When a Lady Desires a Wicked Lord_Her Majesty's Most Secret Service

by Tara Kingston

  Benedict kept his weapon trained on Stockwell. “You won’t pull that trigger, Nelson. You’re not that great a fool.”

  “Bugger off,” Nelson sneered. “You’re going to leave this place in a pine box.”

  “Is that so?” Benedict’s tone exhibited no fear, no emotion. “This bastard is using you as his attack dog. Have you considered why he’s involved you in this? Only a fool would believe Stockwell intends to give you a cut of the riches.”

  “We have a bargain,” Nelson said.

  “Honor among thieves? I wouldn’t count on it,” Benedict taunted. “As soon as Stockwell gets what he wants, he’ll leave you to the hangman.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Nelson demanded from his spot in the shadows.

  “He’ll say anything to distract you,” Stockwell said. “He’s desperate.”

  “I have no reason to lie,” Benedict replied evenly. “You know the truth as well as I do, Nelson. The bastard has taken you for a fool, a mere puppet to do his bidding. From the beginning, he’s engineered this scenario to leave himself beyond suspicion. After all, who would suspect a grief-stricken son? He’s played his cards with cunning and skill, I’ll give him that. And now, all that’s left is to tie up the loose ends and sit back while you’re executed for his crimes.”

  Nelson moved closer. Rage filled his eyes. “Shut your bloody mouth before I shut it for you.”

  “I am not the one who wants to see you swing,” Benedict went on. “Have you considered your role in this scheme? Any logical man would have hired a common thug to abduct Miss Quinn. But instead, Stockwell sent you. During the light of day, no less. Witnesses have provided your description. You are a known criminal, a smuggler. No judge nor jury would doubt you’d committed murder to conceal your crimes.”

  As Benedict spoke, distracting both Nelson and Stockwell, Alex twisted her right wrist hard. Biting back the pain, she squirmed against the rope. Slowly, she pulled through the loop. One arm free. With her left hand, she held the dangling end of the rope, creating the illusion she was still bound. The element of surprise would work to her advantage. Now, if only she could reach the ropes that secured her ankles to the chair. Straining, she reached the knot binding the tethers in place. Her fingertips brushed the cord, grazing the rough surface. Her nails dug into the fibers, tugging at the heart of the knot.

  Stockwell slanted her a glance. She stilled. Did he suspect what she’d done?

  His gaze swept over her. Her breath caught in her throat. His attention darted to Benedict before settling on the man who’d acted as his henchman.

  “You will be the one to meet the hangman, Marlsbrook. That high-and-mighty title won’t do you any good,” Nelson blustered. A note of fear edged his words. Benedict’s efforts to sow doubt and turn the criminal’s allegiance was working.

  “I would not be so sure of that. Do you truly believe Stockwell intends to set me up as the guilty party? Are you really such a fool?” Benedict slowly shook his head. “If he has his way, I will be in no condition to meet the hangman. After all, the executioner does not ply his trade on a dead man. It won’t be me on the gallows. You will be the one swinging from a noose.”

  Nelson turned to Stockwell. “Is he telling the truth? Tell me, damn it.”

  Stockwell eyed him with contempt. “You bloody oaf, he’ll say anything to save her.”

  “If you do his bidding, you will be the one to pay the price,” Benedict said. “But with my last breath, I will pull this trigger and send him to hell.”

  His quiet courage instilled her with pride. Her heart was filled with love, even as it throbbed in misery at the thought she might lose him.

  “Enough of this,” Stockwell gritted out each word. “Get it over with. Kill him. Then take the bloody map.”

  Distrust flared in Nelson’s eyes. He slowly shook his head. “Do your own killing. I’ll settle up with you later. You owe me a debt. And you will pay.”

  Stockwell toyed with the knife in his hands, his manner indifferent as the stocky man lumbered to the door. “I am offering you a chance to gain wealth beyond anything you’ve ever dreamed. You’ll be a rich man.”

  Again, Nelson shook his head. “I’ve no taste for killing. This is not what I agreed to.”

  “I can’t convince you to honor our bargain?” Stockwell kept his attention on his henchman.

  Seizing the distraction, Alex reached up with one hand and brushed her fingertips over her hair. Fishing a carved hair pin loose, she curled her fingers over it and slipped her arm behind her, maintaining the illusion she was bound.

  “Sod off,” Nelson growled. His boots treading heavily against the hard-packed dirt floor, he marched to the exit.

  “Very well,” Stockwell said. “You’re making a mistake.”

  “I want no part of mur—”

  With a smooth, practiced movement, Stockwell slipped a revolver from a shoulder holster beneath his jacket.

  He fired.

  Alex heard a scream. Could that be her voice echoing against the walls?

  Nelson did not cry out as the bullet plowed into his back. He gasped, and a low sound of agony escaped him. Pulling in great gulps of air, he sank to his knees.

  “You bastard,” he murmured.

  Blood pooled over his coat. His head slumped. Lifeless, he pitched forward, his bowler hat tumbling to the floor.

  Benedict stared at the dead man, unable to conceal his shock.

  “What a shame—Mr. Nelson has outlived his usefulness.” Stockwell’s tone was stunningly matter-of-fact. “Now, we seem to be at a bit of a stalemate. I see only one solution.”

  Stockwell’s knife clattered to the floor. Quick as a viper, he caught Alex by the throat. His fingers dug into her flesh, a brutal vise on her jaw and throat.

  “Surrender your weapon or I will kill her. I’ll put a bullet right between these pretty brown eyes.”

  Terror became a palpable thing. She tasted it on her tongue. It welled in her throat. In her chest. In her belly. But she held in the primal sound. She would not give in to the fear.

  She shrunk away from him, but he clamped down tighter. A vein pulsed beneath his thumb. Instinct urged her to fight, to claw at his hands and free herself, to plunge the sharp pin into his flesh, but she knew better. Any abrupt movement would startle the jackal. He would pull the trigger, and she would die. She had to find a way to stay calm. She’d have to wait for the right moment. She could see the strain on Benedict’s face and the tiny beads of perspiration over his brow.

  “Move away from her.” A plea he did not try to hide infused Benedict’s words. “There’s no need to hurt her. Let her go. Then, we will negotiate.”

  “I am out of patience. Throw down your weapon. Then, we will negotiate.” Stockwell used Benedict’s words against him.

  “No, Benedict!” she cried out. “Don’t do it.”

  The thud of boots pounded the length of the corridors between the main entry and the room where Stillwell had imprisoned her. Her captor tensed. He’d heard the sounds. He knew what was happening.

  Colton’s men had arrived. Soon, they’d charge through the door.

  Stockwell had nothing left to lose.

  His fingernails dug into her skin. Pain radiated through her flesh. Biting her lip to stop herself from crying out, she maneuvered the hairpin between her fingertips. Beneath the veil of her lashes, she saw Benedict raise his weapon. His finger rested against the trigger. If Stockwell released her, Benedict would have a clear shot.

  “I should have known Colton would not comply with my instructions,” Stockwell said. He leveled his weapon at Benedict. “Very well, then. They’ve forced my hand.”

  There was no more time. She had to act.

  With a quick, desperate jerk of her arm, Alex slashed forward, driving the two-pronged pin into her captor. The sharpened ivory plunged into Stockwell’s forearm.

  His cry of misery echoed through the room. Light shimmied over the gun in his hand.

>   Letting out a scream, Alex propelled herself forward. She landed hard on the floor, then dragged her still-tethered legs over the gritty surface.

  A gunshot exploded in her ears.

  Clutching his upper chest, Stockwell staggered back.

  His knees gave way, and he sank to the floor.

  “I didn’t think you had the nerve, Marlsbrook. Well played.” Stockwell’s pistol slipped from his limp fingers. His eyes went closed as a rush of breath escaped him.

  He stilled.

  Horror and relief washed over her, overwhelming her emotions. Trembling wildly, she stared down at him.

  Dear God, is he dead?

  No. His body shuddered with the effort of each breath.

  She turned her gaze to Benedict, seeing the revulsion on his face. Stockwell had left him no choice. But the act of employing lethal force against another man, even in self-defense, seemed a misery unto itself. Silent pain etched on Benedict’s drawn features.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, the words sounding distant. It seemed they were both trapped in a nightmare from which they had not yet escaped.

  “Yes,” she murmured as he holstered his weapon.

  She wanted to go to him. Not wanted. Needed. Desperation spurred her to tear at the bindings, her fingers frantically unknotting the cords that still tethered her to the chair.

  And then, Benedict was there. Framing her face in his hands, he kissed away the tears she hadn’t realized she’d shed.

  “Alexandra, I’m sorry you had to go through that. I could not take the shot…I had to wait…” Regret brought a husky edge to his words.

  “He did me no lasting harm,” she said, not quite the truth. She feared she would remember this day for a very long time. Stockwell might well haunt her dreams. But she’d come through it all.

  They’d survived. That was all that mattered.

  She threw her arms around him. “Oh, Benedict, I was so afraid…so afraid he’d kill you.”

  A sudden flicker of light appeared in her side vision. Lamplight gleaming against steel.

  A knife slashing through the air.

  Benedict shoved her out of the dagger’s path.

  Time slowed. The deadly blade plunged into him.

  She heard herself scream.

  Benedict went still. Unnaturally so.

  Another scream tore from her lungs.

  This. Could. Not. Be.

  Benedict could not die. He could not have been cut down in cold blood.

  Oh God. No!

  Her mind raced. She searched for a weapon, something she could use against Stockwell as he spread his legs wide, struggling to stand on his unsteady limbs.

  He brandished the dagger. “My face will be the last thing you ever see.”

  “Go to hell.” Benedict raised his weapon.

  A gunshot roared. Her knees trembled as she fought to steady herself.

  Stockwell collapsed at Benedict’s feet. He gasped for air. Again. And again.

  And then, the ragged breaths stopped.

  She rushed to Benedict. Blood marred his upper left chest. Stockwell had missed his heart. Thank God!

  But what damage had he inflicted with the blade?

  “It’s over,” Benedict whispered. Gently, he cupped her face against his palm. “The danger is no more.”

  He toppled over, but she braced him with her body. “Darling, stay with me. Help is on the way.”

  Colton and his agents burst through the door. Matthew muttered an epithet as he took in the scene.

  Benedict brushed his lips over hers. “I’ve always loved you, Alexandra. Don’t ever forget that.”

  “Oh, Benedict, I do love you. So very much.”

  “I did find a treasure after all.” His voice was a mere whisper, husky, yet so terribly weak.

  His lids fluttered shut. His head sagged forward, and his body went limp. Alex struggled to support his weight as Colton and the agents rushed to their aid. She would not allow Benedict to hit the filthy floor. She could not bear the thought.

  “You will not die on me, Benedict. I simply will not allow it.” She kissed him again, then stood away as an agent assessed his wound. “I love you with all my heart. I will not lose you again.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  London, Late November 1892

  As Alex descended from her carriage, the chilly autumn wind blowing off the Thames cut through the meager defense offered by her wool cape. Perched on the driver’s bench, Bertram clamped a hand on his head, pinning his flat-brimmed cap in place. Giving consideration to security as well as her privacy—most particularly her desire to avoid wagging tongues when at all possible—she’d requested the cagey agent’s services this day. Typically, she would have hailed a hack and thought nothing of it.

  But this was not a typical day. Far from it.

  Clutching her valise, her fingers trembled ever so slightly. Goodness, she was being a goose. It wasn’t as if years had gone by since she’d last seen Benedict. Why, she and Jennie had visited his home just three days prior. Then again, perhaps, that was the very reason her hands quivered with nervous anticipation.

  His recovery was nearly complete. Thankfully, the wound had been clean, missing his internal organs. With the care of a skilled physician and nurse, he’d avoided infection, and now, he’d regained a great deal of his vigor.

  If only he had reclaimed the spark of vitality that had lit his eyes, that sense of challenge that had drawn her to him like a force of nature.

  In the days since the incident, that dreadful night when he’d been forced to take a life, the light in his eyes had dimmed. Not quite extinguished. But only a tiny flicker of what it had been. Stockwell had given him no choice, but Benedict seemed a changed man. Distant. Withdrawn from pleasure, joy, and even sadness. He’d shown so little emotion since that night. What torment was going on deep within the recesses of his conscience?

  He loved her. She had no doubt of that. Not now, since he’d willingly put his neck on the block to protect her. He’d spoken the words. She’d heard his confession of love, a whisper that would be forever imprinted in her thoughts. Now, he said little beyond ordinary pleasantries. She might as well have been a stranger. He’d gone cold.

  Even though he’d lived and healed and would soon be as strong as ever, she’d lost him.

  Again.

  Her heart ached at the thought. The pain was very real, far more bitter than anything Stockwell had inflicted upon her. She loved Benedict. Surely, he knew that.

  Yet, his indifference was a brutal blow.

  Well, she was not about to sit quietly in her townhouse while he built a shell around himself, pushing her away. More than likely, he thought to shield her from whatever it was that weighed heavy on his mind. Whatever the problem he faced, they would work through it. She’d break through the barrier that was growing between them.

  He needed something to draw him out of his self-imposed isolation. She’d come up with a plan, just the thing to provoke his interest. The very idea of a journey excited her. She’d been in London for months without a sojourn to Egypt. It was high time she once more embarked into the field.

  “I’ll wait for ye, Miss Quinn.” Bertram smiled down at her. A kindhearted soul, he sensed her nervousness. She could see it in his eyes.

  “Thank you. I will alert you if it appears my visit will last beyond a half an hour or so.”

  The spry old man tipped his hat. Flashing a craggy grin, he threw a wink for luck.

  Gathering her resolve, she marched up to the door of Benedict’s townhouse and rang the bell.

  Roderick greeted her with a forced smile. “Good afternoon, Miss Quinn. I cannot say with any certainty that Marlsbrook—”

  “Let her in,” Benedict said, his voice gruff as he approached behind the butler’s back.

  Roderick’s throat constricted with tension. What in blazes was going on? The man was usually a pleasant fellow. But on this afternoon, tension pulled at his creased features.
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  “This way, Miss Quinn.”

  “As you are well aware, I know the way,” she said, sweeping past him with a saucy grin. Benedict’s foul mood would not deter her. He should know by now that it would take more than a surly lack of greeting to keep her away.

  She met Benedict’s gaze. Something that might have been a smile touched his lips. So, he was not unhappy to see her after all. He stood outside his study, attired in dark charcoal gray trousers, a crisp white shirt with the shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows, and leather braces. A slight growth of whiskers on his cheeks and jaw emphasized his features and added an unrefined air that appealed to her far more than logic would have dictated.

  Ah, he was a fine specimen of a man. Perhaps it was his slightly crooked grin that had captured her heart. Or was it the way his eyes darkened to a mossy green when passion infused his kiss?

  Did he know how much she’d come to care for him? They had exchanged words of love as Stockwell had brought his ugly plan to its final act. But since that brutal night, they had not spoken of their feelings. She’d wanted to speak the words again, to tell him how deeply she cared for him, but somehow, the time had never been right. There’d been a parade of visitors, all eager to speak with London’s newest hero as he convalesced from his wound.

  She might have stood there and drank him in for a moment or two longer, but she’d come on a quest. If she did not act, she might well lose her nerve. And then where would she be?

  “Hullo, Benedict,” she said.

  “It’s good to see you, Alexandra.” He escorted her into the pleasantly cluttered room. “What brings you here today?”

  “Might I suggest we close the door? I require a spot of privacy.”

  He cocked a brow, but obliged her request. “I must say, this is an unexpected pleasure. What’s this about? Has something come up that I should know about?”

  “I’ve come here today to discuss you. And me.”

  His brow furrowed. “I must confess I don’t take your meaning. What is there to discuss?”

  I love you, you dolt. The words perched on the tip of her tongue, but she held them back.