A Match of Wits (29 page)

“If I’m understanding you correctly, you’ve done all of this—threatening Agatha with pig heads, running her out of town, and then hiring someone to kill her because of . . . jealousy?”

“I’m not jealous of her—I am her superior. My being able to capture her tonight proves I’m more intelligent.”

“And how did you manage to capture her?”

“It was incredibly easy.” Mr. Jenkins let out a laugh that had the hair sticking up on Zayne’s arms. “I am a reporter after all, and I learned that an old harlot by the name of Dot was asking questions around the city about Mary and her girls. It was an easy matter to feed her information through
a drunk on the street. I paid him a few dollars, he went and told Dot where Mary was supposed to be found, and Dot very kindly went along with my plans and gave a message to Miss Watson.”

He laughed again. “It was fortunate that I warned Madame Bellefonte this evening to be on the lookout for a lady or two entering her brothel, although asking that favor of the woman set me back a pretty penny. It was all worth it though when Miss Watson actually showed up there. I thought she wouldn’t go until the day after her dinner party, but she’s always been a bit of an odd duck.”

Stalling for more time, Zayne nodded. “Agatha is different, there’s no getting around that, but I still find myself a bit curious about something. Did you put that pig’s head on Agatha’s doorstep or did you hire someone to do that for you?”

“That was personal, so I placed the head there myself.”

“And have you placed many heads on people’s porches throughout the years?”

“I must admit I have, especially on the porches of editors who don’t treat me well. Why, there’s an editor in Boston who stayed indoors for an entire month because so many strange things turned up outside his house, and that was simply because he made me do an interview with a lady who made candy. It was a frivolous interview, one I didn’t care for in the least, almost as frivolous as when I once interviewed your sister and she showed me the door before I was—”

“I don’t remember Arabella ever stating she was interviewed by a Mr. Jenkins.”

“Ah, well, enough about that, we need to return to the nasty business at hand. You’ll be relieved to learn I’ve decided to let you live. I still intend to shoot you, just not kill you. You’ve annoyed me by providing Miss Watson so much time to get
away, and so . . . perhaps your other leg, the good one, would be the perfect spot for a bullet.”

Mr. Jenkins cocked his pistol, drew up his arm, and . . . flew through the air and landed on the ground, his unusual flying display brought about by the fact someone had hurled into him.

That someone turned out to be none other than Agatha.

She barely spared Zayne a glance as she launched herself at Mr. Jenkins, beating the man with what appeared to be one of her pistols, her black hair streaming down her back as she raised her other hand and slapped the man across the face.

“Agatha!” he yelled, fear coursing over him, “Mr. Jenkins is insane. You need to get out of here at once.”

To his surprise, Agatha slapped Mr. Jenkins across the face again. She sat back, leveled the pistol in the man’s face, and cocked the trigger. “This is not Mr. Jenkins. He’s that weasel of a man, Mr. Horace Pitkin, and he might be insane, but I do believe I’m strong enough to take him.”

“Not . . . Mr. Jenkins?” was all Zayne could say until he swallowed and shook his head. “Well, that explains why he didn’t want to kill me. He probably wanted to frame poor Mr. Jenkins for the events of this night.”

“Don’t feel sorry for ‘poor Mr. Jenkins,’ Zayne,” Agatha said. “He’s a nasty piece of work, but not, I think, as nasty as Mr. Pitkin.” She slapped Mr. Pitkin once again, earning a howl of protest from the man. “May I assume you were the one who brought up the idea about gathering articles from out west to Mr. Chambers in the first place?”

“I might have done that,” Mr. Pitkin mumbled.

“You certainly did a wonderful job of acting when I was chosen over you, but . . . if memory serves me correctly, I do believe I remember you seemed almost disappointed when it became known Mr. Blackheart had been hired to guard me.”

“You had less chance of being killed in the pursuit of an article with him around.”

“I’m very difficult to kill,” Agatha said smugly, looking over her shoulder for a second to catch Zayne’s eye. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, but you shouldn’t have come back for me,” Zayne said.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Agatha retorted. “Of course I had to come—” Her words came to an abrupt halt when Mr. Pitkin suddenly let out a scream, reared up, and pushed Agatha off of him before he sprang to his feet. Agatha’s pistol skidded across the cobblestones, leaving her defenseless.

“Agatha, run!” Zayne yelled.

“Not on your life.” She jumped to her feet right as Matilda charged into view. “Get him, girl.”

Matilda needed no second urgings. She streaked by in a blur of pink and grabbed hold of Mr. Pitkin’s leg, hanging on even though he began shaking that leg vigorously.

“Agatha, run. Please, just run,” he pleaded.

“And leave you here at the mercy of a madman? Not likely.” She dashed around him, grabbed one of his crutches that had fallen off the cart, clutched it in both hands, and charged back at Mr. Pitkin, swinging the crutch like a bat. He heard a loud thud, and then, to his amazement, Mr. Pitkin crumpled to the ground with Matilda still attached to his leg.

“You guard him, Matilda,” Agatha said as she dropped the crutch and kicked Mr. Pitkin. She then turned and sent Zayne a smile. “I know it’s not well done to kick a man when he’s down, but I simply couldn’t help myself.”

He felt his lips curl into an unexpected smile. “I’d have done just that if I wasn’t stuck here on the ground.”

“Good heavens, Zayne, I do beg your pardon.” Agatha
rushed over to his side and crouched down beside him. “I’m afraid Dr. Gessler is not going to be pleased with this little escapade. You’re in for quite the lecture once we get you back to the house.”

“I’m not hurt.”

She didn’t appear to hear him as her hands traveled over his body and then moved to cup his face. “You’re bleeding.” She reached down, tore a strip of fabric off her unusual gown, and wiped his head.

Loud grunts drew his attention as Agatha continued to mop blood from his face, and he turned his head and grinned as his gaze settled on Matilda.

“Is she trying to eat his shirt?”

“I told her about the head left on my doorstep, and I think she understood what I was telling her,” Agatha said with a grin. “She’s probably trying to get to his skin to really leave her mark.” She dabbed at his head again. “What could you have been thinking, driving Charlotte’s invention down this street? The last time you used it you almost killed yourself. Honestly, Zayne, you need to start trying to take better care of yourself.”

“I wanted to rescue you.”

“Of course you did.” She sighed. “While I do appreciate the gesture, you’re in no state to rescue anyone at the moment. You could have been gravely injured, or killed, for that matter. I didn’t think I was going to get to you in time, and it was only through the grace of God I got to Mr. Pitkin before he shot you.”

It struck him then, how completely idiotic he’d been. He’d made the decision that he, being the gentleman, should be responsible for saving her, not the other way around, but . . . it didn’t actually matter.

Agatha Watson was an incredible lady. She was bright, funny, annoying at times, and . . . she’d never expected him to be her knight in shining armor. Well, maybe she expected it just a bit, but she was perfectly content for them to share that armor.

What she truly needed was a partner, someone who would participate fully with her in life and share her adventures.

He was that partner, and he was going to do everything in his power to convince her to give him another chance. Hope curled through him when he realized that, since she was currently mopping up his face, muttering dire predictions about his idiocy under her breath in the process, he might still get that chance.

“Agatha,” he began, wincing when she touched a cut on his head he hadn’t felt before she’d dabbed at it.

“Hmm?”

“I need to say something.”

“Can’t it wait? You’re a mess, and I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to continue lying on the cold street.”

“It can’t wait.”

She stopped dabbing, although she did so rather reluctantly and caught his eye. “Yes?”

“Well, you see . . .”

“Thank God you’re still alive.”

Turning his head, Zayne found Hamilton and Theodore racing their way, pistols drawn and looking fierce. They stopped right next to Mr. Pitkin, and Theodore actually grinned. “Good job, Matilda.” He looked at Agatha. “You might want to call her off though, Agatha. I’ll be hard-pressed to question the man if Matilda gnaws him to death.”

Agatha handed Zayne the piece of her dress she’d been using on his face, rose to her feet and walked over to where
Mr. Pitkin, with Matilda standing on his chest, was just beginning to stir. “Come, darling. We’ll leave what’s left of him to Theodore.”

Matilda let out a grunt, stepped off Mr. Pitkin, and moved over to Zayne. She sat down right beside him and gave him a sloppy lick of her tongue before she scooted down on her stomach and let out a snort.

Three of Theodore’s men stole quietly out of the shadows, picked Mr. Pitkin up, even though he was trying to squirm out of their hold, and with a nod to Theodore, carted Mr. Pitkin away.

“Take him to jail, gentlemen,” Theodore called after them. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Piper’s fine, by the way,” Agatha said to Hamilton after the men disappeared into the darkness. “Mary met us a couple blocks down and is taking care of her, but have either of you seen my sisters?”

“They’re the reason we found you here,” Theodore said. “They were running down Fifth Avenue, screaming at the top of their lungs, and they ran into some of my men.” He smiled. “They’re safe back at your house, where I’m sure your mother is hovering over them.”

“What do you mean, Piper’s with Mary?” Hamilton demanded.

“Mary won’t hurt her,” Agatha said, moving to tug Hamilton to a stop when he started down the street. “In fact, Mary’s the reason Piper and I are still alive.”

“I thought Mary was in on your abduction,” Theodore said slowly.

“She knew nothing about the abduction, although Mr. Pitkin
did
hire her to kill me.”

“But since I didn’t go
through
with it,” Mary said as she
strode into view holding Piper’s hand, “I’d appreciate it if you’d stop trying to hunt me down and allow me and my girls to leave town peacefully.”

“You’re an assassin, Mary. I can’t just let you go,” Theodore said after Hamilton had Piper in his arms.

For some reason, Mary suddenly looked a little embarrassed. “If you must know, we’ve never actually killed anyone, not that we didn’t try.” She smiled. “That’s why we weren’t upset about tracking Miss Watson out west. Things were getting uncomfortable for us on the east coast. Turns out clients get upset when the assassins they hire aren’t very good at their job.” She walked over and looked down at Zayne. “Agatha told us we could keep that gold we took off of you, but I thought it would be only right to make sure you don’t have a problem with that.”

“Not since you apparently helped save Agatha’s life,” he said.

“Excellent.” Mary turned back to Theodore and arched a brow.

Theodore looked at Mary for a moment and then nodded to Agatha. “It’s your choice. What do you want me to do with Mary?”

Agatha smiled. “I want you to let her go.”

“I won’t forget this,” Mary said, spinning on her heel and fading into the night, the sound of her calling out to Hannah and Jessie a moment later floating back to them.

Agatha moved closer to Theodore. “Have you any news about Drusilla, Francis, and Jeffrey?”

“They’re fine,” Theodore said. “Well . . . not
fine,
since Jeffrey has a broken leg, Drusilla was shot—only a flesh wound—and Francis is currently sporting two black eyes and a huge lump on his head. But none of them will suffer from any lasting injuries.”

Agatha shook her head. “Poor Jeffrey. He only got involved because I just happened to jump into his carriage.”

“But now he has something to talk about for years,” Hamilton said as he hugged Piper closer to him and kissed the top of her head. “You have a bit of explaining to do, young lady.”

Piper fluttered her lashes at him. “It was Matilda’s fault, Daddy. Miss Agatha will vouch for that. And if Grace, Lily, and I hadn’t followed Matilda, why, Miss Agatha might not have been able to escape.” She gave another flutter. “Because of that, I do think it might be best if you and Mama and Mr. and Mrs. Watson go easy on us with the punishment business.”

Hamilton kissed Piper’s head again and rolled his eyes. “Why do I have the strangest feeling that you, along with Agatha’s sisters, are going to be responsible for giving us white hair way before our time?”

“We’re just following in Miss Agatha’s, Aunt Arabella’s, Aunt Felicia’s, and Mama’s footsteps, Daddy. You can’t claim to be surprised that we’d want to do that. All of them are amazing ladies.”

The mention of amazing ladies had Zayne returning his attention to Agatha. She was standing there, swinging her arms back and forth, dirt streaking her face, but she was the most wonderful sight he’d ever seen.

He cleared his throat, which had Agatha moving immediately to his side and leaning down. “Good heavens, Zayne, we need to get you up off of that cold ground. You must be freezing.”

“Could you bend down closer?”

Her eyes widened. “Does something hurt? Mr. Pitkin didn’t hit you, did he, because if he did, I—”

“Agatha, be quiet.”

“There’s no need for you to get snippy. I mean, I’m just—”

“I love you.”

Her mouth made an O of surprise, and then she sat down, right smack on top of him. “What did you say?”

“I said I love you, but I think you still have a pistol attached to your leg, and it’s digging into my side.”

“Oh, forgive me.” She hitched up her skirt, pulled a pistol out of her garter, dropped it to the ground, and proceeded to settle herself right on top of him again. “You may continue.”