Moth to the Flame
Page 20
Jared, desperate to keep him away from Alicia, to keep him from even thinking about her, said quickly, loudly, ‘Yes, that’s right. You have to kill me first.’
‘Jared no!’ Alicia gasped. But it was too late. With a snarl, Rupert launched himself on Jared. He didn’t have to make it beautiful for him!
* * *
Sin-Jun looked up, astonished, as a ginger-haired virago erupted into his office, his secretary ineffectively trotting in behind her, an outraged look on her face. ‘You’ve got to come . . .’ Emily panted. ‘To . . . to Alicia’s room. Rupert’s got a knife!’
He surged to his feet. ‘Where are they?’ he barked.
Emily gulped. ‘Webster. Room twenty-eight.’ Before she’d even finished speaking, Sin-Jun was out of the room. For an old man, he moved very, very fast.
* * *
Jared grunted as he felt himself being slammed back against the wall. His hand came out instinctively to grip Rupert’s wrist and the knife missed his face by inches. Rupert was incredibly, ferociously strong. In fact, he had a madman’s strength. Jared knew, in that instant, that he was never going to be able to fight him off. He knew a single second of stark fear, then a certain, calming acceptance. All right. He was going to die. If only he could do enough damage first to stop the madman from killing Alicia too.
Emily must have gone for help . . . If he could just keep Rupert distracted for a few more minutes . . . With a snarl Rupert drew his hand free and got ready for another lunge.
Desperately, Jared reached again for his arm. Too late.
Alicia gave another scream, this time carrying clearly to the Principal, who was already on the stairs.
Alicia, knowing that Jared was only moments away from being stabbed to death, tossed the chair aside, and, without a single second’s hesitation, launched herself at Rupert. She leapt on to his back like a wildcat, clawing his face, screaming something—she didn’t know what—over and over again. Rupert gave a shout of surprise and Jared shuddered as the knife scraped by the wall just an inch from his cheek.
Sin-Jun erupted into the room and took in the scene in one glance. The girl on Lord Rupert’s back, the boy, Jared Cowan, pinned to the wall, desperately holding on to Rupert’s wrist, the glint of the knife. Sin-Jun strode across the room, peeled Alicia off as if she was a piece of rice paper, and aimed a single, clever blow to the back of Rupert’s neck. Sin-Jun hadn’t been in the army for over twenty years without learning a trick or too.
Without a sound, the Lord of the Realm crumpled to the floor with barely a sigh, utterly unconscious.
Jared staggered from the wall and towards Alicia, who was still lying on the bed where the Principal had tossed her. She lifted up her arms mutely and he held her close.
After that there was an ambulance to call, the Earl of Warrington to inform, and any other number of unpleasant but necessary duties. Alicia and Jared simply sat on the bed together, Jared holding her so tightly she could hardly breathe, rocking her to and fro, stroking her hair, and thanking God he hadn’t lost her.
Finally, Alicia slowly looked up at him, and managed a small, tremulous, brave smile. ‘I was so happy to see you come in that door,’ she said, which had to be the understatement of her life. ‘But why did you come? I thought, when I left, we’d agreed to meet up in Hall.’
Jared smiled. ‘Oh. That. I wanted to ask you what stone you wanted for your engagement ring.’
Alicia laughed. ‘An emerald of course. What else?’
Jared began to laugh. ‘What else?’
He kissed her, oblivious to Emily, oblivious to the Principal, oblivious even, to the unconscious man on the floor. He had his Alicia. And would have her for the rest of his life. That was all that mattered in the world . . .
* * *
‘So, what do you think?’ Gareth Lacey said, standing outside the Cottage in Dun’s Tew. It bore a freshly carved, wooden nameplate, ‘Spindlewood Cottage’, which swung in the April wind.
‘It’s home,’ Davina said simply. She tucked her arm inside his, looking at the thatched cottage with a sense of ownership and pride she’d never felt for any other building in her life.
Gareth knew how much that simple statement meant. He looked down at her spiky blonde head and, with a gentle finger under her chin, tipped her face up to his. ‘But it’s not a prison,’ he said, his ocean-grey eyes looking deeply into hers. ‘Whenever you want to go off to Bora-Bora, or gold mining in Alaska, or whatever, just go. We’ll be here waiting for you when you get back.’
‘I know,’ Davina said, her eyes glowing. ‘I know you will.’ Never had a man understood her so thoroughly.
‘Well, shall I carry you over the threshold?’ Gareth asked, turning to her, reaching down to cup his arms under her legs. ‘Since it’s probably the only chance I’ll get . . . ?’ he looked up at her questioningly.
Davina laughed. It was the most roundabout way of proposing she’d ever heard. But she didn’t take him up on it. Marriage was something that had always frightened her.
Perhaps in ten years’ time . . . ?
She raised one eyebrow. ‘Why does it always have to be the man to carry the woman across the threshold?’ she asked. ‘I could carry you across instead.’ She suddenly ducked, reaching for his own legs.
‘Hey! Not fair!’ he yelped, ducking again, grabbing her legs and hoisting her over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift.
‘This is not carrying me over the threshold!’ Davina yelped indignantly as he walked up the garden path and opened the door. But it would do.
Oh yes, Davina thought, her heart racing.
It would most definitely do.