by Anne Stuart
There was no room for panic, just determination. Alexander was back, and he’d seen her. He hadn’t disappeared for days. Even now he’d be coming for her. She needed to stall these two, just long enough for Alexander to reach her. She could probably manage to fight off Rufus, but Mama was a different matter.
Sophie began to edge her way forward, carefully on the slate tiles, staying on the front side of the building. She had good balance, and now that the fear had been replaced by a cold rage, she felt her way without hesitation, moving farther and farther away from Rufus and his monstrous mother.
“Rufus!” His mother’s bark of fury was enough to startle both of them. “Get on with it. We haven’t much time.”
“But . . .”
“No excuses. You’ve done it before with Jessamine and you said you enjoyed it. Do it now.”
Rufus suddenly looked resolute, like a child facing some inner demon, and he took quick steps and reached for her. She dodged, and her shoes slipped. She went down on her knees, scrabbling at the tiles, and managed to stop her fall. She lay there, panting, clinging to the side of the roof.
“Mama!” She heard Rufus cry out.
“Grab her arm and haul her to the other side!” his mother said, all exasperation.
She felt Rufus come near, cautiously reaching out for her, and she tried to move her arm out of the way but she began to slip. He grabbed her and hauled her up onto her knees, stronger than she would have imagined.
The door to the attic slammed open, and Alexander was there, on the roof, and there seemed to be a hundred people behind him, all talking, familiar voices, calling her name, shrieking in fright.
“Let go of her!” Alexander thundered, his voice rising above everyone. She didn’t dare look. She was kneeling at the very peak of the roof, with Rufus holding both arms, ready to fling her into the garden.
He wouldn’t reach her in time. Rufus would kill her, and Alexander would be alone and she couldn’t bear it.
At that very moment Rufus was staring at his half brother, a look of horror on his face. “Alexander,” he said, stammering slightly, like a boy who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “You weren’t supposed to be here.”
“Damn you, Rufus, what the hell are you doing?”
“Don’t you understand that she has to die?” he said plaintively. “It’s part of the plan. We can’t let her mesmerize you.”
“What are you talking about?” Alexander’s voice had quieted, as he tried to calm his half brother. “Whose plan?”
“I’m supposed to be the viscount,” Rufus whined. “You know it. You stole it from me, just as you stole everything from me.”
A frown of confusion lined Alexander’s forehead. “I’m eight years older than you are, Rufus. Of course I got the title, for all it’s worth.”
“It’s not fair. You don’t even care about it, when it really belongs to me.”
“There’s nothing I can do about it, old man,” he said gently.
“That’s why I have to take care of it. And you. I’m sorry, Alexander, but this is the way it has to be.” He started to yank at Sophie’s arms, pulling her toward the far edge.
“No!” Alexander screamed, and it startled Rufus enough that his hold on her arms loosened slightly. It was all Sophie needed.
She didn’t hesitate for a moment, slamming her head into his damaged leg with a satisfying thunk. He crumpled, releasing her, and for a moment he squatted there, teetering on the edge with a look of complete disbelief. In the next he went over the edge, his screams echoing in the night as he rolled down to disappear over the far side of the roof. There was a horrible, crunching noise, of bones shattering, and the screaming stopped. All was silence.
And then she was being pulled up, into Alexander’s strong arms, as the drizzle fell around them, and she clung to him, so tightly she felt she could never let go. She heard words, soft words from him, but none of them made any sense. The sound of his voice, the racing of his heart, was enough. She was safe, she was home, and she wanted nothing more than to melt into his hard body, to lose herself in him.
He tipped her chin up, staring down with his stormy gray eyes. “Aren’t you ever going to learn to listen to me?”
She tried to say something, but she was beyond words, so she simply gripped him tighter and pulled his head down, kissing his hard, beautiful mouth.
He kissed her back, and if he hadn’t been holding on to her she would have tumbled over the side as sheer rapture washed over her. When he kissed her, nothing mattered; the world disappeared.
It was a new voice that broke her dream, an achingly familiar one, and she lifted her head in time to see first Bryony and then Maddy emerge onto the slippery roof, with two men beside them.
Sophie’s sense of unreality grew proportionately, and for a second she wondered if Rufus had won, if she was the one who’d died and this was some strange sort of heaven. And then she heard Maddy’s familiar voice say, “I should have known you’d get yourself into a mess,” and she knew it was real; everything was real. If she were anywhere else but in Alexander’s arms she would have turned and rushed to her sisters, but right now he was her rock, her safety, her heart.
“She got herself out of it,” Bryony said, clinging to the arm of an elegantly dressed man who could only be Lord Kilmartyn. She had no idea who stood with Maddy but he looked like a gypsy, the complete opposite of what Maddy had always wanted.
“Be careful!” Sophie warned her sisters, her arms still tight around Alexander as the wind buffeted around them. “You’ll fall. Go back inside.”
“Not until you’re safe,” Bryony said, moving farther out onto the street side, holding on to Kilmartyn.
Sophie released her death grip on Alexander reluctantly, knowing she had to head for the door, for her sisters, when she heard an eerie scream.
She’d forgotten one important thing. They weren’t alone on the roof. Alexander hadn’t even known the old witch was there, but a moment later Mrs. Griffiths emerged from behind the massive chimney, shrieking like a madwoman. “You killed him! You killed my baby!” she screamed. She shoved her way past Maddy and the gypsy, almost sending them tumbling, and came straight for Sophie, madness in her small rat’s eyes.
Sophie stared at her, frozen, unable to move. Alexander was still holding her hand, but if he tried to stop the woman he’d likely go over himself. She tried to move, to draw the woman’s attention, and Alexander released her arm, ready to let her go.
Until he moved, with such quick grace she almost missed it. He stepped in front of her, fast and deft as some circus performer, his foot went out, and Mrs. Griffiths went screaming over the front edge of the town house, ending with a loud crashing noise and the sound of frightened horses.
Lord Kilmartyn peered over the side of the roof, then turned to Bryony. “I’m afraid, dear one, that we’re going to have to buy a new carriage,” he said languidly.
And for the first time in her life Sophie fainted, directly into Alexander’s arms, knowing she was home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
THEY WOULDN’T LET HIM stay with her, those chattering sisters of hers, Alexander thought, watching as they surrounded the chaise in the drawing room where he’d put Sophie and crowded him out of the way.
“We need a doctor,” he said harshly.
“No, we don’t,” said the woman he assumed was the new countess. “She’s just fainted.”
“And I believe your late, lamented family is beyond mending,” Kilmartyn drawled.
Alexander looked at him with dislike. “You’re talking about my half brother.”
“He’s talking about a murderer who would have happily killed our sister and probably you as well,” said the younger sister. “I’d dance on his grave.”
With that Alexander walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. His hands were shaking, and he wasn’t quite sure why. The most important thing was that Sophie was safe. After that, nothing else mattered.
/> “Your lordship?”
Alexander turned. Dickens was standing there, a sympathetic look on his stolid face. Alexander looked up at him.
“There, there, lad,” Dickens said, in a rough, fatherly voice. “They were a bad lot and you knew it full well, much as you tried to give the boy the benefit of the doubt. You couldn’t save him, even years ago. He was under the old witch’s thrall and there was nothing you could do.”
Alexander took a deep breath. “I knew there was something wrong. His stories just didn’t add up, but he was my brother . . .” His voice broke for a moment, and then his mouth hardened. “I should have gotten rid of Adelia and her pernicious influence long ago. But he loved her, and I loved him.”
Dickens shook his head. “Nothing you could do,” he said again.
“I need to call the police, do something . . .” He felt dazed, shattered, and all he wanted was to go to Sophie and have her wrap her arms around him, but there were too many sisters getting in the way.
“Don’t you worry, your lordship. I’ve already notified them, and they’re outside right now, removing the bodies. I’ll see to the garden after they’re gone, but they want to talk to you.”
“Of course they do,” Alexander said, trying to pull himself together. His eyes finally focused on Dickens. “I don’t understand—why are you here?”
“I followed your stepmama, of course. I knew she was up to no good. Mr. Wilton is outside directing the constables while I see to you. When you’re ready to speak to them just let me know. And remember what’s important. You’re in love with that little girl, whether you admit it or not, and you almost lost her. If you don’t do something about it now, today, you may still.” He fixed him with a fierce gaze. “Be the man I brought you up to be. Your brother’s gone and there’s no bringing him back, and in the end it’s a mercy and you know it.”
A mercy, Alexander thought, remembering the small boy who had followed him with worshipful eyes, the young man who’d already been old in the ways of sin, the man who was ready to commit fratricide for his mother and his own greed. It didn’t matter—he had the right to grieve him anyway, whether his death was convenient or not.
And then he thought of Sophie. Sophie was the one who’d knocked Rufus to one side, sending him spinning off the roof instead of falling to her death. How would she feel about killing someone, even if he had been trying to kill her? He needed to hold her as well, to tell her it was all right, that no one would hurt her again. He wouldn’t let them.
He straightened, taking a deep breath and shaking off the demons that hovered around him. “Thank you, Dickie,” he said. “I’ll go kick her yammering family out of the house long enough to tell her the truth. You’re right; I love her. And I’m not letting her go.”
Sophie was lying on something hard and uncomfortable when she regained consciousness. Her head ached, and there were too many people talking, too many people arguing, fluttering about her. She wanted Alexander and no one else, and his deep voice wasn’t among the cacophony.
“Go away,” she growled in a low voice.
“She’s awake!” Maddy said much too loudly.
“Sophie, darling, are you all right?” Bryony was kneeling beside her, touching her with delicate hands as if to ensure that she was really there. Sophie did her best to tolerate it.
“I’m awake,” she said, opening her eyes and searching for Alexander. He was in one corner of the large room, speaking to a pair of uniformed police officers; Bryony was beside her with Maddy next to her; the men who’d accompanied them were nearby, conversing among themselves; and she saw to her shock that even Dickens was there.
“Dickens?” she said, before she even spoke to her sister.
“I was worried about you, Miss Russell,” he said, stepping forward, an abashed expression on his rough-hewn face. “And I figured his lordship would need all the help he could get.”
“Thank heavens,” Sophie said, sinking back on the settee. It was particularly uncomfortable—trust a man to furnish a house with the wrong furniture, she thought randomly, staring at Alexander. He looked pale, drawn, and she wanted to go to him, to pull his head down to her breast and comfort him. He looked as if he’d survived a bloody battle, and she wondered what he was thinking. He’d killed someone.
Then again, so had she, and she didn’t have a moment’s regret. She always prided herself on being practical, and there’d been no other way out of it, but Alexander might not be quite so sanguine, considering it was his half brother. In fact, he might be blaming her . . .
“Oh, darling Sophie, you’ve been through so much,” Bryony crooned, interrupting her worried thoughts.
“Not that it wasn’t your own fault for going off like that,” Maddy added.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, stop trying to pick a fight!” Bryony snapped. It was so blessedly familiar that for a moment Sophie wanted to cry. “We need to get Sophie home, take care of her. She’s been through a huge shock.”
Alexander turned at her words, suddenly intent. His eyes met hers for a moment, and his were dark, tormented, and he quickly looked away.
“You’ll be all right,” Maddy said to Sophie with rough affection. “Just don’t think about it.”
Sophie looked up, confused. “Don’t think about what?”
Bryony and Maddy shared a glance, and Bryony decided to answer truthfully. “Darling, you killed a man. Not that he didn’t deserve it, but it must be shattering for you.”
Sophie shrugged, her eyes still on Alexander. Look at me, she thought. Come to me, put your arms around me, and send my sisters away. Tell me nothing matters; tell me you love me. She glanced back at her sisters. “Oh, that,” she said vaguely.
Bryony made a choking sound and Maddy laughed. “Now what would Nanny Gruen say?” Maddy said mockingly.
“She’d probably say ‘well done,’ ” Sophie said, still watching Alexander. He looked pale, shocked, and she wanted to hold him, but after her clumsy words he might not want anything to do with her. She couldn’t take them back. She wasn’t going to pretend to be anything other than who she was. She’d been through enough, and she was tired of being tactful. Either Alexander wanted her or he didn’t—if he was going to reject her because she’d done what she had to, then there was nothing she could do about it. She would have to live with his decision.
“Oh, God, she’s just like her sisters,” the gypsy murmured to Lord Kilmartyn. “How could there be three of them?”
“How could the world have survived thus far?” countered Kilmartyn.
“I don’t understand who that crazy old lady was,” Bryony said. “And what in the world was Rufus Brown doing, trying to kill you? He should have died when the old house collapsed.”
“You knew him too?” Maddy said, astonished. “He went overboard the Maddy Rose during a storm after trying to kill me. What in the world did he have against us?”
“He wasn’t Rufus Brown, he was Rufus Griffiths, Alexander’s half brother, and that was his mother,” Sophie said without emotion.
Maddy turned fascinated eyes toward Alexander. “He killed his mother?”
Look at me. Please, look at me and tell me you forgive me. “His stepmother, you idiot,” she said flatly. “It all had to do with Renwick, I think, and Alexander’s title. He was behind Father’s disgrace, and he’s the man who killed him.”
A shocked silence filled the room, and Maddy rose and sat down hard on one of the uncomfortable chairs. “But why?” she said finally.
“There was no money with Renwick,” Alexander said in a flat, cold voice, the first time Sophie had heard him speak since she’d regained consciousness, but he kept his gaze averted. “I expect he thought he would kill two birds with one stone.”
Kilmartyn spluttered with laughter. “Not well put, old man.”
“I’ll have to see about returning the money,” Alexander continued after shooting a glare at Kilmartyn.
The Earl raised a languid hand. “No need. I rep
laced it all, and it barely makes a dent. I have a gift for making money.”
Alexander eyed him sourly. “As do I.”
Kilmartyn beamed at him. “How splendid! We’re both financial wizards and we’re both suspected wife-killers. What else can we bond over?” He turned to look at the gypsy. “Luca, I don’t suppose you murdered a wife sometime in your past?” he said hopefully.
“Afraid not,” the man said wryly.
“I didn’t kill my wife,” Alexander said through clenched teeth. “I suspect Rufus or his mother did.”
“Oh, I didn’t kill mine either, much as she deserved it,” Kilmartyn assured him. “I can thank your brother for that as well.” He gave them all a wicked smile. “Seriously, I am grateful.” He inspected the sleeve of his elegant coat, picking at an invisible piece of lint. “I still think Luca needs to have some wretched skeleton in his past.”
“I have more than enough,” the gypsy said. “And I’m not killing Maddy.”
“Oh, do be quiet, Adrian,” Bryony said, giving him a reproving look devoid of rancor.
“Excuse me,” Sophie said, tired of all the noise. “But who is that man?”
Bryony followed her gaze. “That’s my husband, of course.”
“That one was easy,” Sophie said in a dry tone. “Who’s the other one?”
“That’s my husband,” Maddy said with an undeniable air of pride. “Captain Morgan, but you can call him Luca.”
“But I thought he was old!” Sophie said in bewilderment.
“Sweet Neptune’s briny pants!” swore the captain. “Why does everyone think I’m old?”
“Our coach got . . . er . . . damaged,” Bryony continued, ignoring him as she stroked Sophie’s wind-tangled hair away from her face. It was a soothing gesture she remembered from when she was very young. For the first time she didn’t want her sister’s hand, she wanted a larger, stronger hand. She looked at Alexander again. The policemen had left, but he hadn’t moved, hadn’t come any closer. She’d killed his brother and she’d showed not an ounce of regret. Maybe he couldn’t forgive her.