Too Wicked to Love (23 page)

“No. I don’t care what’s inside, just who might pay me the most to get it.” He chuckled.

“I have a sack of money for you. What do you say we make an exchange? You leave the letter there on the pulpit, and I will leave the money here near the baptismal font. Then we both walk around the room—on opposite sides—until we switch places. Then you take the money, and I take the letter.”

The thief frowned for a moment, clearly thinking. Then he nodded. “Good idea. And we’ve both got guns, so there won’t be any tricks.”

“No tricks,” John agreed. “I will count to three—”

“Bugger that! I’ll do the counting.” The thief set the letter on the pulpit.

John put his bag on the floor, his gaze fixed on the letter. His heart hammered like a piston, anticipation firing his blood. Would this simple piece of paper prove to be the key to his freedom?

“One . . .”

He tensed.

“Two . . .”

He flexed his fingers, already imagining the look on Genny’s face when he told her they had forever ahead of them.

“Three!” The thief moved to his right, circling the pews.

John headed down the center aisle, switching his gaze back and forth between his opponent and the pulpit where his future lay. He snatched up the letter just as the other man got to the bag of money.

“Well, now, look at this!” The thief hefted his fortune, his eyes crinkling with what was probably a smile beneath the scarf.

John waved the letter. “We each got what we wanted. What say you we go our separate ways?”

The thief chuckled. “I think I got the better bargain. You just got a letter. I got a whole bag of money.” He crushed the bag against his chest with both arms.

A shot rang through the church. The thief’s eyes widened, then he crashed forward to the floor, the money spilling from the bag.

“That is what happens to traitors.” Raventhorpe stepped into the church, dragging Genny with him, a revolver in his other hand.

John’s blood turned to ice. What was Genny doing here? How had Raventhorpe gotten to her?

Her wide, fear-filled gaze seemed to beg his forgiveness.

“What is this about, Raventhorpe?”

“Ah, John. My old rival.” Raventhorpe strolled into the church, stepping over the fallen thief and dragging Genny in his wake. “It has been so long since we met face-to-face.”

John slipped the letter into his pocket. “Not that long. How is that bullet wound, by the way? Sitting down all right?”

Raventhorpe stopped and glared at him. “I owe you for that and much more, John St. Giles. But no, it is Evermayne now, is it not? You always did have the devil’s own luck.” He held the revolver to Genny’s temple. “Especially with women. First Elizabeth, then the lovely Genny.”

“Elizabeth chose me as her husband, Raventhorpe. Just as she later chose you as her lover.”

“Ah, yes. She was a wicked little thing. Found you too tame in the bedroom, my boy. Wanted a real man between her thighs.” He eyed Genny. “Do you suppose your current bride feels the same?”

“Leave her be. Your quarrel is with me.”

“Oh, were you under the impression you were in charge here?” Raventhorpe raised his brows. “I suppose that depends on how much you value your bride. Put down the weapon, John, and show me the letter Peter stole for you.”

John held up the gun, keeping his eyes steady on his enemy, then bent and put it on the floor. He knew Raventhorpe would kill without conscience. Had he not learned that lesson when Elizabeth had been murdered? He had not been able to protect her then. Could he protect Genny now?

“Very good. Now show me the letter.”

John kept his gaze on Genny as he pulled the letter from his pocket. She watched him steadily, hope and confidence shining in her eyes. Somehow, he would make this work. Somehow, both of them would walk away from this today.

Even if the cost was the proof of his innocence.

“Read it, John. Let us see if this scrap of paper was worth the steep price you paid . . . that you might yet pay.”

John opened the letter with trembling fingers.

“Who is it from? Come now, Evermayne, do not dawdle.” He leaned close to Genny and stage-whispered, “The suspense is thrilling, would you agree?”

She ignored the earl, brave girl, and kept her gaze steady on John as he began to read.

“Let it be known that this letter serves as the confession of Jack Norman, former footman to Lord Canthrope of London, in the matter of an incident on the twelfth of May, 1869, wherein Jack Norman admits to assisting under duress in the act of murder.”

“Duress!” Raventhorpe exclaimed. “I did not hold a knife to the man’s throat. He helped of his own free will.”

“There is more,” John said.

“Go on, then.” Raventhorpe waved his gun hand.

“On the evening in question, I was persuaded by threat to the lives of my family to assist a certain gentleman, who shall remain nameless in this confession, to lure away from the company one John St. Giles. My orders were to guide the young man into the garden under pretense of searching for his wife, at which time I was to render him unconscious by pricking his skin with a ring dipped in a drug, which had been provided to me by the unnamed gentleman. I obeyed these orders, to my everlasting shame, but did so only to save the life of my daughter.

“Let this letter serve as a statement that on the night Elizabeth St. Giles was murdered, her husband, John St. Giles, lay unconscious in the gardens at the Canthrope residence, incapable of doing harm to anyone, and that he was cast in that state by my hand. May God have mercy on my soul.”

John’s voice broke on the last line. He looked up at Raventhorpe’s smug expression, at the tears shimmering in Genny’s eyes.

“Jack Norman could not write nearly that well,” Raventhorpe said. “He must have had the vicar write it for him. Pity that, as I will now have to eliminate him as well. At least old Jack was wise enough not to name the gentleman who enticed him to such wickedness. Now—” Raventhorpe smiled, and John tensed. The bastard looked entirely too pleased with himself. “Set the letter back on the pulpit, John, and walk away, or else your wife dies.”

“No, John!” Genny surged forward, only to be yanked back by Raventhorpe. “Do not do it. It is your only proof!”

John took a step forward. “What is to prevent you from killing her as soon as I give over the letter?”

“What is to prevent me from killing her right now?” Raventhorpe yanked her closer and pressed the gun harder against her head. “That letter does not implicate me, John. Nowhere does it say I killed Elizabeth.”

“Then why do you want it?” Genny cried. “It cannot hurt you.”

“No, but its absence can hurt your husband.” Raventhorpe switched his reptilian stare to John. “I did not go through all that trouble to make you look guilty just so some fool with a conscience can undo everything.”

“John, do not do it,” Genny begged. “He will never go away. He will haunt us just like he did Annabelle. Remember what you taught Annabelle to protect herself?” She stared hard at him as if willing him to read her mind. Then she flicked her gaze at the ground and back up at him, clearly trying to communicate something. “Now I am just like Annabelle, John, and must do as she did.”

He realized what she was suggesting and gave an imperceptible shake of his head. He would not risk her life on some mad gambit.

She pressed her lips together, clearly frustrated with him.

“Enough of this nonsense. Put the letter back on the pulpit, John, then walk away.”

“Let Genny go first.”

Raventhorpe laughed. “Do you think you have some power here? I hold all the cards. You will do as I say.”

John gazed at Genny, at a love he had never thought he would ever possess, and knew he would do anything to keep her alive. Even if it meant sacrificing his own life to do so. “Very well, Raventhorpe.” He started walking back toward the pulpit.

“John!
” Genny’s shriek ripped through the church.

John dropped to the floor as a bullet whizzed by his head and struck the wooden pulpit. Raventhorpe stood with his weapon still aimed, having clearly tried to shoot John in the back. Rage twisted the earl’s features, and he turned the gun on Genny.

She looked at John, gave him a hint of a nod, then went limp in Raventhorpe’s grasp, just as John had taught Annabelle to do.

The earl stumbled, his gun hand flying off target as he was dragged off-balance by Genny’s dead weight.

John dove for the weapon he had set on the floor, grabbed it, and rolled onto his side, then aimed at the earl. Fired.

Raventhorpe cried out. His gun fell to the ground, and he cradled his bleeding arm.

Genny grabbed the gun, sat back against the side of the pew, and aimed it at Raventhorpe. “Stay where you are. I would remind you I am an admiral’s daughter, and I do know how to shoot.”

Raventhorpe’s lips peeled back from his teeth. “Why you little—” He lunged for Genny. A shot rang through the church. The earl howled and went down, grabbing his thigh. Genny scrabbled out of his reach.

John raced forward as Inspector Brooks emerged from behind the baptismal font and hurried toward the fallen earl, gun drawn. “Stay right there, Raventhorpe,” the inspector said.

“Inspector, where did you come from?” John asked.

“I have been following you,” the man said. “I thought you were a murderer, remember.”

“Thank goodness you are here,” Genny said.

The inspector flashed a smile. “I was here when His Lordship shot that poor fellow. Cold-blooded murder, that’s what it was. I saw the whole thing. And I heard the entire conversation—including the letter from the witness clearing you of murdering your wife.”

“So John is free?” Genny asked as John helped her to her feet.

“He will have to give statements and present the letter as evidence,” Brooks said. “But in the end, yes, he will go free.”

She looked up at John, her eyes shining. “Free,” she whispered.

“Free,” he echoed, and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “You are a madwoman to be taking such chances with your safety. I would not have been able to go on if I lost you.” His voice broke at the end, betraying the stark fear that had turned his insides to jelly.

“I could not simply stand there and let him destroy your chance to clear your name.” She laid her head against his chest. “I would do anything to save you, John.”

“And I you,” he murmured.

Inspector Brooks cleared his throat. “My apologies for interrupting, but Your Grace, would you please hold your pistol on the earl while I get the handcuffs on him?”

“I will do it,” Genny said. She pointed the gun she still held at Raventhorpe. “I would remind you again, Lord Raventhorpe, that I am an excellent shot.”

“I forget nothing,” Raventhorpe snarled.

“I will find something to staunch that bleeding,” John said, nodding at the earl’s injuries while the inspector bound his hands in the cuffs. “I would not want you to expire before you stand trial, Raventhorpe.”

As John walked away, the inspector called out, “Don’t forget the letter, Your Grace,” and pointed at the document, which lay near the pulpit where John had dropped it during the excitement.

John picked up the letter, turned it over in his hand. So strange to think that something so small could have such importance in his life. He turned, looked at Genny fiercely holding Raventhorpe in her sights.

Then again, maybe not so strange after all.

G
enny lay in her husband’s arms, drawing circles in the fur of his chest. Through the curtains she could see the rosy glow of dawn over the garden. They had not slept; they had spent the entire night making love, as if they needed to forge their bond over and over again after nearly losing everything that day.

“Do you think we will be safe?’ Genny asked.

John made a gruntlike sound, and she realized he had been dozing. “What?”

She propped herself up with her elbow on his chest and waited until he opened his eyes. “Do you think we will be safe now that Raventhorpe has finally been arrested?”

“I warned Brooks not to turn his back on him.” John yawned and stroked his hand over Genny’s unbound hair. “As long as he is on his guard, all should be well. But the bastard has always been slippery.”

She slapped him lightly on the chest. “There is a lady present, Your Rudeness.”

“Really?” He fondled her bottom. “Hmmm, so there is.”

“You, sir, are insatiable.” She kissed him, lingering as his hand stroked over her buttock and up her back. “Seriously, John, should we worry?”

“About Raventhorpe? Just keep our guards up.” He curled his arm around her, pulled her closer. “I lived half my life hiding and worrying about being discovered, my love. I do not want to live that way any longer. We will be vigilant, but I will not live in fear. Not anymore.”

“I do not want to live in fear either. But I might have lost you tonight—would have surely lost you if that letter had not come to light. I want to live joyfully.”

“That is exactly what you should do.” He dragged her more fully on top of him, then smoothed his hands along her back. “I always felt that I should have been able to protect Elizabeth from Raventhorpe. But I could not, and she died. From that point forward, I made it a policy not to let anyone else get close enough to me to put me in that position again. I was a bad bet. And then I met you.”

“What did I do?”

“My little warrior. You bullied your way into my heart, slipped right beneath my defenses when I wasn’t looking. You taught me what real love is, and how the more you have, the more you have to lose.”

She wrinkled her nose. “That does not sound very pleasant.”

“You also taught me that there are people in this world who will support others no matter what the cost. You could not know your father would approve of our marriage when you stood up at the breakfast table and threw your lot in with mine. Yet you did it anyway.”

“Since meeting you, I have been inspired to do all manner of improper things.”

“Oh?” He waggled his eyebrows.

She slapped him on the chest. “I was not talking about
that.
”

“Why not? I thought you liked
that.
”

“I do. I just meant . . . You make me less afraid. Bolder.”

“I like bold.”

“I know you do.” She frowned, struggling to put the feelings into words. “You make me brave and happy. I feel as if I can do anything as long as you are by my side.”

“You know what, my darling Duchess? I feel exactly the same way.” John lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. “And suddenly I have an urge to see how improper we can be . . .”

“John!”

She laughed as he rolled over with her, starting the day—and the rest of their lives—with love and laughter and a sense of coming home.

For both of them.