Aghast, Eve turned to see William shrug carelessly. He’d just shot a man without a second thought. Clearly, he was beyond prediction or expectation. She felt the fear snake back up her spine when he uttered absently, “How tiring. Come now, Evelyn.” He waved the gun, indicating she should precede him. “Let’s move along before I tire of this game, shall we?”
“You won’t shoot me. Remember? You need me,” she told him with false bravado, since it was clear she had no idea what he was capable of any longer.
“That is true, but it will not stop me from shooting the good people here if you resist.” He indicated the people huddled against the building or standing across the street, staring at the scene with morbid fascination. “How about her?” He motioned to a young woman crouched in the alley hugging a young girl to her. Then to an adolescent boy protecting an older woman behind him. “Or him?”
He shifted the gun back and forth, and Eve’s shoulders slumped in defeat, knowing he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot another unarmed innocent who stood between him and his goals. “Stop it, William. I will come.”
“Peaceably?”
“Yes. Let’s just go.”
* * *
Eve marched back up the street as he followed, rotating from side to side with a pistol in each hand to keep any would-be heroes at bay. There was no hope at all. Shaw collapsed unconscious directly in front of the doors of the police station preventing the door from opening. Though the rocking of his body indicated someone was trying to push him out of the way, it would be too late.
The carriage circled back around and now waited for them at the corner. In the driver’s seat she recognized Wilkes, Shaftesbury’s long-time valet, at the reins. She hadn’t seen him since she had fired him a year before. He looked very pleased to see her back under William’s thumb.
To her surprise, the carriage passed only a few more streets before stopping in front of a neat boardinghouse. Eve knew most of these were rented to single barristers and others who worked the courts. He hadn’t been at a hotel at all then. Little wonder they had failed to locate him. Dragging her from the carriage, William urged her inside, making certain to maintain a discreet entrance in the quiet neighborhood. He said nothing as he escorted her up two sets of stairs and into his small apartments.
“Hardly up to your usual standards, William,” she bit out nastily, still nursing the sting from the blows to her head and cheek. She dropped into the chair he indicated and leaned back wearily. Adrenaline depleted, she was left exhausted and pinched by her corset after her run. The fight drained from her.
“I’ve had to make do with Wilkes’ pitiful savings,” he replied peevishly, moving to a cupboard from which he pulled a small flask of Irish whiskey and uncorking it, took a long pull.
Five minutes of silence passed, where Shaftesbury had checked his watch and the window repeatedly. She rose and paced the room as his growing had agitation filtered into her.
“So what now, William? They’ll be coming for you. It won’t take them long to find you now, you know. There will be a dozen witnesses to point the way.”
“Wilkes is obtaining train tickets as we speak. We should be out of Edinburgh within the hour,” he told her as he took another drink.
“Not quickly enough, I think.”
He growled at her, but Eve ignored him as she cast about for escape. There was no chance she was going to board a train that would take her away from Laurie and Francis. She would fight him with everything she had at that point and damn the consequences. If he managed to get her back home, there’d be nothing she could do to save herself from him.
Watching him tip the bottle again, she thought of running for the door but quickly realized it would be useless. She was done in from her first run. Her legs felt weak and wobbly under her skirts already and not capable of another flight, especially not one down several flights of stairs. A lady in a corset was caged in so many ways.
She wandered the small room, aware that her husband kept a pistol casually pointed in her direction as he checked his watch impatiently and went to the window, cursing under his breath.
Trying to think of another option, Eve came upon a crate containing two pieces of pottery packed in straw. They were so exquisite they could only be the Ming vases William had stolen. She pulled one from the straw and held it up to the light. It was breathtaking, but hardly worth risking one’s life for.
“Be careful with that,” her husband bellowed, spitting his liquor onto the floor.
“You’d really kill people to keep this, William?”
“Let me think…” he drawled sarcastically as he snatched the vase back and packed it into the crate. “Of course.”
And he already had. There was apparently nothing he would stop at to have his way with this insanity. In the ensuing silence, Eve contemplated her situation and Shaftesbury his liquor.
When the normal sounds of the streets were overridden by the sound of footfalls on the floors below, her attention turned to the activity. Voices shouted out. Then footsteps clamored up the stairs to their floor.
“They’re coming for you, William,” she taunted softly. “Whatever will you do now?”
“How could they have found us so quickly?” Shaftesbury threw open the windows and peered down, assessing the distance and, Eve assumed, the possibility of jumping. “Damn! Where is Wilkes?”
Doors in the adjacent apartments down the hall were pounded on as the activity grew closer. “Police! Open the door.” A voice rang out hollowly through the walls. There was no further sound, but Eve knew that William was anticipating the knock on his door next when he leveled one pistol at the door.
“William,” she protested. “You don’t dare!”
“Shut your mouth.” He cocked the revolver. The click of the lever rang ominously in the quiet of the room.
A minute passed.
The pounding, when it came, gave her a start. “Open the door, Shaftesbury. We know you’re in there.”
“Francis?” she gasped in surprise when the voice registered.
William’s head whipped around when he heard her. “Your erstwhile lover has come to your rescue, hmm? This should be interesting.” He turned his attention back to the door as the knob started to turn, and the door swung in slowly.
“Francis, get back,” she yelled as William squeezed the trigger, and Francis dodged around the door jam.
“Eden? What are you doing in there? I’ve got to say I don’t mind ducking when I’m being shot at, but I think you owe me an explanation.”
“I will be happy to give you one soon, but I think you owe me one as well,” she called back as her husband glared at her.
“Back away, Glenrothes,” William warned. “I will shoot her, I promise you. I have nothing to lose now.”
Francis leaned back against the wall and tried to gauge Shaftesbury’s position within the room. He raised a brow at Detective Thompson who only shook his head and cocked his head, listening for movement within.
The senior detective had struck Glenrothes as a reasonable man, as he’d told the others, and upon reaching the station, Francis had taken a risk on his intelligence and discretion by revealing the truth of the entire matter. From the facts of Shaftesbury’s death and resurrection to his own engagement to Eve, her history, to the relationship between Shaftesbury and Vanessa and all the events of the past week including the threats Eve had received from her former husband.
Thompson had considered the matter carefully before admitting he saw the logic in the earl’s observations and sent a pair of Bobbies to the hotel where the countess had died, to question the staff once again. Searching the area, they’d found Vanessa’s missing maid and matched her description of her mistress’s mystery man to Shaftesbury. More officers were sent out in search of the suspect.
While awaiting further information, Glenrothes and Thompson had speculated on the murderer’s motives, but came to the conclusion that revenge would certainly be among them. He’d been taking tea w
ith Gerald Thompson while his Bobbies made inquiries about town in search of Shaftesbury when Shaw had been shot in front of the police station.
By the time the door had been cleared and Shaw regained consciousness long enough to pass on details of the shooting, vital moments had been lost before Thompson and hence, Francis had become involved in the questioning of bystanders. They’d come across Richard, James, and Jack with a half-dozen of their footmen. The group had trailed Eve’s abduction from Moray Place.
When varying witness accounts provided contrary information, they’d split into groups, searching in different directions. His group, including Thompson, James and Jack, had managed to trail Eve and Shaftesbury to this location. A floor to floor search had brought Francis and Thompson here while the others still searched below.
He could hardly comprehend that Eve had been so close to the police station, running away from this bastard, running to him for help, and he had failed to protect her. It would not happen again. It would be Shaftesbury’s life or his. That was all there was to it.
“Shaftesbury!” he yelled. A shot hit across the hall from Francis and sprayed plaster in every direction. Glenrothes waved James back as he raced up the stairs. His brother came stealthily forward until he too was poised against the wall.
“I take it you’ve found the fellow?” James asked unnecessarily as Jack raced down the hall as well.
“He has Ev…Lady Shaftesbury.” Francis leaned against the wall, worry flooding him, and couldn’t resist calling, “Eden, are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she answered, but a sharp slap and a cry followed, and Francis growled low in his throat, turning to race blindly into the room, but James pulled him back. “Caution, brother. He may have back up in there.”
His bodied quivered with the need to act. “I need to do something. Anything. What are our options?”
“He has her hostage. We need to negotiate,” Thompson said sensibly.
Francis sighed and leaned his head back against the wall. “You’re right. That’s the sensible thing to do, but bugger me, I’m not feeling too sensible right now.” He shrugged quickly out of his jacket and turned to James. “Are you with me on this?”
“With you?” James repeated in confusion. “Oh, aye, of course.”
And with a grating battle cry, Francis charged into the room.
Chapter 47
Eve could easily see William was on the verge of another murder, and Francis was his intended victim. His usually pale eyes were dark and wild as he visually searched the room, for inspiration or escape, she did not know. Fear for the man she loved streaked through her. Under normal circumstances, she was certain Francis would prevail in a fight, but she wasn’t sure he could as easily conquer an opponent driven by desperation and lost to honorable combat.
Following her husband’s example, she looked around the room in an attempt to identify anything that might allow her to help just as a terrifying cry echoed through the room.
Francis charged in low, rushing at William so quickly that he had little chance to react. Francis’ momentum threw them both against the wall, and it seemed to Eve that the entire building shuddered at the impact. Pulling back, Glenrothes lifted Shaftesbury by his lapels even as the smaller man jerked his arm up still holding the Colt revolver, but the shot went awry when Francis struck at his arm. Drawing back, the Scot struck again with a brutal blow to the other man’s midsection followed by an upper cut to his chin. With an angry grunt, William hit Francis on the side of the head with the weapon he still held in his hand. On the recoil from the blow, William fumbled to pull back the trigger so he might fire again.
“Francis!” she cried out. “Watch out for the gun.”
Movement from the doorway caught her eye, and she spotted Thompson inside the door, aiming a small pistol toward the men who wrestled and traded blows. Thompson stood poised, waiting for an opening to take a shot, however James and Haddington merely stood by, watching the brawl.
“What are you doing?” she screamed at them. “Help him!”
“What for?” James shrugged.
“He’s just a little fellow, Evie,” Jack agreed. “Let Francis have his fun. I daresay he’s been itching for this moment.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!”
The crunch of flesh and bone drew her attention back to the struggle. The pair were throwing punches that landed with a series of grotesque crunching noises, turning her stomach. Blood was flowing from Shaftesbury’s nose and mouth while a lesser blood flow trickled from Francis’ brow from Shaftesbury’s single blow with the pistol.
Instead of looking concerned, Francis smiled as if he were enjoying himself. He drew back a fist and landed a series of solid blows against Shaftesbury’s stomach. William doubled over with a grunt but came up with the gun once more, catching Francis under the chin. With an enraged roar, Francis grabbed his opponent by the shirtfront and hurled him against the wall. William slumped sideways, finally losing his grip on the pistol as it skittered across the floor. He curled on the floor in pain and breathing heavily.
“Come on, you bastard,” Glenrothes taunted. “Get up and fight.”
Shaftesbury groaned dramatically and straightened a bit revealing, his other revolver as he pulled it from his waistband and pointed it at Francis’ chest. “Back away.” Shaftesbury held his ribs tightly as he staggered to his feet. He kept Francis between him and Thompson, who still aimed his own weapon from the door, denying the detective a clean shot.
Fear ripped through Eve as her husband held her lover at gunpoint, a cold sweat breaking out over her entire body. He would shoot Francis, she knew, without hesitation or remorse, as soon as he was sure he could get away. It wouldn’t be a shot to injure but to kill, and Shaftesbury was an excellent shot. They all stood motionless waiting. Dread and fear clawed at her chest. Someone needed to do something.
But when James and Jack moved to step forward, William retrieved his other pistol from the floor and pointed it at the pair. “Back, I say.”
“You have no options, Shaftesbury,” Thompson called from the door. “Set the lady and Glenrothes free, and it will go better for you.”
“Never.” The villain shook his head. “I need her with me, so just back off, and we’ll be gone.”
“I’m not going to let you take her,” Glenrothes told him, wiping blood from his chin.
“She’s my wife, not yours,” was the irrational reply.
Francis watched Eve from the corner of his eye as she picked up a vase from the table and rolled it between her hands consideringly. What was she up to? “She’s going to marry me, you know,” he said with a deliberately cocky drawl to keep Ashley-Cooper’s attention on him. “Then she’ll be mine.”
William shook his head in vehement denial. “No. She might have whored herself with you, but she is my wife.”
“Then that makes you a cuckold!” Francis goaded, tormenting Shaftesbury to cock the gun, ready to charge once more.
“William,” Eve’s shaking voice rang through the room, bringing all eyes to her as she held the costly porcelain aloft by its brim. “Put down the guns, or I swear I will drop it.”
Sweat beaded her husband’s brow as the pistol in his right hand swung toward her and back to Glenrothes. “Put it down, Evelyn!”
“Put the guns down first,” she challenged, holding the pottery higher in her unsteady hand.
“No,” he spat out, leveling the gun at her again and back at the earl indecisively once more as he took a step in her direction. “Put it down!”
Eve swung her arm back and launched the vase into the air as William fired both pistols with a wild cry. Francis lunged toward him once more, and more shots rang around the room when both Shaftesbury and now Thompson fired again.
Shaftesbury dropped the weapons and flung himself to his knees under the vase, wrapping his arms around it even as it shattered in his arms. His arms closed over the pieces as they fell and around his stomach, covering the pool of red
spreading across his midriff. He gaped down at the wound as he reached for the pieces. “No!”
Eve dazedly jerked her head around to find detective Thompson holstering his smoking pistol and moving forward as Francis limped and faltered, falling to his knee. “Francis,” she cried, racing to his side. “Were you shot? Are you bleeding?”
“The Earl of Glenrothes does not get shot.”
“Apparently you don’t duck either.”
“Bastard,” he gasped, “he shot me in the calf. Thank God you threw that when you did or it might have been worse. He was on the verge of firing.”
“Of course, he was, what with you taunting him,” she scolded as she pulled up his trousers leg to examine the wound. “Here. Let me see it. Through and through, I think, but we’ll need to get it cleaned out as soon as possible.”
“Have a lot of experience with gunshot wounds, do you?” he teased through gritted teeth and hissed as she flipped up her skirt and tore a ruffle from her petticoat. She bound the wound with the makeshift bandage, knotting it with a tug that made him hiss in pain.
“Oh, don’t be an infant.” She patted the knot and met his eyes.
He was surprised to find them glassy with unshed tears when she’d appeared so collected and calm. He reached out and caressed her bruised cheek with his thumb. “Are you unharmed?”
“I’m well. He just slapped me a couple times.” She shrugged, dabbing at her eyes. “Most of this happened when I jumped out of the carriage.”
“You jumped out of a carriage?” His brow shot up in surprise when she nodded. “Was it moving?”
“Oh!” She punched him lightly in the arm.
Francis caught her hand and raised it to his lips, feeling it tremble as he did so. What a brave lass he had! “I am so proud of you, my love. And that is only for what I know so far. I want to hear every detail when we get home.”
“And I want to hear how you came to be here with Detective Thompson,” she scolded. “I thought you were under arrest.”
All You Could Ask For Page 53