch her die in your place.”
Silence all around. The water stain on the ceiling was beginning to take on macabre shapes in her mind. How many ages had it been since this ordeal began? She squirmed, trying to find a more comfortable position, but Lord Nedley jerked ruthlessly at her hair and kept that knife pressed against her. Still all she could see was that dratted ceiling.
“What’s the matter, Harry?” he asked, taunting. “I was hoping you might love her enough to die for her. Don’t you?”
What a horrible man! That was hardly a fair question. Oh, she longed to hear Lord Harry announce that he did indeed love
her enough to die for her, but for heaven’s sake, she really didn’t want him to actually prove it! But just how awful would it be if he did not declare his love and instead simply let his foul uncle do away with her? Gracious, but there was simply no suitable solution here.
She heard the click of metal.
“You’ll let her go?” Lord Harry asked.
Now what was that sound? Tamping? Good Lord, he was loading the pistol. Was he actually going to do this thing? Lord Nedley laughed.
“I have no use for her, Harry. Besides, I have a feeling the good magistrate and all your little friends here will have some sort of arrangements for me when all this is over.”
More clicking and tamping. “Then why not let her go now? Why end this with blood on your hands?”
“Because it will be your blood! Now go on, load it.”
“It is loaded,” Lord Harry replied, his voice terse and angry.
“Hold it to your head. Do it!”
Penelope tried squirming again, but it was no use. The knife bit into her and she let out a cowardly little whimper. No! This was unconscionable; it couldn’t be happening.
“Let me look at her,” Lord Harry demanded.
“Keep that pistol pointed at your head.”
“Let me see her.”
“Oh, very well. She ought to be allowed to watch you put a bullet in your brain on her behalf, I suppose.”
He jerked her head again, this time shoving it downward so that the muscles in her neck twinged and she found herself dizzy. She gasped in a deep, welcome breath and waited for her vision to clear. Lord Harry was watching her. She met his eyes, hoping he didn’t see the despair she felt. It would not do at all for the man to know just how miserable she was now, not when he was doing something so very noble to save her.
Sure enough, he held that horrible pistol pointed directly at his temple. It was the most distressing sight. Wasn’t anyone going to do anything? Couldn’t any of these people help him?
“There, now you can see her. Say your good-byes, but don’t try anything. The second that pistol moves or anyone even thinks about being a hero, she dies.”
“Harry, no! You don’t have to do this!” she managed to choke out.
“I have to do whatever I can,” he replied, still keeping that gun in its deadly position. His eyes, however, darted from hers to that looming phallus.
Yes, yes…she knew it was still there. But how did he expect her to use it just now? She could barely breathe, let alone turn around and grab it. Oh heavens, please don’t let the stupid man be relying on her to save him! Not when he was the one with the pistol pointed to his own head.
“I have to end this, Penelope,” he went on, his eyes still speaking something she could not quite understand. “He’s not making empty threats. Take things into your own hands; it’s not as hopeless as it seems. I know you can handle it.”
Gracious, could the man say nothing meaningful? She hardly wished to stand here with a knife at her throat listening to him spout dreary platitudes!
“Oh shut up,” Lord Nedley growled. “Just tell the baggage you love her and get on with it.”
“Very well,” Lord Harry said with a sorrowing sigh. He abandoned his platitudes and simply spoke the words. “I do love you, Penelope.”
Oh how wonderful! He said it! He did love her! A wonderful warmth and lightness came over her, and she was almost able to forget all about the painful knife and the horror of their situation. Harry Chesterton told the world that he loved her!
Then he had to go and ruin it by firing that dreadful weapon.
The sound reverberated throughout the room. It was loud, jarring, and final. Her ears were ringing, drowning out the cries of the people around her, but not the terrible thud as Lord Harry dropped the gun and slumped to the floor. Dear God, but he’d done it! She wished she could have died on that floor with him, too.
She could not, though. His murderer had left her alive. Lord Nedley had jolted at the initial, horrible sound of that pistol, but now his body relaxed, and his breath came out in a long, even stream. The knife fell slack.
“Ha!” he gloated. “The bastard solved my problems!”
He would hardly be problem free for long. Penelope ripped his distracted hands from her, whirling to grab up the waiting phallus and swinging it with the full force of her anger. He staggered back, but didn’t fall. She swung again, connecting nicely with the side of his head. His eyes rolled, but he still remained upright. So, she hit him again.
This time he went down. Right onto the spot where Lord Harry had fallen. Oddly enough, though, the spot was empty.
Empty? But how…
Then she saw him. Lord Harry was not a lifeless form occupying some other part of the floor; he was in the process of rising to his feet, rubbing at the side of his face and smiling at her. Smiling! And breathing as he did it!
She pitched the phallus and threw herself at him.
“You’re alive!”
He swooped her into his arms, and she held on to him as tightly as she could. He was alive! It was impossible, but it was true. A quick glance up into his face assured her his head was still intact, although there were a few angry marks from the exploding powder. Still, how could this possibly be? Perhaps she was dreaming. She gingerly reached up to touch those beautiful, lively powder marks.
“Only slightly singed, my dear,” he said. “I’m afraid my uncle’s hopes have been dashed.”
“But…how?” she asked. “Surely you cannot be that dreadful of a shot!”
She did not get an explanation. The room was in turmoil. Lord Nedley lay moaning on the floor next to the phallus while the magistrate, constables, and furious Egyptians swarmed over him. Lady Burlington was screeching at him and calling him the most shocking things and berating him for failure. Indeed, it would seem the man’s problems were only just beginning.
Anthony came rushing to Penelope’s side and practically tore her from Lord Harry. Maria and Ferrel were with him. Professor Oldham, too. There was fussing and flustering all about her before she could finally assure them that she was fine. The knife had merely nicked her.
“That was quite a parlor trick, my boy,” Professor Oldham said when things were finally somewhat settled. “How on earth did you manage it?”
Lord Harry simply grinned at them all and opened up his hand. There—a bit sweaty, perhaps—was the wadding and the ball Penelope could have sworn she heard him place into the barrel of that gun. So he had never loaded it! They had all watched him, had all been fooled, yet he had never been in any danger at all. And to think, she’d suffered great agonies seeing him hold that pistol to his head and pull the trigger. She’d nearly died of the horror!
“That was cruel,” she said, unable to refrain from smacking him sharply. “I thought…but it appeared as if…Oh, but you should have said something to let us know you’d be safe!”
“I did, of course,” he said.
“You did not!”
“But I did. I used words like empty, and not hopeless, and I thought you understood.”
“How on earth could I understand what you were doing from that? That was hardly an explanation.”
“It was code.”
“I don’t speak code.”
“Well, I couldn’t very well just come out and tell my bloody uncle that the gun wasn’t actually loaded, could I?”
“You could have said something! I thought you were dead.”
“But I’m not, am I?”
No, thank the gracious Lord he was not. He appeared quite fine. Quite fine indeed.
But Anthony would not let her go back to him. He declared that she must give her story to the magistrate and then be rushed home. Their mother must be worried sick, waiting there in hopes of Penelope’s safe return. Yes, she supposed she should not prolong her mother’s agony. She ought to let Anthony speed things along and get her back quickly.
Yet how could she simply leave Lord Harry, not knowing if she’d ever see him
again? She tried to catch his eye, to communicate through more of his “code” and let him know the truth of how she felt about him. She could not. He was fully occupied with the barrage of questions the magistrate was hurling at him.
“So you are brother to the Marquis of Hepton?” the magistrate was asking, among other things.
“I am,” Lord Harry replied. “Although I have not seen him in almost three years. Sadly, he is not very well. My uncle is his trustee and keeps me from him.”
The magistrate seemed to make note of this. “I would be prepared to assist in making other arrangements for your brother, sir. Chances are your uncle will be unavailable to continue looking after him.”
Well, Penelope could only imagine that was good news for Lord Harry’s incapacitated older brother. But what of his poor cousin? She glanced off to where Ferrel Chesterton hovered over Maria.
“I’m so sorry,” he was telling her softly. “Can you possibly still wish to marry me now, with my father on his way to prison and my future so very uncertain?”
“Of course I do!” Maria said. “So long as you are not on your way there to join him.”
“No, I’m happy to say I was completely unaware of any of his recent schemes. Although I begin to see now why my father was so unhappy when I took that scarab and gave it to you as a gift.”
“That scarab was part of your father’s stolen collection?” Maria asked, aghast.
“It seems so. At the time, though, I swear I thought it was a part of my mother’s jewels—she had so many, God rest her. My father enlisted Lady Burlington to try to get it back from me.”
“So that is why you were found with her and accused of…”
“I was a fool to put myself in that position, my dearest.”
“And I was a fool not to trust you,” Maria declared. “I should have believed you about that actress, too, shouldn’t I?”
“I will never give you another reason to doubt me, my love.”
They fell into each other’s arms, professing undying devotion and being altogether disgusting about it. Honestly, it was almost enough to turn one’s stomach. Penelope was certain she would never be such a sap if she were fortunate enough to ever end up in Lord Harry’s arms again. Truly, they would have far better things to do than talk such treacle.
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